Take a bunch of nice kids, dump in gobs of fiery Italian seasoning, mix in copious measures of robust Augustinian teaching, and stir gently for four years. That's the winning recipe that transformed April Fool's Day 1985 into a feast for underdogs and everymen everywhere. March Madness maddened to the max that year with the crowning of perhaps the NCAA Tournament's most unlikely champion, the Villanova Wildcats. The most unlikely and perhaps the most liked team to ever win the championship, the Villanova kids won the nation over with courtesy and class more than jump shots and slam dunks. The NCAA final was supposed to be a slam dunk for Georgetown, the defending national champions. But 'Nova never buckled under Hoya Paranoia, the fear factor that paralyzed most Georgetown opponents in the John Thompson era. Paternal coach Rollie Massimino drilled commitment, loyalty, and honor into his family as much as Xs and Os. The result was a poised, disciplined, and undaunted quintet who played what some have called the perfect basketball game where they sizzled the cords with unprecedented 78.6 percent shooting accuracy. Wildcat icon Ed Pinckney, along with teammates and other members of Coach Mass's family, relate the tale of how Villa-nowhere, as the 'Cats were dubbed before April 1, fooled the whole world.

In the United States, African American and Italian cultures have been intertwined for more than a hundred years. From as early as nineteenth-century African American opera star Thomas Bowers—“The Colored Mario”—all the way to hip-hop entrepreneur Puff Daddy dubbing himself “the Black Sinatra,” the affinity between black and Italian cultures runs deep and wide. Once you start looking, you’ll find these connections everywhere. Sinatra croons bel canto over the limousine swing of the Count Basie band. Snoop Dogg deftly tosses off the line “I’m Lucky Luciano ’bout to sing soprano.” Like the Brooklyn pizzeria and candy store in Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing and Jungle Fever, or the basketball sidelines where Italian American coaches Rick Pitino and John Calipari mix it up with their African American players, black/Italian connections are a thing to behold—and to investigate. In Flavor and Soul, John Gennari spotlights this affinity, calling it “the edge”—now smooth, sometimes serrated—between Italian American and African American culture. He argues that the edge is a space of mutual emulation and suspicion, a joyous cultural meeting sometimes darkened by violent collision. Through studies of music and sound, film and media, sports and foodways, Gennari shows how an Afro-Italian sensibility has nourished and vitalized American culture writ large, even as Italian Americans and African Americans have fought each other for urban space, recognition of overlapping histories of suffering and exclusion, and political and personal rispetto. Thus, Flavor and Soul is a cultural contact zone—a piazza where people express deep feelings of joy and pleasure, wariness and distrust, amity and enmity. And it is only at such cultural edges, Gennari argues, that America can come to truly understand its racial and ethnic dynamics.