I wrote this in IT TAKES A LIFETIME: The very act of cooking—stirring a pot of sauce, grating cheese over pasta—was balm to my soul. The rich scent of garlic-and-tomato sauce brought me back to Nonna’s kitchen and with it a feeling of safety and belonging.
Sunday dinners returned to the meals of my youth—spaghetti and meatballs, braciola, rosemary chicken with roasted potatoes, linguine with ricotta. Just as Nonna taught me, tomato sauce was my specialty: pork browned in olive oil, garlic, Contadina tomato paste stirred in slow, wide circles with her old wooden spoon.
I rolled the meatballs by hand and dropped into the sauce wherever the bubbles broke through. Big platters of spaghetti were decorated with sauce and cheese, always starting at the outside edges – just as Nonna had shown me.
My refection: Preparing foods the Nonna way brought me peace. The scent of tomato sauce lingered for days, and leftover pasta and meatballs warmed our bellies like nothing else could. But food, traditions, work, and school couldn’t hold back the tsunami that was engulfing our family.
Something to think about: We often try to hold our families together with the only tools we know—recipes, rituals, acts of love. Food is history: it carries the people, places, and moments that shaped us. I’d love to hear what foods hold meaning for you?
Three generations together making pieroghi!
Ahh, pierogi! My favorite!! What a beautiful memory and bonding experience. Thanks for sharing.
Making spritz butter cookies at Christmas from the recipe my mother had perfected, which had been handed down to her from her Swedish grandmother, “a pinch of this, a handful of that, and mix it with your hands until it feels right.”
How wonderful! That’s how they ‘measured.’ When I asked Nonna to make meatballs and tell me the measurements, she looked at me as if I had ten heads. “You do like-a ‘dis.” Just like your grandmother – “A pinch, a handful – and mix until it feels right.” Beautiful.