Memories of Flavors From Long Ago

I was born and raised in Rome, Italy.

My dad is from Rome, my mom from a tiny bitty village from the very tip of the boot! While we lived in Rome, our family core has deeply been centered on the heritage of my mom's side of the family.

Traditions run deep in all Italian families, but there's something about the South... "THE" something that comes to mind when thinking of Italy - friendliness, open doors and hearts, strangers becoming family, being hugged just because you have crossed paths with someone on the street, unspoken invitations to walk in at any time of the day and being welcomed with a tray of pastries magically materializing from a cupboard.

The magic became enchantment around the Holidays.

As ornaments, Christmas trees and festive decor started appearing around the house, so were heirloom recipes, aprons and kitchen tools. Everyone had a specific job. While the ladies were refining last-minute details on the menu, the gents were sent out on missions to all the different shops, yes shops! I was a child in a country where meat was purchased at the butcher shop, bread at the bakery, fruit at fruit stand - all local products, a community growing together as one, where everyone knew everyone. Us kids were sent to fetch special ingredients only used around the holidays - the mix of spices to roll orange-flavored dried figs stuffed with walnuts and drizzled with honey; the cannella (cinnamon) used only to make pizzelle that will become stacks of dripping golden honey and roasted hazelnuts.

Nonna (grandma) would send me (being the eldest of the granddaughters) down to the cantina (basement) to get the extra virgin olive oil from the harvest of our olive trees, just a few weeks prior, she had "deemed" worthy of the holiday feast; the soppressata and other meats made from the pig we spent all summer getting plumped, the cheeses she carefully selected from the sheep farmer (I feared for the man at times - when he didn't deliver the quality she demanded. Only the best for her family!) and the flours.

If I close my eyes, I can still feel the dampness of the cantina as I walked through it, the smell of cured meats hanging from the ceiling and cheeses on display over shelves. It was the same place where all the pickled vegetables, preserves, tomato sauce and wine bottles we made at the end of summer were stored, as well.

Walking back upstairs from my mini grocery run, one of the sounds that will forever fill my soul would be permeating the air - my Nonna's voice, directing my mom and aunts like the tiny mighty general she was in the kitchen. Rolling pin in hand! Ever the tireless one, she wanted everything to taste perfect. Because that was the way she said "I love you". Through her food. Never words, she wasn't affectionate that way, but freshly baked cookies every morning, "just because" snacks fit for a king, and good night chocolates - unbeknownst to our parents, were her hugs and kisses.

I sat there, between chores runs, in awe, taking everything in as every dish, prepared from scratch, would start coming together. Meat sauce bubbling on the stove, lasagna noddles being rolled and cooked in batches, salads being chopped, loaves of bread sliced, batters whip together to flash fry seasonal vegetables at the last minute, lamb racks cooking in the oven, as all the side dishes and appetizers began making their way to the dining room. The air was filled with aromas only coming alive during this time of the year.

When Nonna was ready to serve, in true chef style, we all sat around the table, 30-40 of us! Amongst laughter, us kids screaming trying to get to that last slice of salame, bottles of wine being opened, the sound of cutlery hitting the plates, and the passing of the heaping trays of food I always noticed she was a silent observer. She didn't like to be praised for her effort, she was too humble for praise. She would silently slip behind the curtains of all that beautiful commotion to observe us, her family, her legacy, all gathered there, eating her food. She would smile; and I knew she was happy.

My family has formed and grown around food and in the kitchen, truly the heart of each of our homes. Food has the power to evoke, with one bite or inhale, memories kept dormant, forgotten emotions, and the ability to bring back a time never thought possible, again.

The perfect pairing, to me, will always be family & food. 🖤