In business, it is common to note that there are a variety of methods which may be used to accomplish different tasks – not one way
is always correct (I personally do not really subscribe to this). However, in my house growing up, there was your way, and the
RIGHT way – the Italian Way. This in no
way implies that the Italian Way is the the ONLY way, it’s just the BEST way. This same philosophy is in play today at my home - much to my husband's dismay.
This is also especially true in cooking. You learn
as a bambina/bambino that your Grandparents just instinctively know how to make sauce (gravy in
some regions), pizza, and braciole, all by just looking at ingredients – there
were no books, no recipes. Every family had their recipes memorized for
minestrone, frittata and baccala. Your refrigerator always had salame,
mortadella, mozzarella, Parmesan and you always had "good" tomatoes, "good"
olive oil, "good" olives and of course the mother of everything sacred and tasty - garlic. These were staples in my home when I was a
little girl and they are pretty much a staple in my home now. God help me if
I’m out of garlic – the world will end (boom)!
I have to say that I have somehow, through
the luck of my DNA (mixed with oregano I'm sure), been blessed with the ability to create
recipes on the fly by just tasting and testing (yes, this is where taste test
comes from). My Grandmother passed away before I was born and my Grandfather (Oompapa) was unable to read and barely able to write, but he could cook. Unfortunately, I
was not yet poised enough before he passed away as I was still fairly young, to have developed my culinary skills enough to
sit down with him and ask him how he made olive salad or braciole. What were his secrets? How did he know when the sauce was done? What kind of tomato is best to use? I’ve had to
learn on my own and try to remember what he did. I can make something that he made when I was little and the smell alone will tell me if I have recreated his recipe correctly. That's all I have. Doctor's call it involuntary autobiographical memory - the ability to recapture memories through sensory recollection - taste or smell (look it up). I have very few
regrets in my life (Frank Sinatra), but one of them is not taking the time to jot
down my Grandfather's recipes. To sit down with him and learn from him. For this I will be forever saddened, but much like Julia Child, I'm sure he is watching over me as I cook, making sure I don't mess up the sauce. Live and learn kids.
Soon I will embark on a journey to the
motherland and I’m so excited that I can hardly contain myself. I can’t wait to experience Italy in all
her glory for the first time and in my heart, I know my Grandfather would have loved that I am
taking my husband (whom he loved but wished would have shaved more often) to see where our family is from. Technically my family is from Sicily (The Godfather) but hey, whadda ya
gonna do?
So as we get ready to take what I assume will be a mostly food
induced coma journey through Italy, I wonder if I should be taking an empty
suitcase which can be filled with olive oil and cheese in honor of Oompapa. He
was known for flying to Chicago and coming back with boxes of food items he "couldn’t get" anywhere else. Even now I’m smiling because apparently,
without knowing it, and just realizing it now, my Grandfather is absolutely
coming with me on this trip. In spirit yes, but with me nonetheless (don't tell my husband - ghosts freak him out).
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