My niece , on the other hand , has accepted a coveted vocalist placement at a charter school in her town . Well earned .
All of these musical forums convened as anticipated a meal …
Lasagna : it ’ s what ’ s for dinner .
I still remember the setup of my grandparent ’ s house . The stairs upon entry . The couches , with clear plastic coverings so the grandkids couldn ’ t destroy the furniture . Cases harboring my grandfather ’ s Eagles shrine . They lived outside of Philadelphia , after all . A sofa so old the indentations were permanent , the recliner solely for my grandfather and the pianos . But then there is a fragrance of simmering foods and sweets baking , with music and laughter boldly in the background .
Food has been a keystone for our Irish-Italian family , as it is in many others . My grandmother has six children to feed , four of them active males . Many holidays and family events were spent waiting in agony for the food to be ready . My uncles would charismatically saunter through the kitchen , tossing a dashing smile toward their mother , grandmother and sisters , plotting the precise time to strike and snatch a sample of anything they could grab — a taste test of sorts . Often , the cunning behavior was welcomed with a whack from a spatula — usually delivered by my Grammie or Nanny — a warning to run from this hub of scrumptious goods .
Meanwhile , all the kids would lurk in the shadows , pathetically feigning starvation , as if we had some control over when supper would be served . This was especially difficult at Christmas because until dinner was served , there would be no unveiling of the gifts .
It was a staple at our dinners , lasagna . My Grammie and great Nanny Piccani each made a stellar version layered with a menagerie of noodles , mixed Ricotta and melted mozzarella , finished with just the right portion of garlic marinara that the delectable red sauce would cascade when served . Kiss . I ’ m certain there were fights over whose was better , though I was shooed from the kitchen and any discussion .
This attention to cuisine is something dear to me as well as my siblings . Rita , my sister , who is the namesake of my great grandmother Nanny , is a much better cook . I ’ m more of a free spirit , a risk taker but a solid baker , while my brother is super adventurous and creative .
Over the years , beginning with my pregnancy , I took a liking to preparing meals for my family , and I have a keen eye for lasagna . It was the first dinner I made and froze to prep for the new addition . I never follow the recipe , yet I ’ m always asked for it . Spoiler , I don ’ t have one . Somehow Rita 2.0 got her paws on those things , so I just make it up as I go . And now , my son has taken a liking to joining me in the kitchen . Baking is his favorite because he loves cookies . His idea of fun is gathering all the ingredients — particularly the eggs — combining them and asking when the timer will ding .
There is history in food ; there are solace and promise in the music we share with our loved ones . Reflecting on these moments , I realize I ’ m passing on the same affinity to my kid , the same affection for homemade food and quality time . He impatiently waits for the treats to be ready … just as I sat in agony through dinner anxiously waiting to dive into dessert . And he has found a love for rhythm that cannot be taught .
Things may change in ways from generation to generation but continuing or reinvigorating certain aspects may inspire the next legacy . And , well , that ’ s just delicious .
MAY 2022 | 15