When I was a kid, I used to sit at the kitchen table on a weekend morning watching my mother chop mounds of onion, celery and carrots to begin her Sunday meat sauce. Soon the aroma of the onion gently sautéing in olive oil had my mouth watering which quickly resembled drooling. Mom patiently waited until the onions had softened to add in the carrots and celery and it was at that point that I was finally allowed to help stir the pot.

Continue reading A Bolognese and a Battuto at Our Italian Table.

Many, many years ago, I imagine our great grandfather, Gaspare Becci, staring out over the baby blue Adriatic sea as he slowly made his way up the gentle hill to Scapezzano in Le Marche.  Was he perhaps returning from a day of hard labor near the sea? Had my grandfather, who spent his days in America as a stonemason, carried on the tradition from his father in

Italy? I imagine Gaspare returning home, tired from the long day’s work, to find his wife, Filomena, preparing a simple meal on the fire, as she also tended to her children.

Continue reading A Magical Silver Thread: Fresh Cod in ‘Potacchio’ at Our Italian Table.