I’m the product of a typical California upbringing in the 60’s and 70’s. We bought our food at large grocery stores. Canned fruits and veggies and iceberg lettuce were as common as was white bread, PB&J, boxed foods and the frozen dinners that made life easier for large, busy families like ours. Meat was already butchered and packaged, ready to cook. Ground beef was the main ingredient of many recipes. We had lots of hamburgers, steak on special occasions, and mom made great lasagna. In contrast, Stefano’s parents grew up in the Tuscan hills outside of Florence. His grandparents and relatives were hunters and farmers that survived the hardships of war by growing and hunting their own food. Tuscan’s have a rich history of hunting, farming, and foraging the land. There is nothing that stands out more in the differences between our cultural upbringing than the way food is displayed, sold, prepared, and consumed in Italy. While beef, chicken, pork, and turkey were certainly common in my diet, never in my wildest dreams did I imagine to find wild boar, rabbit, porcupine, deer, and even cute little sparrows on my plate. This would be a challenging experience for a picky eater from California. While there were some large grocery stores in Florence, most families shopped at the local stores. For my in-laws each morning was dedicated to acquiring the food for the day. Nonno went to his garden and harvested his seasonal fruits and vegetables. Nonna visited the local mom and pop merchants...the butcher shop, the bakery, the produce kiosk, and other shops that provided her with the staples that she needed each day. Meals were prepared from scratch with fresh ingredients purchased right in their little neighborhood. For me, my first experience gazing into the display window of a butcher shop was a shock that I will never forget. It was like watching a horror movie. The whole chicken that was splayed out in the case stared back at me blankly, it’s clawed feet dangling grotesquely from it’s plucked body. The skinned cat was really a rabbit. And the severed head of a pig with it’s hollowed-out, charcoaled eye sockets and apple in its mouth, was strangely detached from the rest of its roasted corpse while the butcher sliced off pieces for a customer. It became an utterly confusing moment when I was engulfed by the enticing aroma of roasted pig, as I hurried past the open door, too afraid to enter. Though some of the culinary delights that I have experienced in Tuscany were not so delightful for my fussy tastes, I was blessed to have a front row seat to a genius in the kitchen. I will save some of my more challenging food experiences for another time. I wanted to share a classic Tuscan recipe from my mother-in-law. This dish is like coming home for our family. It’s our go-to holiday meal. If I were able to choose the first course of my last meal on Earth, this would be it. Lasagne! No offense to my own mom. She didn’t know any better! Hers is good for American lasagna. But you have never had lasagna until you’ve tasted it made from scratch by a Tuscan mother-in-law, who dearly loved to cook for her family. Making the pasta from scratch is a lengthy, strenuous labor of love and I am shocked at the stamina that this tiny woman in her 80’s had, the last time she was well enough to make it. According to my Apple Watch, I burned 300 calories in 70 minutes as I mixed, kneaded, and rolled out the noodles. I am forever grateful that Nonna had the patience to teach me and I know she would be proud that I am carrying on this tradition with my family.
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About CathyI'm a wife, mother, friend, educator, traveler, creator, tech lover, (and much more) inspired by Brene Brown's call to being vulnerable and daring greatly. Archives
September 2020
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