My Grandmother's Sunday Sauce: A First Time for Everything
No one in my family has ever written down their recipe for tomato sauce. Not in 4 generations. Not on my husband's side. Not on anyone's side.
Why? Totally not necessary. Your mother learned from her mother, and you learned from your mother. It was too simple to bother writing down.
In most Southern Italian homes, particularly in the Northeast where the majority of the wave of immigrants from Southern Italy (and their decendents) settled in the early 20th Century, there was always a pot of sauce on the stove.
In our house, and in all my mother's sisters houses as well.
Then our mothers would do something really foolish. Like leave the Italian bread meant for dinner out on the counter where hungry kids coming in from school could reach it.
A bowl of sauce, some torn bread, maybe a little grated cheese.
Who needs Hot Pockets?
So why write it down now?
One of my clients got held up and was late to a conference call. So I decided to throw a pot sauce together. It was snowing. It's been doing that a lot lately. I wasn't going anywhere. I had 15 minutes and an entire day at home.
When we finally had a chance to get back to each other, I couldn't let her continue to grovel about being late. (She's the client after all, why should she grovel?)
Nancy: I'm so sorry, I called your office instead of the bridge, I've got too much on my desk, and I was on the phone with help desk, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry!
Me: No problem. I got my sauce going while I was waiting.
Nancy: That's what I call multi-tasking!
Me: Yeah, the beauty of working from home.
Nancy: What kind of sauce?
Me: Oh just tomato sauce. You know, 3 ingredients, simmer all day. That kind.
Nancy: Really? Three ingredients?
Me: Ok, maybe six. And water.
If I had been there, I would have taught her. Just like my mother taught me. But she's in Kansas City and I'm in Connecticut, so I thought I would write it down for her.
Nancy, hope you and your family my Grandmother's Sunday Tomato Sauce.
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