I Love Pasta

Maria Gagliano
English 101
Adam Weinstein
28 September 2007

Long, shoe-string noodles smothered in a bath of red sauce and meat balls, covered with mounds of Italian parmesan cheese to satisfy a rumbling stomach. Sounds real Italian, right? Well, that would be because it is, and especially in my family. I was born into a line of full blooded Italians, my great grandmother being the one who came over to America at the age of ten. Italian culture differs from others; Italians carry on and pass down many traditions and are very big into family time and togetherness. We love to hug and kiss, even those who are not in our family. We can be very loud with everyone trying to talk over the person next to them, but mainly because there is so many of us in a family. While all families tenderly love one another, they don’t have the mafia to back them up if a family member gets hurt. Okay, I am just kidding, but we do stand strongly behind one another in times of need. We sure know how to dance and have fun, and I know all of my friends love being around my crazy family, especially our weddings, but that’s a whole other story. One thing is for sure and that is that we definitely know how to prepare and demolish some good ‘ole Italian food. At some point or another, everyone has experienced or should experience the deliciousness of spaghetti and meatballs. This commonly known entrée goes by a different name in my family; we call it pasta and sauca, Italian for sauce. I come from the typical, loud Italian family that enjoys spending time with one another mainly by sharing a huge family meal of pasta and sauca full of laughter and excitement with memories that are sure to leave an everlasting impression on an outsider.

After a morning of church, everybody’s stomach is rumbling and grumbling to be fed, and almost all families have their traditional Sunday eating spot. Well, this includes my big family as well. It has been a tradition of ours way before I was even born that every Sunday my whole family, aunts, uncles, and cousins goes to my grandparent’s house for pasta and sauca. Memories of this weekly tradition travel way back to when I was a little girl. I remember how I used to put up a good, clean fight with my mom and grandmother against wearing the “I love pasta” bib that they just thought was so cute. This ancient bib, that still floats around in one of my grandmother’s kitchen drawers, has been worn by her four children and all nine of her grandchildren at one point or another.

As soon as I step foot into my grandmother’s house, I am mesmerized by the most pleasant fragrance that all noses should experience, and who could forget the welcoming hug and kiss from my grandparents. It is almost as though I can smell the preparation and hours of cooking my grandmother labored into creating this lunch for my family and me. The fresh blend of seasonings, oregano, basil, garlic, and pepper, in the hot sauca with the home-made meatballs floating around in it stands vividly in my mind. At the mere thought of these spices coming together, my nose actually begins to twitch and search for the food. All meatballs taste different according to the creator because all Italians have their own way of adding and mixing ingredients as far as amount goes. Meatballs are made of hamburger meat but have their own distinct taste and taste nothing close to a hamburger, and I can taste the mix of the breadcrumbs and the parmesan cheese that was rolled together to get such a wonderful creation. On occasions, my grandmother will throw some pork or tasty Italian sausage in the big pot of sauca, delivering an extra kick of flavor that my taste buds are always ready to welcome. The bubbling of the pasta in the boiling water tells me that the delicious meal is almost ready, and my mouth is watering as I continue to wait. Although the pasta is the only store bought product in my grandmother’s meal, the homemade sauca makes up for it and gives a great flavor to the plain pasta. Once the food is ready, I am the first one to jump in the line that my grandmother has set up for all of us because just being able to smell the food has gotten to the point where I would consider it a tease and when it is finally time to eat, I am more than ready to take charge. I barely give myself a chance to sit down before my anxiousness gets to me, and I begin to eat what sits on my plate. My favorite type of pasta is the long, skinny noodle because it is the most fun and entertaining to eat. Through my years of pasta eating, I have become accustomed to the slurping of the long noodle in order for the whole string to make into your mouth. As I slurp it leaves just a little splatter of sauca on my face, and I just let my family know that I was “saving it for later.” The noise generated from the slurping is hilarious, and I am sure that everybody has had their own share of slurping experiences, whether it be in their own home or at a visit to say, the Olive Garden.

Yes, the Olive Garden does indeed serve Italian food, but it is simply just not the same as my dear grandmother’s. When one grows up around a certain thing, they become very accustomed to the way that is done. I grew up around my grandmother’s Italian home cooking, and when I go to Italian restaurants, I have a certain level of expectations to be met. I personally do not like Olive Garden because when I eat there I can taste the difference between the food there and my grandmothers. The Olive Garden’s pasta and sauca delivers a sweeter taste, almost as if they used too much sugar in the sauce. There is not enough pepper or perhaps too much garlic. Maybe it is the fact that it is not a woman with years of experience or with family recipes that were passed down through generations in the kitchen at Olive Garden, but whatever it is, my taste buds know it is just not right. I wish every non-Italian family could have the chance to experience a real Italian meal cooked by an Italian family rather than cooks who do not know a thing about real Italian food. Maybe my grandmother should get a job at Olive Garden, and show people what they are missing and show those cooks just how it’s done.

When I think of Sunday’s, the unforgettable aroma of my grandmother’s kitchen is the first thing that is brought to mind along with memories of certain Sunday afternoons. A good time is always on the menu with my family. We begin with sharing stories about our week and what may be new in our lives, as if we do not already know, occasionally watch home videos together, and even play a little bit of back yard football after we are done eating. My dad is one of the biggest kids in our family and he loves to play football whenever my cousins and I do. One time in particular, my dad was jumping up to catch the football, came back down with ball in hand and grin on his face, but before he could stop himself he ran straight into an electricity box poking out of the ground, hit his manhood and did a front flip onto the concrete below him. After a delay of rolling around, he stood up holding his hurt possessions, and laughed at himself as he said that that was the last time he would be playing that game. This is still a memory that is brought up around the table in case a good laugh is needed. When I think of those kinds of fun memories, it almost makes me sad because I cannot be there every weekend like I used to be able to do.

Making the transition to move to Tuscaloosa and live on my own has made a huge impact on my life. The weekends that I cannot make it home for our Sunday lunches cause heartache and frustration to me because all I want to do is spend time with my family. Loneliness or being homesick is a factor that affects many students who are away at college and away from their family as well. This is something that must be learned how to be dealt with over time, but for those who love being around their family have to cope with it now whether or not they feel ready. I am slowly, but surely, getting used to not seeing my family twenty-four seven for laughter and delicious meals.

Pasta and sauca on Sunday afternoons is me being with my family, and getting to spend time with those that I love. It is something I have grown up around, grown to love and share with those closest to me. The importance of family plays a huge role in my life. I am very thankful for how close knit I am with my family. I do not for one second take it for granted the kind of love my family has for one another, and having pasta and sauca on Sunday’s is just another excuse for us to all be together. “I love pasta.”