Everything I do....everything I plan.....everything I think about planning....every show I watch on TV (well, except for the Christmas movies) revolves around the food. Isn't that how real life is?
Maybe it's just an Italian thing.
I thought about having a food blog to share recipes....collect recipes.....tweek recipes.....you get the picture.....all about recipes....and then I thought "well, you can't have a blog about simple stuff....." BUT LOW AND BEHOLD TRISHA YEARWOOD DOES! Not a blog....but an ENTIRE SHOW ON THE FOOD NETWORK. She stole one of Paula Dean's recipes....renamed it....and tried to pass it off as her own. She made my sister's "saltine candy". She knows my SISTER?
Nothing to do with ANYTHING, but how cute is this bum? (Greg) In undies? Watering my plants??
(My Christmas clock just chimed....which is the only source of CHRISTMAS music left in my house since CABLE so selfishly cut off the channel that plays it from November until yesterday....and XM cut off BOTH Christmas stations on NYE! Now, back to the issue at hand....food)
Growing up, Sunday dinner was started on Saturday. Gram Farulla would get out the semolina flour, make the well.....add the eggs......and then we would hand crank it through the pasta maker. (All Italians should have skinny arms due to the excessive CRANKING of the pasta machine....but then they came out with ELECTRIC ONES). THEN, we'd spread it out on the dining room table on a cotton cloth and let it dry over night. My mother (very Irish) would joke that Gram Farulla would give a different recipe to different people. She'd say "I just heard your grandmother give your Aunt Barbara a different meatball recipe". (we were so lucky to have Gram live IN the same house, but the downfall was that you could hear her giving out the recipes.....well, catch her lying, really) But in her defense, Italian's don't USE recipes. Nothing is written down. Everything is "half a glass of this"......"a pinch of that".I taught my kids at a very young age that their hands were "Italian measuring spoons". And they are! ALSO, there are no set ingredients.....it's whatever you have in the fridge. Although, we did seem to ALWAYS be going to the market. Something I do myself.....6 out of 7 days a week.
These two look just like Gram. Well, she had less hair.
Gram also taught me how to whistle. She didn't KNOW she was teaching me. She would breathe in and out of her mouth while she was making the bed. She would make this little "whistling" sound and I would MIMIC her. I was the baby of the family....I could do NO wrong. Which is why she also put up with me hiding around corners and jumping out and scaring her.....with a heart condition that I paid NO mind to. The memories of Gram are ENDLESS. She had a friend Maria Viola that would call her and TALK NON STOP for an hour. No breaks. Gram would put the phone down on the couch cushion and crochet. Every few minutes, she'd pick the receiver up and say "aya....aya...aya". If she had to get up to do something, we would do it for her. No harm. No foul.
My Officer Baby with Miss USA and Miss Universe!
So, Gram would make her "well" with the flour, add the eggs in the middle, a little water.....a little olive oil...a little salt....and then mix...."yeazy, yeazy" she'd tell me.....and that's the recipe! See? Simple.
Want it in recipe form? Here you go:
Grandma Farulla's Pasta
"Make-a the well with the semolina" about 4 cups
Add eggs....about 6
A little oil
A little water
A pinch of salt
Better?
Here's what I grew up looking at
If it didn't go THROUGH the pasta machine...........
IT GOT ROLLED BY HAND! Into LITTLE TINY PIECES....call Gnocchi.
We loved every minute of that...and I miss it so much. I sometimes wish my kids could have experienced "the Italian" kitchen on a Saturday morning....but they get my version of it. I don't "hand cut" ravioli......or make my own sausage......or roll and deep fry my own CANOLI shells.....but I do love to have a pot of sauce on....the smells of the garlic and onion bring the memories rushing back in.
He shares my love of food....and this is probably when the WEIGHT problem started!
When my kids were little they thought I slept in the kitchen. It was the LAST place they saw me before they went to bed, and the first place they saw me when they woke up. I'm happiest in the kitchen. It's where I belong. It's where I do my "thing". It's the heart of my home.....because FOOD is what makes me....me!
Again, nothing to do with the blog....but he FELL ASLEEP STANDING UP!
He probably ate too much.
(Greg, again!)
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