Some things are sacred. Like simmering sauce on Sunday afternoon! At the heart of every Italian family is the tradition of Sunday dinner. In my family, it always took place at my grandmother’s house. The smell of simmering sauce hit me the moment I got out of the car and lingered as I approached the front steps. Once inside I headed straight for the kitchen to sneak a meatball and test the sauce. The sauce, or gravy, depending on the region your family is from, was the base for the entire meal. It’s the compliment to your pasta and meatballs as well as Gnocchi’s, Roasted Chicken and Risotto. My mother’s side of the family was from Southern Italy (they called it sauce), while my father’s side was from the North (they called it gravy), so my brothers and I grew up loving and appreciating both equally.

No matter how small the house, and my grandmother’s house was small, there was always room for family, friends and a few drop-ins. Dinner was often served in the late afternoon and lasted for hours as we lingered around the table talking and laughing. If you happened to miss a week, and it was rare if you did, you not only missed a wonderful meal, but you most definitely missed out on the latest town scuttle.

The dinner table was where we connected. It’s where we laughed and cried and learned about our family history and about each other. It’s not only where I learned how to cook but where I learned how to navigate the highs and lows of a big, loud and loving family. Sunday Dinner was the bond that kept us together.