These are my favorite types of mornings. Snow is gently falling, covering the faded green grass with the lightness of soft white silk. And from my kitchen, the smells of fresh gluten free bread and homemade chai. On these days, I think I can be in my home forever, without discontent. Happily creating love in the air by way of my birthright as an Italian American...food.
Food is memory for me. If you ask me which is more crisp in my memory: my first kiss or my first experience being in the kitchen with my Poppop, I answer the latter. My first kiss was outside of my high school with a boy two years older than me but definitely not two years wiser. It was average. I was in eighth grade and behind in the kissing department. I just wanted a first kiss. I was impatient and uninspired about the whole thing. And what resulted was uninspired. But my first experience in the kitchen with my Poppop, I was inspired. Inspired by his love of food. I think he transferred his love of food to me that morning.
First he made me scrambled eggs, with enough butter that you could taste it in every bite. Yellow from the yoke and enhanced by the most exemplary fat created. And after the last bite of egg hit my mouth, he quickly removed my plate and said
" Alright Petunia, lets make some meatballs."
It felt like my right of passage or my initiation into the kitchen. I thought maybe we would have a handshake or a button or something to make it official. But what made it official was the experience I was about to have. He picked me up and propped me on the pale green linoleum countertop that still exists in my grandparent's kitchen today. A flurry of ingredients made their way from the fridge. Ground pork, beef and veal. Eggs, breadcrumbs, milk, salt and pepper. It was all there. Everything we needed to make the perfect batch of homemade meatballs. I had eaten them before and sometimes I even replaced my morning eggs with morning meatballs. But helping to make these was like receiving a new toy under the Christmas tree. A toy that looked so interesting but you were not quite sure what to do with it. But you loved it because it was new and curious. With my eyes opened wide, anxious to create, we started to put all of the ingredients into a bowl. There was not much science to the whole process. My grandfather cooked by instinct, measurements were second to his distinct intuitive nature. It was so natural to be in the kitchen with him; I was elated to be part of the process.
This is where my love of food began and it still continues to this day. And our relationship only grew deeper from that moment. He was my special somebody that I thought no man would ever live up to. I would say to him "I will only end up with a man who is just like you, Poppop." You can imagine this proved difficult over the years of my life. But I did find someone who resembles him as much as I could ever hope for. And throughout my life, my grandfather and I continue to connect through food. Food is how he shows me love and how I show the people in my life that I love them.
It felt like my right of passage or my initiation into the kitchen. I thought maybe we would have a handshake or a button or something to make it official. But what made it official was the experience I was about to have. He picked me up and propped me on the pale green linoleum countertop that still exists in my grandparent's kitchen today. A flurry of ingredients made their way from the fridge. Ground pork, beef and veal. Eggs, breadcrumbs, milk, salt and pepper. It was all there. Everything we needed to make the perfect batch of homemade meatballs. I had eaten them before and sometimes I even replaced my morning eggs with morning meatballs. But helping to make these was like receiving a new toy under the Christmas tree. A toy that looked so interesting but you were not quite sure what to do with it. But you loved it because it was new and curious. With my eyes opened wide, anxious to create, we started to put all of the ingredients into a bowl. There was not much science to the whole process. My grandfather cooked by instinct, measurements were second to his distinct intuitive nature. It was so natural to be in the kitchen with him; I was elated to be part of the process.
This is where my love of food began and it still continues to this day. And our relationship only grew deeper from that moment. He was my special somebody that I thought no man would ever live up to. I would say to him "I will only end up with a man who is just like you, Poppop." You can imagine this proved difficult over the years of my life. But I did find someone who resembles him as much as I could ever hope for. And throughout my life, my grandfather and I continue to connect through food. Food is how he shows me love and how I show the people in my life that I love them.
But my process to make meatballs these days is a bit different from that morning with my grandfather. A little over a year ago I found out I no longer could have gluten; that is the protein in wheat, barley and rye. Also by way of cross contamination it can effect oats as well. Imagine my surprise and utter denial to realize what was making my body sick most of my life was a staple in my Italian American diet. I was completely dumbfounded. How could an Italian girl not have pasta? Pizza? Canolis? But at the same time how could I continue to feel so terrible, lethargic and dull? I had to make a choice; the food I loved or my health. And I chose my health.
I completely cleaned out my body and eliminated gluten from my diet entirely. I had to reinvent myself in many ways, and most significantly in the food I created and ate. And the only choice I really had to make was to not eat gluten. I still eat meatballs, pasta and pizza. Almost everything I remember eating from my childhood I eat today but with one subtle difference, no gluten.
I completely cleaned out my body and eliminated gluten from my diet entirely. I had to reinvent myself in many ways, and most significantly in the food I created and ate. And the only choice I really had to make was to not eat gluten. I still eat meatballs, pasta and pizza. Almost everything I remember eating from my childhood I eat today but with one subtle difference, no gluten.
This process has been a blessing not a curse. Like the feeling I had when I made my first meatball, I looked at this opportunity as a gift. A brand new shiny toy that awed me, scared me but ultimately filled me up with a child-like curiosity to explore and grow.
So welcome to my space to be curious, create, explore and grow.
