CLOSE TO HOME

No matter what source you cite, the definition for the phrase 'Close to Home' boils down to how you are affected physically, personally or emotionally by something that you can strongly relate to. At one time or another, certain sights, sounds or smells have probably conjured up memories and/or mental images that have had a profound effect on your life, just as they have had on mine.

For example, every Friday my family would look forward to my grandmother coming over to spend the day with us. Of course, as much as we loved grandma and her visits...we knew that she would prepare a meal that makes my mouth water to this day, just thinking about it. A pot of spaghetti sauce (or 'gravy' as it was known in my family) simmering on the stove was a sight to behold. The steam rising...the sound of the gravy almost bubbling over the sides of the pot... a slight hiss when a droplet managed to escape and hit the burner on the stove... and of course, that delicious aroma permeating the kitchen as it wafted its way through the rest of the house. These are the sights, sounds and smells that always remind me of those Friday afternoons.

Italian "Gravy"

Grandma's gravy was a magnet for all the kids in my family. We would line up next to the stove, like crows on a power line...waiting patiently for grandma to give each of us a piece of Italian bread dipped in that heavenly sauce (excuse me...gravy).


When she wasn't looking, we would all try to sneak back in line to get another piece. Of course, she would always catch us and pretend to be angry. "Get away from my gravy!! I'm not gonna have enough for the macaroni!" (Note... all pasta excluding ravioli and lasagna was called macaroni in my family). In reality, there was probably enough food to feed a platoon of soldiers, but Grandma loved it when we asked for seconds of that 'homemade gravy bread' and let's face it...sometimes we did succeed in snatching some of it on our own.

On those same Fridays, the entire kitchen table would be covered in flour and dough, rolled out and ready to be turned into ravioli... perfect little pillows of pasta dough and filling. Sometimes, to switch things up...gnocchi would be the pasta of the day...small dumplings made with potato and flour. Traditionally, gnocchi are pressed between the thumb and the tines of a fork to make the characteristic indentations in the dumplings. My mother was good, but grandma was a pro at it and just used her thumbs and skipped the fork altogether.

Grandma Mary and me at the age of 3 in the backyard

My favorite memory is when I insisted on helping her make the gnocchi on one of those Friday visits. I was only 3 years old and fairly coordinated (well, as coordinated as any other 3-year-old), but not enough to roll a piece of dough off a fork, let alone off my thumb. But to keep me out of the way, grandma gave me a small piece of dough to practice with and a couple of hours later...I had made my first and only gnocchi dumpling. It wasn't perfect...it was misshapen and it was all gray from dropping it on the flour several times, but I made it... all by myself. As grandma was preparing to boil the gnocchi that she had made...I handed my little noodle over to her to throw in the pot with all the others. My grandmother didn't want to hurt my feelings, but there was no way that my filthy, little glob of gnocchi would make its way onto the plate of some unsuspecting family member during dinner. She told me she was going to put my noodle in its own 'special pot,' so that she could keep an eye on it. I'm sure the minute I walked out of the kitchen, that poor, little, dirty lump of dough was tossed directly into that 'special pot' also known as the trashcan. So much for my career as grandma's sous chef. I still remember that day, so many years later when my grandmother had patiently taught me how to make gnocchi.

Whenever I am in an Italian restaurant...a really good, Italian restaurant that is... and smell those delicious aromas as they make their way across the dining room... or I see a beautifully plated dish of gnocchi (or any other 'macaroni' for that matter). I think of those Fridays from long ago...cherished memories that always bring me close to home.