Sunday, February 26, 2012
Growing up Irish/Italian then marrying what my Grandpa called an FBI, Full Blooded Italian, macaroni on Sunday was not an option. And yes, we called it macaroni not pasta. Meatballs, sausage and neckbones would float happily in my sauce that was graced with onion, garlic, olive oil, basil, oregano and rosemary. As you can imagine that sauce pot was the gathering place for anyone with a piece of Italian bread in hand for dipping.
The size and shape of the macaroni could change each Sunday but never the sauce pot. Sometimes we'd make cavatelli from scratch and other times we'd buy macaroni imported from Italy. My kids love the home made gnocci the best as do I and part of the joy is in the making of this tradition Sunday meal.
As I travel along my healthier road I have realized that white flour macaroni does not hold my taste buds or attention the same way whole wheat macaroni does. It's like eating air, no taste or texture and it does not fill me up. Please don't tell my family though, I'd be considered a traitor to my heritage.
Whole wheat pizza is the only Za for me. Load on the veggies and my Irish eyes are smiling. My Grandpa would be blowing in his box if he knew. Funny how my kids have adapted to eating better, healthy and whole wheat too. They are grown and flown but when we do get together for Dago Sunday it's a modified version that we all love.