Reconnecting in the Kitchen

I was fortunate enough to grow up in a home with not just my parents, but also my paternal Italian grandmother.

I can still taste Sunday dinners. I can still smell the meals she created in her kitchen. There were no real recipes. She cooked what she knew. She cooked by feel and taste.

Once, when I was little, I asked my father about the strings hanging from the iron support beam in our garage. He told me that

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