I had a nice conversation yesterday with somebody about having an Italian mother, the garden and cooking. That got me to thinking about growing up with an Italian mother, grandmother and all of the pasta that I ate over the years. It seemed that we had pasta at least 2-3 times a week, and always on Sunday. How many years did I spend talking to my grandmother in her kitchen about cooking and food? What fond memories. And going shopping with her and my aunt on a Friday night so that their would be fresh food for the weekend, remembering that refrigerators were much smaller in the 1950s and 60s. Sauce for the Sunday dinner would cook slowly all night with the aroma filling the house.
Today I have turned the job of making sauce over to Susan, and we still have pasta about once a week, sometime more. For the past twenty years I have made pasta, along with bread and pizza. Weekly I’d make bread, buns, bread sticks and pasta or pizza. But Susan complained that she was gaining too much weight and I’d have to cut back. Sadly, I did. I made ravioli twice last year, pizza a dozen times and pita a few times. Oh well, times change.
But the one thing that hasn’t is the garden.
This was the garden two days ago, almost snow free. We’re still getting kale, even when covered with snow. Thyme and parsley are still ready for the taking and chives have started. I’ve tried overwintering rosemary, and we’ll see how that goes. But at that point I was thinking about garlib, tomatoes, basil and green beans.
But yesterday but me back to the reality that this is still February in Michigan. The garden is once again covered with snow. And it’s almost time to head south to visit friends in North Carolina, Florida and Alabama.
More later…
Michael's Place 