Growing up with canned tomatoes brewing in a large pot of Mom’s sauce was a real treat. She made her sauce spicy with red flake peppers and always added meatballs and hot sausage. Mom wasn’t Italian, but we never tasted a better one until we all grew up and made our own sauces. I know there’s a debate over tomatoes being a fruit or vegetable with nutritionists and scientist, but for continuity we will call these red delicious pops of flavor a vegetable.
Around 10 p.m. when the younger siblings were fast asleep, Mom would invite my older brother, Bruce, and I to sample a coffee mug of homemade sauce. We would dunk a slice of bread into the cup and make yummy sounds. Mom knew the next day the spices would blend and the sauce would be even tastier. This right of passage was quite a privilege, we kept secret all these years. Mom was credited also for teaching us to twirl the spaghetti on a spoon and tuck in the ends with each mouthful. I still use a spoon on occasion and think of her.
Whether the tomatoes are cherry, grape or larger, I love them all. However, my husband is not a fan. Last night, I added dried tomatoes in olive oil in the roasted small potatoes. Not only did it give a great color, but wonderful flavor, too. He tried a few before pushing the rest aside. He’s not a fan of my sauce, but I have gotten nice compliments from even Italians saying it was good. One person even said mine was better than his mothers. This week, I made some homemade pesto, and froze my garden green gold into ice cube trays. Now I can add a burst of basil all winter long.
What Italian dish comes to your mind? Tonight, I’m making goulash with diced tomatoes.
Buon mangiare e. Love-Deena
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