(A fictional memory of Nonna)
By Amy Patricia Mazzuca
Sunday after Sunday we went to Nonna’s house for lunch. Nonna was almost always found in the kitchen. To cook was how Nonna showed us love and to eat was our way to receive her love.
From the moment we stepped out of the car we smelled the sweet smell of the rich savory succo cooking on the stove. We barely made it up to the front door and Nonna was there greeting all seven of us, waving her wooden spoon in hand, TV blaring Tele-Latino in the background.
“Oh, Bella! Tesoro mio! My treasures, I missa you all weeka long,” she said nearly suffocating us in her bosom as she lifted the youngest clear off the floor. Nonna gave hugs like that; hugs that sent us gasping for breath.
Once inside we made our way into the cucina and scouted out what was for lunch. Round golden rice balls mounded on a platter in the oven; spicy sausages and glistening potatoes in a baking dish; green beans drenched in olive oil and sprinkled with fresh garlic simmered on the stovetop; meaty polpette frying in a scorching hot, oil filled pan.
I hope you enjoyed the first couple of paragraphs of Nonno’s Cucina. If you are interested in reading more or would like the opportunity to view the manuscript for publication please visit my contact page. Thank you.