Lynne was on my mind when I saw this tiny red rosebud today. It’s for you, Linne.
Every two months, my husband makes homemade spaghetti sauce and it’s not the kind you get in most Italian restaurants. It’s rich. When you pour it over pasta there are no fat chunks of tomato or watery puddles on your plate. A supply that will last us through Thanksgiving and Christmas simmered on the stove today for several hours. The pot is loaded with sauce (we call gravy) derived from his Mother’s recipe and lots of garlicy meatballs, mild Italian sausage, and pork bones. He begins his cooking before sunrise, usually. The aroma wakes me.
His Italian family includes several restaurant owners in downtown Baltimore’s famous Little Italy where you can have a great meal and watch a bocce ball game under night lights. Many of the best cooks have passed on over the years, including his Mother, aunts and uncles, and their famous meals have been taken over by newer recipes and menus. Little Italy is timeless and will always please.
The water temperature is below 50 at night but I fed them a little anyway. Already, they are sluggish.
Very sweet. I remember fretting over not having Gold Finches when my feeders were new last winter. They know me now!
Oh, I guess thirty minutes slipped by quickly when I heard the screen door open…ugh. The messy Italian cook let the dogs out. I stomped my foot!