Gass - Heirloom Kitchen

Contents

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HEIRLOOM KITCHEN . Copyright 2019 by Anna Francese Gass. Photographs copyright 2019 by Andrew Scrivani. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Recipe testing by Monita Buchwald

Food styling by Alexandra Utter

Personal ephemera and photographs used with permission from each respective family

Published in 2019 by

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Cover design by Laura Palese Design

Cover photograph by Andrew Scrivani

Digital Edition APRIL 2019 ISBN: 978-0-06-294663-8

Version 03292019

Print ISBN: 978-0-06-284422-4

Library of Congress Control Number: 20199322423

To my family

Phil, Alessandra, Veronica, Dante, Mom, Dad, Luciana, Chris, Gigi, and Maxie

Everything I accomplish is due to you holding me up, working it out, and cheering me on.

Contents

This story begins, as many great ones do, with a meatball.

I GREW UP in an Italian-American household in Rhode Island, which meant I lived my outward life as an American, but at home, I was surrounded by the sounds and smells of Italy. When I came home from school, there was usually something simmering on the stove as my mother asked me about my day, and our weekly meal rotation included all the dishes my mother grew up eating in Italy. Because she was brought up on home-cooked meals, she didnt understand the concept of premade food or the frozen food aisle of the grocery store.

However, after endless requests for American food from my sister and me, she obliged. One day, she begrudgingly threw a frozen chicken pot pie in the oven, and we waited impatiently and excitedly for it to brown. Finally, it landed on my plate with a thud. We tentatively picked at it with our forks, only to realize it was crisp on the outside and frozen solid on the insideinedible!

To this day, we chuckle about that childhood memory, because my mother can cook a six-course meal from scratch without batting an eyelash, but ask her to make a processed, frozen dinner and she will fail every time. She had no interest in exploring the fast, prepackaged foods readily available to her after moving to the United States. Instead, she viewed her new American identity as an extension of her Italian identity, and she was intent on preserving the food traditions of her homeland, no matter how laborious they were in comparison to the meal practices of her new home.

Cooking her food is a large part of my mothers identity. She is known for making delicious, home-cooked dishes that were taught to her in a tiny countryside kitchen in Calabria by her mother, Grazia, and grandmother, Angela, who were each taught those recipes by their own mothers and grandmothers in turn. Each recipe has a story, a lesson, and, of course, a delicious taste. Although I grew up a world away, visiting my grandmother in Italy always felt so familiar to methe same aromas, ingredients, and methods used in our home in the United States had origins on my grandmothers stove. My mother carried all of it in her head and heart when she left her homeland for a better life abroad. These recipes were her heirlooms.

Its no surprise that I felt that cooking has always been in my blood, and when I got older, I became a professional chef and recipe tester. After graduating from the French Culinary Institute, I could expertly julienne a carrot, bake a perfect souffl, and work the line during a slammed dinner service without breaking a sweat. My interest in the origins of food led to my focus on food media, and I began working in test kitchens for any media outlet that would hire me. I became immersed in writing, testing, and perfecting recipes.

It wasnt until one day, not so long ago, while I was standing in my moms basement watching her make meatballs, that a light bulb went off: Why do I not know how to make my moms meatballs? She has made them countless times throughout my lifemy grandmother in Italy made them before herand yet, I had no idea about the spice blend, number of eggs, or how many cups of bread crumbs were needed. It hit me that despite all of my work in professional kitchens and all of the time Id spent documenting the recipes of others, I did not have a record of my own familys heritage dishes.

I decided in that moment that I needed to start writing down all of my mothers recipes, the ones she makes for us at our weekly Sunday night get togethers, all from memory. Preserving these recipesfor my family, for my childrenwould ensure a piece of my mothers heritagemy heritagewould remain alive for generations to come.

At first, my mother didnt understand the need. Always humble, she never felt her recipes were special or extraordinary in any way. They were just the means to keep her family healthy and well fed. But after spending so many nights together working to make sure every ingredient was correctly represented, she began to take immense pride in her recipe collection. Calling me in the morning to go over what we should cook next became a daily ritual. She directed with a spoon as I furiously wrote down every step, forcing her to stop and measure, using a timer to determine cook time so no detail would be forgotten. I became obsessed with getting every recipe perfect. The project not only became a special bonding experience for us, but I believe it made my mother realize how important her meals really are to our family. Through them, she taught us who she is and where she came from without saying a word. We learned about our heritage through our stomachs.