Tomato Sauce

I’m Italian. 100%, grandparents off the boat, Italian. I hate tomato sauce. What kind of Italian, are you? You might ask, as my grandfather used to in his most loving, accent filled (that I, my mother and sister never heard) way. If love is blind she’s also deaf to accents. But I can’t help disliking tomato sauce. Macaroni and sauce? Not for me. Oil and garlic? Now we’re talking. See, I’m really Italian. You should see my hands move when I speak.

What else makes me Italian? My hair is pitch black. Well, it used to be many moons ago. Now it’s dark brown with lovely caramel highlights. Maybe I should rename them canolli shell color? Canollis. Now that’s Italian heaven.

I sound like I’m from Brooklyn. I’ve never been to Brooklyn.

My mother’s name is Mary. Every Italian family has one Mary. We have twelve. Mary, Maria, Rosemary. Oh, yeah, Rosemary was creative. Snuck that Mary right by us.

I know every superstition ever created. My grandmother has her PhD in superstitions. Don’t put new shoes on the table. Bad luck. Honestly, I’d rather put the new shoes on the table instead of the old, dirty ones. You must leave the house from the same door you came in. Otherwise, bad luck. I’ve tried to trick my granny into going out another door. She’s having no part of that. She can dodge and weave better than a basketball player. She doesn’t even wear sneakers. When my BFF asked me to be godmother to her new baby I was pregnant. My superstitious grandmother told me I couldn’t accept her offer. Bad luck. “Bad luck for who,” I asked. She just shrugged. That explained everything.

I love Italilan bread and the way my crazy family thinks if they yell they get their point across better. I wouldn’t change a thing about the way we add an “a” to the end of every word or our fears of black cats. I love us for who we are and all the pasta filled traditions we share. Just hold the tomato sauce.

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11 thoughts on “Tomato Sauce

  1. Oh can this 100% I-Talian, parents-the-boat girl relate. BTW, my hair is a very dark brown I’m very happy with, as long as I make sure it’s so every few weeks, lol.

    Ah, tomato sauce. I can get into it with meatballs, but not necessarily something I’ll seek. And keep the cannoli, thank you. Every now and again a nice, fresh flaky and creamy sfogliatella works, but only the day it’s made, please.

    When I was pregnant, I wasn’t supposed to put my arms up over my head. Of course, I’d hang them while standing on the narrowest part of the sink just to bust my momma’s chops and freak her out just a little. Don’t forget not taking the newborn out for 40 days and NEVER water your plants during that time of the month!

    Fun post, Stacey! Thnx!

    1. I MEANT: I’d hang CURTAINS in the kitchen while standing on the narrowest strip of counter. You know, the one that borders the sink.

      And Brookyn is overrated, except for food, maybe. 😉

  2. Thanks, Joanna! When I was pregnant if I said I wanted something to eat I was supposed to touch my butt! If I touched anywhere else on my body I’d give my unborn baby a birthmark in that exact place! Lots of short Italian women started screaming, “don’t touch your face!” Ah, relatives.

      1. You know what’s funny? Many people think I’m Jewish! My mother too! Not sure why, but it’s okay. We’re all the same, aren’t we?

      2. When I was in high school, one of the boys in my history class had hair as tightly curled and dark as mine. He was Jewish. Know how many people took us for brother and sister?

        It’s that wavy, curly, dark-haired and fair-skinned look. (Think Tiva on NCIS. Cote DiPablo is from Central or South America and plays an Israeli :)).

        Hey, it works for my Jewish icon Fran Drescher. I’ll take it.

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