I remember watching my grandmother cook in her little kitchen. The big black cast iron pan she cooked everything in, the wooden Castanetsthat hung from the cupboard handle. I remember the silverware, and the drawers that no longer slid well. I remember the refrigerator that had ice build up on the inside, I remember when grandma got her dishwasher and then her first microwave.
As a girl I always thought she was old. She wasn't. She was a very young grandmother; in age and actions. She passed away when I was 24, I would love to see her again.
I made marinara sauce today, with all the tomatoes from my garden. I did not learn to cook Italian meals from my grandmother. I remember some of the things she did. We always ate Christmas dinner at midnight on Christmas Eve, she always had a bottle of wine in the pantry and you always test the marinara on bread.
As I stand in my little kitchen, loving the memories of my grandmother, I tested my sauce on bread. It is good. Grandma may have been proud.
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