Four Generations of Pasta Makers

(This post first appeared here three years ago today on my daughter's 22nd birthday. You do the math. (I have a baby who is a quarter century old! Okay, I did it for you. I was a Math major for a while, after all!))

There are a few threads of tradition that weave through four generations of women in my family. A few skipped a generation, like baking for instance, but my Grandma Theresa and my daughter held tightly to each of them.

My great grandmother taught my grandma to make pasta, which everyone in the Italian neighborhood did on Sundays. While my grandma didn’t carry on the tradition in exactly the same way, she shared her talent for pasta making with my mom and me.

As I crawled the floors of a Cicero three flat, Grandma Theresa and her daughter made ravioli for Easter or Christmas and sometimes just because “we had a taste for them”. When I was old enough, my job was the “forker” or sealing those pillow y bundles of delicate deliciousness. Mom was always surprised because grandma never let her in the kitchen to help.

My grandma had the world’s best Italian arms seemingly made for kneading dough. You know the kind... the big, jiggly ones. It wasn’t until I was in high school that grandma determined I had the stamina to partake in the kneading. It seemed like it took hours but in reality was probably only 30 minutes. It was extremely tiring.

As a young adult working and always trying to make ends meet, grandma would call and ask me to take her to the market. I knew what that meant. She was inviting me over to make a pasta feast for two. We always made cavatelli, meatballs, and a big salad. Dessert was inevitably orange or raspberry Jello and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. I took leftovers in Tupperware home to my apartment which would last me days.

Twenty-two years ago today, another woman came into our world and it wasn’t too long before my daughter crawled on the floor of her great grandma’s apartment as three older generations kneaded, filled and forked ravioli. Homemade pasta was among the first solid foods my daughter ate.

Grandma Theresa passed away when Amanda was 3 1/2 years old but says she remembers her.

Today, three generations of women continue to make ravioli together several times a year. Not only because “we have a taste for it” but it’s a way to keep the spirit of a mother, grandmother, and great grandmother alive. 

So when my daughter invited her college friends to spend the night at our home yesterday to celebrate her 21^st +1 birthday (a day early), she asked if they could make ravioli. She thought it would be fun and said she had a taste for it.

I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that someday I’ll be making pasta with my granddaughter (not too soon though, Amanda). And I hope for at least a few years, she’ll crawl on the floor while a great grandmother, grandmother and mother knead, fill and fork ravioli.

Happy birthday darling daughter.

You have grown into an exceptionally beautiful, intelligent, passionate, fun and kind woman of whom I am exceedingly proud.

(Who'd have known she'd be attending this university many years later and making awesome friends)

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It’s open grid week over at Yeah Write. Please come over and join us for Thanksgiving week! You won’t be disappointed with anything you read over there, I promise!