When two friends are passionate about their heritage and their love of cooking and their recipes ultimately one thing will lead to another.  My dear friend Tonine and I have been talking culinary for years and after comparing and competing we have finally come to a showdown, of sorts.  By the way, she wins or rather her mom, Ida, wins, big time.

I was thrilled to be invited recently to Sunday dinner at Ida’s where she would be making the now famous ravioli on the even more famous (better be included in the will to Tonine) board she uses for everything pasta.  I came with camera and curiosity and neither was disappointed.  I made myself as invisible as is possible for a round girl like me and clicked away.

Ida is formidable in her eighties, she has been cooking her entire life and she continues to this day to go to work in a local school cafeteria.  To watch her work with food is to watch a story being told.  There are so many stories being told on this day not the least of which is love of family, pride of heritage and legacy in the making.

Tonine’s brother Paul, his wife Amy and their two boys, Beau and Bryce came for the “photo shoot” and soon the tiny little apartment was abuzz with chatter and laughter and loudness and teasing and pure love.  Ida loves her family and shows them in completely different ways.  She is still vigilant with her children though they are grown and her grandchildren can do no wrong…because that’s what a Momma and a Nonna does.

The ingredients are ready and the process begins.  Everyone is involved either hands on or with a comment here or there until it comes to the pasta dough, to this day only Ida is kneading and rolling the dough, only her hands know the right consistency and have the right touch.  My guess is that these children make their own pasta in their own homes using the lessons they’ve learned from Ida but in Ida’s house Ida rolls the dough.

It’s a wonderful back and forth between them all, one jumping in when the other jumps out to keep the boys engaged in a way that keeps them out of trouble but in the mix.  When brother and sister stand side by side the quips and the teasing and the love go back and forth and back and forth, it’s a joy to watch something I’m sure they don’t even know they are doing.  All the while Ida is at work, she pauses to get everyone’s attention and keep their wonderful assembly line going.  Finally the ravioli are ready to cook and enjoy.

But first the board must be cleaned and the table cleared.  Tonine volunteer’s to clean the board but Ida declines as she brushes the flour from its surface the look on her face reminisces the many times she’s used it and every story that it might tell.  It is held in reverence as a cherished link to times gone by.

Roused from the reverie Ida finds her way into the kitchen to “cook”, everything she can think of because Italian people can’t help themselves.  The cutlets are fried the pasta water is boiling, the sauce and the vegetables are readied the bread is baked and the wine is poured.

While Ida is in the kitchen the drinks are made, Tonine’s husband Mark joins us and the laughter increases a few more decibels.  This is what Sundays are made of in large families, even when they get a bit smaller there is still an easy flow that settles in on a home for Sunday dinner.

The table is set and the camera and phones are put away.  The TV is off and the eating begins.  The ravioli are large like the opening of the glass they were made with and round and light and flavorful.  They taste of heritage and love and I eat at least three, OK maybe four.  And, of course, a taste of everything else on that table because I certainly don’t want to insult Ida….

We eat, we talk, we laugh, Tonine and I sit side by side, shoulder to shoulder and pass a look that says this is what life is all about. We can’t look for long or the tears might come. Neighbors come and go with ice and cookies and drinks flow and time passes and then I go home.  But I smile all that night and the next day having been welcomed and trusted with the recipe for Ida’s ravioli.  I won’t make them her way, I could never do them justice but I will look forward to the day, hopefully many many years from now, when the board is passed to Tonine and she asks me to come and help her make ravioli.  It will be my privilege to join her to tell this story again, and again, and again.

Thank you Ida, for trusting me with your story.