Gnocchi! I would eat them every day if I could!
As a boy, I thought my grandmother was a magician! I mean, how could someone take eggs from the coop, flour from the mill, and tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, onions, peppers, parsley and basil from the garden – and turn them into a Sunday meal that had people squealing in delight?!
And I mean that quite literally! On Gnocchi Sunday, with the scent of sauce wafting out the windows, neighbors and friends would find their way to our door. My grandmother, of course, would invite them in for a “taste” which usually meant a heaping plate of gnocchi, meatballs, salad and homemade bread. It was not uncommon to find one set of people at the table, another in the living room napping after their first go-round, and some others approaching the porch. Gnocchi Sunday was an all-day affair.
And that squealing in delight part? My Pap did it. Aunt Sophia, too. The elders. The babies. And the strangers who became friends. You see, there were but a few words spoken at my grandmother’s table on Gnocchi Sunday. Mmmm. Yum. Yeah. Wow. OhOhOh. More, please!
She was fully happy to oblige.
And now I’m practicing some of that “magic!”
I hope to see you at My Grandmother’s Table!