by Screamin Mama

Created on: September 11, 2008

Always diligently cooking in her little kitchen, above the streets of Brooklyn, my grandma made the best ravioli in the world. I remember every Sunday dad would pick up my sister and I. He'd get on the Belt Parkway and head west to 52nd Street. We were able to park right out front, by the fire hydrant, the one all the kids on the block used to open in the heat of the summer. How fun it all was. We could smell the tomato sauce stewing the minute we drove up the block. Sunday dinner was cooking in everyone's home.

After our laborious journey up three, steep flights of stairs, we were greeted by Grandma and Grandpa. Millie was a little thing, 4 foot 10, but boy was she spicy! The minute the door opened, it smelled like home sweet home in Sicily. Dad and Grandpa would retreat to the living room to handicap the best horse at the track while grandma, myself and my sister would busy ourselves in the kitchen.

Grandma already had the dough spread over the kitchen table, she knew how my sister and I loved to flour and roll. Once the dough was all stretched out, we would drop spoonfuls of fresh ricotta about an inch apart, in rows of ten across and ten down. It was a big table, long and narrow. Then we would add spinach to some and meat to others. All the while, we would be taking in the sweet smell of basil, garlic and oregano simmering in the sauce.

Sometimes, the steam from the pot would lead me to the window just to the right of the stove. It was the only way out in case of a fire. I was fascinated by the escape - scary yet alluring at the same time. Down below, I could hear the cars drive by, the neighborhood kids playing stick-ball and parents calling them in to wash up for dinner. There were lots of Anthony's, Johnnie's and Jimmy's - or Jim-ootz as they used to say. That was Grandpa's name too.

Once the dough was ready with filling, the three of us would carefully lay the second sheet of rolled out dough on top of it all. Then we would take turns using the crimper, until we had one hundred neat little squares ready to drop in the boiling water, about twenty at a time. When they floated to the top, Grandma would ladle them out. Even though she was tiny, the pot just always seemed too big for me or my sister to mess with. Millie was surely a pro.

After the ravioli was done, everyone washed up for dinner. Then we'd set the table. Dinner plate, salad plate, then a bowl. Two forks and a knife to the right, 2 spoons to the left. There was always a big hunk of parmesan cheese,

• 1
• 2
• Next Page >>