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Growing up in an Italian-American household was, for me, pretty special. My mother, Gina, an immigrant from Calabria, held on to so many of her family's traditions that at times, regardless of the fact that I was living in the United States, our home felt like part of Italy.
To this day, my mother only speaks to me in Italian, and our conversations are, for the most part, in her mother tongue. And most of those conversations are about food. For us, food — Italian food — is an important part of our lives.
My mom Gina grew up on a farm where the fruits of their labor directly turned into the food on the table, and wasting any of it was unacceptable. Every day was “Thanksgiving” because times were tough, so food — and how it found its way onto the table —was a holy matter. One of the greatest lessons my mother taught me in the kitchen is to cook what you have on hand, and to never let anything go to waste.
So, when I take a perfect little arancini(意大利饭团)out of the hot oil. I am immediately transported back to my childhood: I am a little girl getting off the bus and running through the back door to the smell of the food. This small snack symbolizes so many important tenements(经济公寓)in my life about my heritage(传承)through food.
Heritage food is Sunday dinner with the family. When we preserve and recreate dishes like that, we feel a sense of pride and also a sense of continuity. Heritage food is the love we receive from our parents and grandparents, and it's the love we in turn give to our children and grandchildren. Heritage food is food that makes you feel safe and protected wherever and whenever you eat it.
Eating arancini, and all the other recipes my mother continues to make here in the U.S. after leaving Italy, allow her to teach me who I am, where I come from, and why I should be proud of it all.