It never ceases to amaze me how food or a scent can bring back a flood of memories. My childhood friend shared a post on Facebook with a photograph of Sfogliatelle pastry. I was instantly taken back to a cool autumn evening in Brooklyn. I was 5 years old, laying in bed after a Sunday dinner of macaroni with meatballs and sweet sausages and hot sausages listening to my parents and grandparents playing cards, sipping their coffee, and eating Italian pastries as they chain smoked cigarettes.
For transparencies sake, my mother is of German and Norwegian decent and my father is of Italian and German decent. Yet we we were steeped in grandpas Italian heritage with Sunday night family dinners followed by coffee and card playing. At the time , the late 1960’s that area of Brooklyn was primarily Italian American.
I could hear them bickering over the cards they were dealt or who messed up a hand as I drifted off to sleep. If I would try and sneak out of bed under the pretense of having to go to the bathroom I would see a cloud of smoke hovering over the kitchen table as the light shown down through the smoke and onto their cups of coffee and their hands holding their cards.
The photo above was that kitchen at a holiday meal as I couldn’t find one of a Sunday night dinner.. I remember that orange kitchen like it was yesterday.
As I write this, I realize that I have been trying to recreate that safe, cozy feeling the rest of my life. All this from a post on how Sfogliatelle is made!.
I would love to hear what some of your memories are. Are they triggered by a food? A scent? A season? A holiday?