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Food was always a big deal to my family. It seemed to be the glue that held us together. I grew up on a lake. We had a picturesque backyard. In the summers, we would eat outside every chance we got. My parents lived in Endicott, NY after they got married and Spiedies were our absolute summer favorite. However no matter the season, Sundays dinners were always pasta dinners. Every Sunday that I can remember, we would go to church, then Mom would get out the big pot and spend the morning making meat sauce.... After that she was off to an open house. One of my jobs was to pick the fresh basil that Dad planted each year at the point. To this day, the smell of fresh basil (or basilico as my Nanny calls it) brings back memories of my childhood. When Mom got home the entire family came together for dinner... including my Nanny. That was all that I knew. Before my mother passed away, I promised her that I would take care of Nanny, which is why every Sunday she comes to our house for dinner.
One day I dream of having my own outdoor oasis- the big open backyard with a farmhouse table, the mismatched chairs and the globe lights. Before next spring, I am hoping to build a covered porch onto our back patio so we can enjoy more meals outside. We get way too much afternoon sun and it just gets too hot in the summers to even try to eat on the patio that the previous owners built. But as it gets cooler, I look forward to many glasses of vino and maybe a few last al fresco meals with my family. And as I was finishing typing this post, I found this cookbook that I received from Mom. How apropos.




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