The Sugar Bowl
A Tribute to Rosie with Love
April 16, 2020
This is the story of the best day of my life. The day of my most proud (lifelong goal) achievement. My day of “crowning glory.” It’s the story of how I was finally tapped to make sauce in my Nana’s kitchen. Any of us who have had children, and in my case I have had three, beautiful, accomplished, well-adjusted, contributors to society, blah blah blah children, know that the right thing to say here is “oh of course, the days my children were born. Those were the best days, the most beautiful moments…” and this story would end there. Well those mothers do not have Italian grandmothers. Anyone who has ever spent even a day under the influence of an Italian Grandma, even if you are a guest for a few hours, knows that just being allowed to enter the kitchen for a few moments while any cooking was happening is an honor. I was visiting Nana with aforementioned amazing children and she was puttering around. You know the kind of puttering I’m talking about, “Saturday cleaning.” An event in and of itself. Curtains were strippoed off windows, laundry was ironed and folded and the place smelled like a combo of Mr. Clean and another distinct smell I never could truly identify or replicate. It smelled like Nana. You all know the smell. It smelled like LOVE.
The kids were all tumbling around on the floor watching TV and Nana turned to me and said, “Katherine, put on some sauce.” It was a simple statement. Not a question, just a directive. Time stopped. The kids stopped tumbling. My husband turned to me with a look of panic and slowly mouthed, “What…did…she…just…say?” In that moment his world was teetering. Pass that torch to Katherine? And by the way, “just put on the sauce?” I was standing there on that incredibly clean carpet (how did she do it? Surgery could be performed in that apartment. The EPA doesn’t hold a candle to the standards) paralyzed. I was called to duty. Pick up your ammo Katherine. You have been called to the front lines. The chips are down!
I’d like to think I’m the “chips are down” kind of girl. Emergency art project due tomorrow at 8AM. Where’s the felt? I’m your girl. Pipes exploded under the sink in a 100 year old home (a story for another day)… Where’s the PVC and clamp? I’m your girl. Need some cash for bail (definitely a story for another day). I’m your girl. Make Nana’s sauce on a Saturday afternoon for the family? At Nana’s house? Under her supervision? In her kitchen? With the pot that is as old as her wedding vows without a handle (you all know the one). With all the relatives who have passed before us watching? I DON’T THINK SO!
Nana turned to see what was taking so long. “Sauce…Katherine…all you need is in the cupboard…” I don’t know what else she said. I think I had a slight blackout. I turned to the kitchen (which was literally five feet away. It’s amazing all the big things that happened in Nana’s small place) and got to work.
I was determined. OK inventory… garlic, olive oil… check… canned tomatos. Check. As I worked through the ingredients (which I can share as she is now gone, but somehow I think it might come back to haunt me) I started to feel a little more confident. I can DO this… It’s just sauce. I’m not performing brain surgery for goodness sake (again could have happened in that kitchen as previously stated). All the ingredients go into the pot. The stove is turned on. Oh! Last ingredient…Wow. Lucky I didn’t forget – it’s the most important ingredient! THREE TABLESPOONS OF SUGAR. Not teaspoons, which any normal cook would use, we are Italian for goodness sake – TABLESPOONS. Fortunately, there’s a sugar bowl right here by the coffee pot (which always had hot coffee no matter what time of day. It was a bottomless pot too – how did she do that? But I digress…)
In goes the sugar… lid goes on the pot. I walk out of the kitchen calmly (or maybe not so calmly) exclaiming, “Sauce is on!” I did it! I had accomplished greatness! I HAD ARRIVED! I was tapped by the world’s greatest sauce-making cook & cleaning master Grandma and I was the “chips are down” girl. Kids resumed playing. Chris popped a beer (again always cold, always plentiful, always in the back of the fridge) and Nana was still puttering.
Enter Aunt Dolly – Aunt Dolly’s arrivals at Nana’s house were always an event. The kids jumped up bestowing all of the usual hugs and kisses and chattering away with her about all of their latest doings. Aunt Doll is always interested in our goings on. Even if you are telling her about your latest oil change, she will ask for details and make it seem as though spending time with you and hearing about your oil change are the most important events of her day. She has an uncanny way of showing you that you are loved with and without words. This must be a Simonetta family trait. Those of us who are here to carry on need to remember to slow down and let others know they are loved. It only takes a moment to share the gift of love. On this day I was going to need that love… Aunt Doll turns to me and says, “I didn’t know Rosie was making sauce today?” Feeling like I had conquered the Universe, I confidentally said, “Nana didn’t make the sauce… I DID!” Aunt Dolly stopped talking to the kids and turned to me (same look that Chris had on repeat) and said innocently, “Oh Katherine! How wonderful! Let me taste it…I’m not going to stay, and no need to get up… I’m just going to…” Lid comes off. “… give a little… taste…” Silence.
Nothing. Silence. Oh this can’t be good. In that instant I’m running through the ingredients in my mind… garlic, olive oil. Check. Canned tomatos. Check. Salt. Pepper. Sugar…
“It’s a little salty.” WHAT??? Nana comes up for air from her puttering mania and stands there (looking completely put together BTW. Like she could change her shoes and go off to church. How DID she do that?). Chris’s look changed to compassion and the kids stopped moving and looked at me as if to say “should we make a break for the getaway car?”
Salty? It couldn’t be! I ran through it again. This time out loud. With Nana right there… by my side… as always. Quietly – as customary, but not always. And thoughfully perplexed – defintely. Garlic. Olive oil (“Hail Mary, Full of Grace.”) Canned tomatoes (“The Lord is With Thee”). Salt, pepper (“Blessed are You”) Sugar. Lid. Burner on… Nana was thoughful, gentle as she quietly said, “Katherine where did you get the sugar?”
“What? The sugar?”
“Yes, Katherine, the sugar…”
“Oh, right there. In the sugar bowl.”
“Katherine why would you use the sugar bowl?”
“Um, because… it’s right there, next to the stove… in the sugar bowl…?” I don’t know why I would use the sugar in the sugar bowl?
She looked at me matter-of-factly and said (wait for it) calmly with a slight hint of incredulousness in her tone… “Because, Katherine, that is the salt.”
Well that was it. My culinary dreams were shattered. Oh well, it only took 45 years for her to allow me in the kitchen. Maybe she’ll let me give it another go in another 10 years or so… But Nana said and I will never forget it because this is it – the essence of our Nana – our whole life with our Nana. She said, “Katherine. It’s going to be OK. We’ll fix it. Together.”
And we did. She was a master. I will never be able to replicate that confidence in the kitchen, or probably anywhere else for that matter. A little of this… taste… A little more of that… crack the lid of the pot an infintesimal amount, but somehow the perfect storm of culinary perfection. And again with that magic touch it was her sauce. My sauce became her sauce. Her sauce has become my sauce. And I will forever and always check the sugar in the sugar bowl before adding it to anything. Even to a cup of tea.
Thank for allowing me to share this story. Our story. Our Grandmother’s love for us, for her family, her friends, was for lack of better words – EPIC. Larger than life. Timeless. We loved her and she loved us. We will miss her. This is just one of the many, many stories we will carry in our hearts. Her life and legacy will carry on in all of us. All of us who knew her and loved her are forever changed for knowing when Rosie was there, you were loved and all would be “OK.” May your heart always be full knowing Rosie was a part of it and from our family to you, may your sugar bowl always be full.
Rosie passed away peacefully on April 2nd, 2020. She was 96. As we continue to face the limitations of the COVID outbreak, we will continue to update this site with details of the celebration of her life.
With much love,
Katherine & Ceci
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