My mother is one of those women who doesn't like her own cooking, even though it is absolutely incredible. I never used to understand this until I started cooking myself. We are our own worst critics. She can make anything from scratch, improvise on the spot, enhance boring recipes - you name it. Of course, if she were reading this now, she'd say I'm exaggerating.
Growing up, my mother made her own gnocchi ("It's in the thumb!"), her own pizza, bread, sauce, meatballs, pesto from her garden and her own wedding soup (with the fluffy eggs just like my Grandma Rossi used to do).
The girls (my three sisters and I) assisted, but rarely cooked. I can still feel my hands in cold ground meat, eggs and breadcrumbs to make meatballs ... cooking for an army of 11 children plus my father. Today I am thankful I went through the process. It made me who I am.
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