I don't know how the Italians managed it. They've infiltrated the collective consciousness so thoroughly that even a WASPy Irish/English daughter of the American Revolution like me feels that her childhood must have included some old nonna cooking gnocchi in a sweaty Brooklyn kitchen. In fact, my old nana was more likely throwing back whiskey sours at the bar when I was a kid, passing me the booze-soaked cherries. Still, Italian cooking evokes in me an eerie sentimentality that has no root in reality. There ought to be a word for... More >>>