Being Italian comes with a wide variety of conversational disagreements. For men, it might relate to politics or soccer teams, how to make wine or how to build something. For women, I’ve encountered more conflicts over recipe than I care to recall. Can we talk about a Bolognese sauce? In my opinion, it tastes best when the meat is a blend of both beef and pork, a bit of wine has been added in the cooking process, and, for that true Bolognese taste, there’s a dash of cream at the end to lighten up the color and add a bit …

We Italians seem to have favorite places we seek out to remind us of our food heritage. Those fortunate enough to have enjoyed their mother’s and grandmothers’ homemade specialties are often disappointed when eating out at Italian restaurants. It’s just never quite like their mother’s home cooking. It’s not that we’re snooty or difficult, but I’m guessing that our taste buds are more discriminating than our non-Italian friends’ when it comes to Italian food. My mother would say, “It’s not their fault, they just don’t know any better.” From minestrone to tortellini in brodo, marinara to Bolognese meat sauce, lasagna …

Being Italian to me is more than just a really cool club membership. It is an upbringing, a philosophy, a lifestyle to be cherished and valued until the day I die. Growing up as a first-generation Italian in Highland Park in the ’60s and ’70s, I am fairly convinced was quite different from the experiences of my American friends. Even though I am a half-breed, my parents were both European immigrants, with accents. I never noticed that my mom couldn’t enunciate her th’s, until I was a pre-teen and my American friends pointed it out to me. After all, my …