Last week, two of my colleagues came in to work and said that they each had, coincidentally, made spaghetti squash the night before. Both of them talked enthusiastically about how really good it was, and it didn’t take long before several of us were talking about making it for a group lunch at work.
I know it’s redundant, but I am an Italian foodie. My two sisters and I grew up in a thoroughly Italian household with a Sicilian mom and a Neopolitan dad—both equally good cooks. My dad and uncle owned a small Italian restaurant together, and it was the place to go for great home style Italian food, including wonderful homemade pizza. My dad has passed on; but, to this day, even if my 80-plus-year-old mom doesn’t know you’re coming, she’ll pull a 5-course meal out of the fridge in no time flat.
