I grew up in an Italian-American family and every Sunday, without fail, I would wake up to the scent and sizzle of meatballs frying in a pan with a red sauce simmering on the stove. This was our religion. Most often eaten around 3 p.m. with our extended family, there was usually garlic bread and ricotta (which we called “ricot”) and Locatelli (which we called “locatel” and is really Pecorino Romano). I loved this ritual. Actually, it was all I knew, but the ceremony of it all is ingrained in every cherished memory of my childhood. I also loved this meal! I was always about the meatball/ricotta/sauce combo almost more than the pasta part—which BTW, we call macaroni no matter what shape of pasta we used.

But, for some odd reason, as I became an adult (and more importantly, became immersed in my own culinary exploration for my family in our household) this tradition faded. It was specifically reserved for going home and making it with my mom. That said, Jivan thankfully still grew up with this ritual since he spent every Saturday night at my mom’s home in Long Island. Each Sunday I would pick him up and together we’d indulge in Nah Nah’s Sunday Sauce and Meatballs. But now, rather than Polly-o “ricot” my mom would ask me to bring the fresh stuff—the “ricotta from the city,” haha! Great article here.