It’s time once again for
Friday Fictioneers.
This is how the photo
prompted me.
It was a tradition in my house when I was a kid; Mom made macaroni with gravy meat every Sunday and Thursday.
Nobody called it pasta; it was Ronzoni macaroni. And we didn’t say “sauce” either; it was “gravy”. Meatballs, pieces of pork, beef and lamb, sausages and bracciole – that’s Sicilian “gravy meat”.
Mom’s cooking was absolutely incredible. With the steamy kitchen window open just a crack, the aromas wafted out into the night, beckoning aunts, uncles, cousins and a few neighbors to dinner. Our apartment was always full.
The bright light wasn’t really necessary; everyone just followed their nose.
NAR © 2023
100 Words
This is Louis Prima and “Come On A My House”
The Elephant's Trunk 