written by Liz Smith

Sunshine dancing on the leaves of a giant spider plant, the kitchen sparkling, and my excitement building as I waited for that magical hour when the baking would begin. “Two mugs full of flour. A pinch of salt. Crack the eggs on the counter, so the shells don’t fall in the bowl.” My grandmother’s gentle guidance in my ear, as we stirred the batter in our mismatched floral aprons. The recipe card was there, but we rarely followed it. Sometimes our cookies were amazing, sometimes we forgot the sugar. 

My Italian grandmother, on the other hand, taught me that cooking was a science, a passion, and if done correctly, a way to love your family well. Learning to make sauce for Sunday dinner was vital. Pesto was a pleasure, and cannoli could solve most problems in the world. Taste and balance were paramount, and one should never pour salt in the measuring spoon directly over the bowl of ingredients. A lesson learned the salty way. 

If something was too bitter, we added a bit of sweet, if the sauce was too liquidy, we cooked it longer and longer…FOREVER, in fact. And then out of nowhere, fabulous flavors would emerge at the bottom of the pan.

I love all these kitchen memories and recall them often. The successes and the failures. The moments that sparked my own curiosity and creativity in the kitchen, and the gratitude I have towards both my grandmothers for introducing me to two wildly different cooking styles. To go off recipe still feels so adventurous, so rogue. To follow a great recipe with rave reviews from my tasters can still invoke that feeling that all is right in the world. I find myself cooking in both styles depending on my mood and level of creativity that day. Both developing my own recipes and always on the hunt for the best cookbooks on the market. 

As my husband and I have embarked on a season of life changes (new careers, new marriage, and a large move across the country). I find myself reflecting on those old lovely memories, as I wake up early on a Saturday morning to bake experimental cookies and cook my grandmother’s sauce, in an effort to bring a sense of comfort and normalcy to our new lives. 

Grandma’s Sauce Recipe:
1 tbsp. olive oil
2-3 cloves garlic, minced
1 28 oz. can of tomato purée
1 of the 28 oz. can filled with water
18 oz. (3 small cans) of tomato paste
3 paste cans filled with water
1 tsp. dried basil
1 tsp. dried oregano 
1 large bay leaf 
2 tsp. salt

In a large sauce pot over medium heat, add 1 tablespoon olive oil and minced garlic. Cook garlic until translucent. Add tomato purée, then fill the tomato can with water and pour in the pot. Add the tomato paste and 3 small paste cans of water. Add the dried spices and salt. Stir to combine. Bring to a boil, stirring often so the bottom of your pot doesn’t burn. Once the sauce comes to a boil, turn heat down to a simmer. Stirring as needed, cook for approximately 2 hours or until desired consistency is achieved. Remove the bay leaf. Serve over pasta and enjoy! A single recipe makes 4 servings. 

*As a twist on the original recipe, we often use crushed tomatoes or fire roasted petite diced tomatoes in place of the purée.