Read by Matilda Longbottom

Growing up in a 100 percent first-generation Irish household, my mother’s idea of spaghetti sauce was simple: three cans of Contadina paste mixed with water and a packet of “Spatini” spice. She’d fry up some hamburger and toss it in, and for years, we assumed this was how Italians dined every night. Meatballs? Never heard of them.

But then came high school, a Catholic all-girls school in West Philly, where I found myself surrounded by girls from Italian immigrant families. One day, my friend Jeanette invited me over for “homemades.” I had no clue what that meant, but I was about to find out. As soon as I stepped into her cozy little row home, the scent of simmering “gravy” (because calling it sauce was apparently a crime) hit me, and I was hooked.

Jeanette’s mother had made the most delicate, golden strands of pasta—homemades—by hand, and they were hanging on a clean sheet in her bedroom, drying from the night before. Not a boxed noodle in sight. The meal was a revelation. Real Parmesan, grated fresh from the block, replaced the green canister of Kraft I knew so well. I went home raving about Mrs. Corona’s cooking, much to my mother’s chagrin.

I quickly learned that making a good gravy was an art form. South Philly cooks like to keep it simple—basil, garlic, a few meat bones, a pinch of this, a dash of that, and a whole lot of love. Canned tomatoes are fair game, but don’t even think about adding carrots or celery—that’s for soup, not gravy! My favorite guide through this culinary journey is Pasquale Sciarappa, whose charming YouTube videos make me feel like I’m right there in his kitchen, sipping a glass of wine and soaking in the simplicity and beauty of Italian cooking.

And basil? Well, I’ve discovered it’s a versatile little herb. Once, at a now-closed five-star restaurant, a waiter suggested basil with pineapple, topped with Crème Anglaise for dessert. I thought he was crazy. Basil with pineapple? But it was a revelation—refreshing, unexpected, and utterly delicious. Now, I even make it at home, sometimes cheating with canned pineapple but always using fresh basil.

I’ve also mastered the art of pesto—not the green jarred stuff from the store, but the real deal made with fresh basil from my garden, blended with olive oil, pine nuts or whatever nuts I have on hand, and quality Parmesan. It’s a bit pricey, but as I’ve learned, good ingredients make all the difference.

So, yes, this 100 percent Irish-American is proud to say that I’ve embraced my inner Italian. I can hold my own with any of my high school friends when it comes to discussing Italian food. And when they compliment my cooking, I know I’ve truly become a paisan. Mangia! ❖

About the Author: Hannah Dougherty Campbell, a spirited wordsmith with a heart as lush as her garden, hails from the suburbs of Philadelphia. Inspired by the beauty of nature and the resilience of the human spirit, Hannah found solace and creativity in crafting heartfelt poetry. With a background in teaching and a passion for nurturing creativity, she imparts her wisdom through her creative-writing classes, where she encourages others to explore the depths of their souls through the written word. Her cherished tradition of assigning flowers to personalities has blossomed into a family heirloom, enriching the lives of her loved ones and students alike. Through her work, she reminds us all of the delicate dance between nature and humanity, where every petal tells a story and every soul blooms in its own unique way.