Pizza Wood

My grandmother lived to cook and to feed people. I know this is true of so many such women of her generation, but I really do consider what she practiced in her kitchen to be art. The older I get, the truer it becomes to me. Her food was always simple and direct, but honest and balanced in a way that I find hard to describe. In the Summer, she kept things light, relying on all manner of fresh New England fish and the plethora of vegetables that my grandfather grew on his tiny patch of urban garden. As the weather cooled, things got more robust. Autumn was a time for packing and curing sausages, hanging them in strands from hooks on the ceiling of our enclosed back porch, occasionally curing an entire pig's leg into prosciutto for months on a hook in the basement. And then there was the polenta.

These days, any gourmand, or for that matter anyone who has cable or has heard of Mario Batali, knows what polenta is. In my youth, only Italians, and Northern ones at that, ate it, and only in the Fall and Winter.  Originally food for Roman soldiers to march on, the stuff is basically a dense cornmeal mush, not a high ticket gourmet side dish. Like so many things we now consider "gourmet", its beauty and essence originate with the poor people.

Nonna would make it sometimes for Sunday dinner after church. She had a stove and table set up in the cellar, separate from the kitchen in her apartment. She'd get a sauce cooking early in the morning, filled with her own homemade sausage and meatballs, and the tomatoes from Nonno's garden. It would sit on low simmer for hours. Then, down in the basement, the two of them would make the polenta together. In a huge pot of boiling water, she would add the cornmeal a handful at a time, letting the grains slip through her loose fist. He would stir constantly, with a big wooden pole. When it was ready, they would take the pot together and dump it onto an old wooden board, about three feet by two feet. The polenta would run and spread, but cool quickly before it ever ran over the edge, forming one giant piece of dense yet fluffy Italian cornbread. 

My brother and I would be called to the cellar to carry it up. It was too heavy for them to do it in their old age.  We would carry the board to the table and set it down, and she would spread the sauce over it, complete with meat and sausage, and then grate pecorino cheese over the whole thing. We'd all sit around it, six of us: Nonna and Nonno, my mother and father, my brother and I, each with a fork in hand, and proceed to eat from that one large piece. The grown-ups would wash it all down with plenty of Carlo Rossi Burgundy, while the kids would get Fresca, with just a whiff of wine. The we'd cut the leftover into squares and eat that for two or three days to follow.

These days I live in the apartment where they lived, cook in her kitchen, and am fortunate enough to use some of her things. Chief among them is the cast iron pan I simply couldn't do without, but the most soulful of her things that I have is the wooden board we used to serve the polenta. I use it when I make homemade pizza, and we all eat from it, no plates, just like the old days. My kids call it the "pizza wood".

If this all comes off as a whiff maudlin, please accept my apology. I just got tired of talking AAW business with you all, and I couldn't come up with anything fresh to say about oxford shirts, navy blazers, penny loafers, striped ties, Brooks Brothers, thrift shops, or jazz.

Giving Back The House

Pictured above is a heap of stuff recently posted for sale as the beginnings of the warm weather collection in the Affordable Wardrobe online shop. Somewhere  underneath that pile is the family dining table. Not pictured in the background is a comfortable chair also piled high, and a rack in the back room full of clothing in process, as well as bags of stuff everywhere. By contributing to our ongoing fundraising campaign at Indiegogo, you'll not only help me grow my business and serve my customers better with more new items and quicker shipping,  you'll also be giving Mrs.G., the Boy and the Girl their house back.

Please allow me to say that asking for money in this way isn't easy for me. When I first launched the internet shop, I worried about how I was going to balance doing business and keeping this blog true to its roots. It hasn't been easy, and I probably fall short of the mark sometimes, but I do try to keep the two as separate as possible. I appreciate both your contributions to date and your patience with my having to be so vocal about it while the campaign runs. I remember as a child my parents watching the Channel 2 Auction, our local PBS television fundraiser, and thinking how I couldn't wait for it to be over so my shows would come back on. It's a little how I feel about this. I'll do my best to confine the begging to Facebook and Twitter, but it's bound to turn up here once in a while in the next few weeks. If you would like to contribute, follow the link in the right sidebar.

Again, thank you all.