Memories in Sauce

I've been having a lot of taste memories lately. You know, that thing where you remember the taste of a certain dish, even though it may have been years, possibly decades since you'd last tasted it. This kind of memory is an odd thing. It's also usually a very sad thing, because most often the memory is triggered due to an association with someone who is gone from your life.

This memory has to do with a marinara sauce my great grandmother used to make. The sauce was a dark, rich red, thicker than a lot of sauces, and so very delightful. It had a strong foundation of oregano and garlic. There was a lot of salt . . . this was the 70s. The tomato was rich and lush. I suspect she roasted them before hand. Or maybe just had a very good can vendor. I'm not sure. It was slightly sweet, but not too sweet.

Back in the day, she would make this sauce once a week. It would be a dipping sauce for bread. It would be put over pasta. It would be baked into dishes. It would be part of her polenta dish. Everything she would make with it would be all the more wonderful because of that sauce.

As she got older and had less energy and health, the homemade sauce was replayed by stuff in a jar. She would add spices, but it was never quite the same. I understood why she did it, but it was an odd transition. I didn't know it at the time, but it signaled the beginning of the end of things for her. She wouldn't be in my life for a long time after that.

I think in some fashion every marinara I've eaten since then is compared to the one she would make. Some of them have been just as good, while others have turned out to be lacking. When I find one that is as good as hers, it's not just the taste that I savor, but the memories triggered by that taste. Both are wonderful, even if only for a brief time.

 My great-grandmother was a strong woman. She was heavy and sexy and sweet as pie. She could be inappropriate at times. Everyone loved her. I am very blessed to have had her in my life and I wish I knew more about her cooking so that I could celebrate her more. Cooking was always her favorite thing to do. She didn't just say that because she thought she was supposed to. She truly felt that way.

So as you go about your week, try to think about some of your best taste memories. Think about the cookies you loved the most as a kid, about your favorite birthday cake ever, about what it was like the first time you tried new potatoes. In fact, if you find yourself stressed this week, I suggest you summon up a food memory. It will probably calm you down and make the rest of your day more manageable.