Nonna's Crostata

My maternal grandmother was a true Italian socialite.  She had the most active social life of anyone that I have ever met.  When I was growing up, spending time with her meant going to afternoon coffee dates with her friends.  Playing canasta or poker at the country club most of Saturday afternoons and if there was a birthday, wedding, baby birth, baptism or any type of celebration within a 50-mile radius in our city, she was there, my sister and I at her heels.     

She was generous, funny, and knew EVERYONE. What she was not, however, was a fan of a kitchen.  Unlike my paternal grandmother, Nonna Franca was not a slave to her kitchen.  She could cook, but it was easy dishes, something that she could put together fast and be out of there to meet her social circle at the next bingo game.

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Nonna's Semolina Cake

There is something comforting in having something sweet on top of a kitchen island.  While I was growing up the only time I experienced this was when I would visit my paternal grandparents.  My grandmother would always have snack cakes prepared and ready for anyone to eat if they were in the vicinity of the kitchen – and like a good Italian family – we were ALWAYS in the kitchen.  Most of the cake would last 2 days tops. Like a good Italian family, we would always sneak into the kitchen and take a little piece of cake until the next one appeared, just like magic.

This past week, I was looking through my old recipe notebook and came across the recipe, written in my 15 year old penmanship, with little flowers all around, which brought to mind how my grandmother would give me her recipe.  I would sit in this big kitchen table she had in the corner of the room and she would dictate what she will be doing.  Add a pinch of this, a tablespoon of that, a little bit of this… my grandmother was not big about keeping measurements - it was all in her head.

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