Column: Learning from Dora

When I was a little girl, I grew up in Whiting, Ind., a small town on the northwestern-most point of the state. My parents moved there after getting married but had problems fitting in and being accepted by the neighbors and townspeople for reasons none of us really understand.

But down the street in a cute brick house lived Dora, our adopted grandmother.

Dora was the one who introduced me to authentic Italian food as a child. 

Dora took my family in because she was treated the same way by the townspeople and wanted to be our friend, so she became close with my mom. They babbled on and on about politics, which I never understood or paid attention to as I was always distracted by the smells in her kitchen.

But when Dora baby-sat, she taught me about food, particularly how to make some Italian food. I was very little when she taught me how to cook, so I have few memories, and what little I remember is spotty. 

But I cannot imagine a better adopted grandmother to teach me about food. I think part of my obsession with Mediterranean cooking is because of Dora. After all, she was the first real food influence on me outside of my parents. 

I remember her pouring flour onto the table and adding eggs and letting me knead it.

Then she would do her part to ensure everything was mixed well and would put it all through the pasta maker. We would have fresh pasta that night for dinner.
I was so spoiled. If only I knew then what I know now.

I also feel like she made me pizza because I have a small memory of smelling the pizza cooking in her house, but who knows for sure?

Then there were the sweets.

Dora also introduced me to pizzelles, the Italian cookies that look like waffles. I would sit at the kitchen table as she made them, listening to WGN evening news in the background as I read a children’s book that taught Italian, a gift from Dora. 

She would always give me a few to snack on while I waited for her to wrap a box up for my parents, and I can recall salivating over the flavor of the amaretto.

Then there were the Capezolli di Venere, beautiful little cookies that melted in your mouth with anisette. I’m not going to tell you the English name for the cookies, as I will leave that to you to look up on your own. I will tell you that they were smaller, round cookies with a very fine crumb, and they were always topped with a very thin layer of pink frosting.

Dora, I know you are out there somewhere in the universe, so know this: One day, I will go to Italy, and I will make pasta from scratch, knowing that you are watching over me to make sure I do it right.