I am not Italian.  In fact I am as not Italian as it is possible to get, I think.  I am a typical non continental Western European Homogenized Blend.  My only brush with Italian-ness is my very particular attachment to St. Thomas Aquinas.  So, in his honor, and because Sparky love pasta, I have decided to learn how to cook Italian.

So nice to please two men at once.

So today, being the first Sunday of Lent, a traditional day for gross overindulgence after three days of spare Lenten fare, I decided to cook an Italian feast.  I don't normally cook with a cookbook, and I find it somewhat stressful to follow a recipe.  But when one is learning something new, it is important to follow the rules or structure to gain some classical training in the skill before moving on to improvisation.

I buy purchased spaghetti sauce.

I humbly apologize.

But soon, I will be moving past that.  Soon I will be using actual tomatoes.  Perhaps this summer I will even grow my own actual tomatoes (with the help of God of course), and use them in Italian Cooking.  This is actually quite amazing, because I don't enjoy cooking edible things.  Except herbs.  Anna, my grandmotherly Italian friend who sits behind us at Mass will be so proud.  Maybe one day she can teach me to make her pizelle.  Those are Italian cookies that look a bit like a waffle cone before its conical phase.

The whole parish knows and love Anna and her pizelle.  Wouldn't it be fun to be something, like Italian for example, and have the whole parish know who you are and what you bake?  It is really special to be Italian or Irish come from long strain of somethings who are known for something.

People have never said to me, Oh, you are the mammal who makes the amazing something-or-other.  But they do say, Oh, you are the mammal all the children and drive the big white bus.  They don't actually say mammal but that is what they mean.

That is more beautiful than being known for cookies or pasta or overcooked meat.