The Love of Cooking Italian Food

What’s your favorite thing to cook?

If you ask me what my favorite thing to cook is, the answer will always be Italian food.

There’s nothing quite like a sauce slowly simmering on the stove, the smell of garlic filling the house, and the deep red of tomatoes finished with a sprinkle of fresh parsley for a little brightness. Cooking Italian food feels like love to me. It feels like family. It feels like home. It’s the foundation of my soul, and it’s what I grew up on.

Right now, I’m in Portland visiting friends for my birthday. While I was here, a friend and I took a one-night trip up to Seattle—a city I’d never been to before. Of course, we went to Pike Place Market, one of those places you almost have to see at least once. Wandering through the stalls, I came across a stand selling fresh-made pasta in every shape and color imaginable. That kind of pasta, the kind you can tell was made with care, is truly the way to go if you’re cooking an authentic Italian dish.

I almost bought a porcini mushroom fettuccine, but I hesitated, worried it might break during travel. Now I’m regretting it. I keep thinking about how perfect it would have been with Chicken Marsala, one of my favorite dishes to make. Some regrets are small, but they linger anyway.

Seattle ended up meaning more to me than I expected. My grandpa grew up in Tacoma, and while I was nearby, I stopped to see his old house and the neighborhood he once called home. He was born in 1917, and standing there, I tried to imagine what life looked like for him and the rest of my family in the 1920s. I got chills just looking at the house.

My grandpa came from a family of eleven siblings—plus two parents and two grandparents—all living under one roof. That’s fifteen people. My aunt once told me that my grandpa and his brothers shared one bed, while his sisters shared another. His parents immigrated to the U.S. from Calabria, Italy, chasing the hope of a better future. They worked on the railroads, eventually settling in the Northwest before the family later moved to Los Angeles, where many of us, including me, still live today.

Can you imagine feeding that many people every night?

You can probably guess what was always on the table: pasta. It was filling, affordable, and capable of stretching far enough to feed a crowd. They didn’t have wealth, but they built a life. In the end, I think they achieved their own version of the American dream.

Food was always central in my family. My grandpa and his parents worked in the produce industry. He had a gift for it—he could pick the ripest peach, the best piece of fruit, and sell it with complete confidence. He had a vibrant, magnetic personality. The kind that stays with you, even years later.

One dish they cooked often, and one I still cook often, is spaghetti and meatballs. Every time I make it, I think of my grandpa growing up in that crowded house, sharing meals with his family around a table full of noise, stories, and connection. The meatball recipe comes from my grandma’s side of the family, and I’ll say it boldly: they’re the best in the world.

Spaghetti and meatballs might sound simple, even boring, to some people. But to me, it’s nostalgic. It’s comforting. It’s familiar. And It’s the kind of meal that brings people together and makes them feel safe and full, in more ways than one.

Sometimes the food we love most isn’t fancy or impressive. Sometimes, it’s about memory, lineage, and love passed down quietly, one delicious meal at a time.

What dish connects you most deeply to your family or your past, and how does it make you feel when you cook or eat it?