Getting Sauced

The sound of frying—garlic, onions, and fennel-seeded sausage —fills the air as a late-waking nonna hurriedly makes her way home from a Sunday 9 o’clock Mass. The other nonnas had attended “the eight” (o’clock Mass, that is), and are already making tomato sauce (gravy as they call it) on kitchen stoves that rest next to organdy-covered open windows. Their rinsing, frying, and simmering ingredients create the fennel-scented aroma filling the street. The drainboard on the kitchen sink and the kitchen table are their work stations—no counters here. Chop basil on a flat plate; squeeze tomatoes through a colander on the table; for meatballs, soften stale bread under the running tap.

One nonna looks out a window and says to the scurrying nonna. “What happened? You couldn’t wake up?”

The nonna on the sidewalk isn’t in the mood for pleasantries. Muttering something about “having company late last night,” she proceeds down the avenue.

But a nonna being late for Mass is a matter other nonnas take seriously. And so the shouting out the windows begins, with each nonna questioning the other as to why one couldn’t rouse herself this morning. “And what will she do about the gravy?” one asks “When her son and his family get there, the gravy won’t be thick enough for them to dip a crust of bread in!” another says.

As soon as everything is ready to remain unattended on the stove, each nonna makes her way outside to cool off. They gather on the stoop in front of the house next-door to the late-cooking nonna, and they sniff. Her gravy is already up and perking. They stop talking. In a minute, nine o’clock-nonna walks over to join them.

They are all eager to know about the “instant” gravy, but reluctant to ask. One says, “What time is your son coming over today?” Another asks “Will he have the kids and his wife with him?”

Nine-o’clock nonna says, “Yes,” to each of them. Another clears her throat and asks, ‘How’s the gravy going?”

“Good, nice and sweet.”

The suspense is killing them. Finally, one asks “But how did you make it so fast?”

“Yesterday, I fried the meat,” she says. “Today, I add the tomato puree.” She leaves to go in and stir the gravy.

Each remaining nonna shakes her head. One says, “Tomato puree, bah.” And they all nod in agreement.