Pots and Pans Can Inspire Dreams #3

There are so many different memories I can think of when I look at that old cast iron pot. It seems that they were such an important tool in all kinds of cooking that I, as a little Italian American boy, would be exposed to. All of those memories are very warm and loving. Also I just now remembered that every time I look at that cast iron pot I can always smell sweet Basil and tomatoes. With a cast iron frying pan I can smell olive oil, oregano and lemon.

In the summer time my Mom and Dad would take us all to a little town in Ohio where my Father's Parents and his brothers and their families lived. His two sisters lived in neighboring states but not too far. To me I thought we were in another country. The ride was long and on small one lane highways (There were no expressways back then). It seemed like we were going for hours without seeing a live person but it sure was pretty. Once in a while we would see a farm and an occasional cow or horse grazing. For excitement my dad would read the 'Burma Shave' signs that had a different parts of a funny limerick on them. Usually each limerick was about five signs long. Such simple fun but it was magical all the way to my Gramma and Grampa's house.

I would be ecstatic once we got there to see, kiss and hug my Grandparents. I loved everything about them and their old house except they didn't have inside plumbing. They had an outhouse which always scared me. Inside the house there were spittoons (My Grampa chewed tobacco and smoked a pipe) amoung all the old fashioned furniture.

My Gramma Rosalie would have at least five loaves of bread freshly baked and she was always canning stewed tomatoes, tomato sauce, gabanadina (eggplant based side dish), jams, preserves and whatever. She did this all through summer from the vegetables from her garden which was a beautiful miniature farm. The yard was long with a brick path down the middle and you walked between rows and rows of tomatoes, lots of basil, eggplants, oregano, lettuce, carrots Celery plus different kinds of fruit trees. She had enough to grow, cook and can to last the entire winter. She did all this while she made bread all day, cooked dinners and clean house not to mention laundry and ironing. What an unbelievable women. But, you know, she always had a smile and was always thrilled to see her family. At night time they would all play cards, Gramma included and she was terrific at it also.

Her old fashioned stove would have all different sized cast iron pots and pans on it. I would watch her start by picking tomatoes and some basil in the yard. Then we would go into the house, rinse off the tomatoes, skin them and put them into a big sieve and mash them into the holes of the sieve until all the juice and mash meat of the tomatoes was in a large pot underneath the sieve all except the seeds. I don't remember the cooking procedure. All I remember was her filling up the jars that had been boiling in big cast iron pot to sterilize them. After filling them she would put the rubber lined lids on them and boil them again until they were sealed air tight. One thing I did forget, Gramma always put one whole fresh basil leaf in each bottle of anything with tomatoes before closing them.

My memories are so strong that they have my nose filled with all those aromas.

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