My mother and father met when he was stationed at Camp Crowder in Missouri during WWII. After the war she went to live with his family in Buffalo, New York. The cultural shock was great for this midwestern women of Irish/German ancestry, but the greatest shock and surprize was to learn that she was expected to cook Italian! Her family were strictly meat and pototoes, and the only "sauce" she knew how to cook was gravy!

My aunts decided they would be her teachers. For days,and days she cook and cook sauce. The ultimate test according to my aunts. The sauce was always too thick, too thin, not enough garlic or oregano! My Father kept waiting and waiting to test her sauce, but to no avail. Finally, he had enough and stated that on the next day he would test her sauce no matter what my aunts thought!

On that day, all the family gather round the table as my father was to taste her sauce. First, without pasta. My mother, now 78 years old, states to this day she does not remember bringing the sauce to my father, or spilling three- quarters of it on the way from the kitchen.

Silence reigned. He tasted. "You are now an Italian," he told my mother, as they hugged and kissed. Everyone cheered, hugged, and cried.

Years later I asked my father if the sauce was really good. He said "I will tell you a secret...it was better than your aunts.!"
18