Here you’ll find everything I’m preparing in my kitchen - from veggies, to leftovers and pasta. I eat simply, and I cook for one, but love cooking for others. And no matter what, I always pause to plate pretty.
Most of my meals are often times the result of freestyle recipe free ingredient riffing and a trip to the vegetable market. Produce is my passion, and I hope that you won’t simply come here for a recipe - but that you’ll read, cook and create a new story of your own.
I believe there’s power in a stocked pantry and freezer. From traditional Italian dishes to alternative sweets, vegan and vegetarian swaps - there’s something for everyone.
And just when I would hit my hunger wall, Dad must have hit his too. He would pull into the parking lot at Petrina’s Diner and it was then that I knew, soon enough, that I would be sated. Why? Saturday was split pea soup day at Petrina’s, and I could taste a cup, or a bowl of pea soup the moment we pulled into that parking lot. As my dad effortlessly rolled the Voyager into a diagonal lined parking space, that was it, I began salivating. My mom, dad and myself, would sit - us 3 - at small table in the center of the diner. I wouldn’t have to withstand mean comments about my weight from my grandfather; we simply ate our prized bowls of Petrina’s pea soup in a silence that was peaceful and holy.
I eat salmon at least once a week. Personally, I enjoy it baked in the oven with lemon, salt, pepper and a little extra virgin olive oil. Done. But the men in my life are my muses when it comes to thinking a little bit more creatively about salmon preparation. Thank you Uncle Al and Dad, your picky palates and love for sauces, marinades and crusts inspired this weeknight meal. The combined use of a marinade and crumble on the salmon created a sweet, salty and buttery finish to every bite of fish.
Eating Panettone during the Christmas season has been our family tradition for as long as I can remember. Now, I say “during the Christmas season” because as soon as my little eyes spy Italian fruit cake hanging from the ceiling of local pork stores or in big tree shaped displays at specialty markets - I am purchasing one, if not two, and enjoying Panettone as soon as the day after Thanksgiving. This enjoyment, God help my kissing thighs and womanly belly, extends all the way through the New Year. Why do I/we/my family enjoy Panettone for 2 whole months (plus)? Panettone is seasonal,
In my opinion, there is nothing more comforting than a fried chicken cutlet or, what is traditionally known as, chicken milanese. Fried, crunchy, crispy and served with an arugula salad it is a simple meal at its best. Now, while the meal itself is simple, some might argue that the process of breading and frying a chicken cutlet is now and, well, I might agree. Similar to eggplant frying, cutlet frying is also a labor of love and it’s also a gift that keeps on giving.
Preparing eggplant parmigiana is not for the faint of heart. It’s a labor of love and something, I think, you only do for people that you actually love. Standing over a stove and frying is intense, and that energy is only for those you know will appreciate it AND NEVER LEAVE YOU. Not to mention the clean up. The process is sacred and is one that requires patience and organization. My nonna fashioned the best eggplant parmigiana, light, fresh, flavorful and soft.
I don’t know that there is anything more comforting than spending the weekend with family, decorating for Christmas and making a batch of homemade, chocolatey, super nutty, salted brownies. Perfect for sharing, hoarding or PMSing, these brownies hit the mark every time. They’re simple to make, easy clean up and if you wanna impress someone with little effort, one bowl brownies are the way to go.
A few days after Thanksgiving, there was a turkey carcass sitting in a plastic bag, on the bottom shelf of the 2nd refrigerator in my aunt and uncle’s basement. I opened the door and heard it whisper “Use me. I will make you the most tasty and delicious bowl of soup.” And, so it was. And, so it was true. I removed the turkey carcass from the plastic bag, cleaned out her cavity so there were no more stuffing remains, trimming some fat and gelatinous bits.
When I was growing up there were a few things that my father cooked that were completely unforgettable. Although my mother did the majority of the cooking, when my father participated his signatures were pizza, calzones, stromboli, Sunday sauce, fried eggplant, pasta with beans, incredible ham and cheese omelettes, mind blowing sandwiches and potato pie. Potato pie was often made on a Sunday and served when mom made roast beef or a piece of meat, on the rare occasions that we didn’t have pasta.
On Sunday morning Aunt Deb, Uncle Al and I sat at their kitchen table and enjoyed warm scones from the oven. The sun was shining brightly into the kitchen, and when I turned my head left I looked out onto their backyard, one where I could see so many memories . I could see their pool, summer bbq’s, chasing Sandy, their dog, my mom, dad, brothers and cousin Danielle. I could see our family and holidays spent together. There’s a beauty to time and loving as we’re alive to give. There’s a gift that’s so nurturing, to give and to receive.
On Thursday night, after arriving back at my aunt and uncle’s house from a doctor's appointment, I cooked off some stress. There’s something that is incredibly therapeutic about cutting a stick of butter into tiny little cubes. Moments later I was slippery with love, salt, fat and the promise of a good meal with my loving family. And as I got lost in cubing, I got lost in the thought of shoulder surgery and a 6 month recovery.
After 3 hours of travel I arrived at my Uncle’s front door. A batch of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies in my purse, I was nervous and somewhat anxious for the visit. I walked into the house, removed my boots and, then, my coat. The house was just as I’d remembered. I hugged my aunt and listened to her breathe heavily on my shoulder as she cried. Together, we walked into the living room, the buzz of Sunday football audible in the background. I leaned over the hospital bed and kissed my uncle on his forehead.
Over the last few months I’ve been doing my fair share of cooking, but really less than my fair share of writing. Preparing meals for my family has been a joy; playing with ingredients and creating memorable moments too. The gift of time has been a blessing in my life and, truly, not one that I’ve taken for granted. And while time, and how I’ve decided to spend it, is important, I also got to thinking about the gift of food and how we learn to share love. When I close my eyes I can still smell red sauce cooking in my grandmothers basement kitchen, red pepper flakes and heat tickling the inside of my nostrils, as my mouth watered in anticipation of tasting her earthly talents.
On Friday evening, after a trip upstate to do yoga with my friend Julie, I found myself roaming the streets of Astoria with a Dunkin’ Donuts hot cocoa in search of broccolini. Weird, right? My days of roaming the streets on Friday nights, and stumbling into bars, is a long gone memory of the past. Now I wear sweat pants or wide leg jeans, leggings and a sweatshirt if I want to feel “sexy” and troll for fresh produce. I’d like to think of this as a sign of maturity, although it feels more like a sign of giving up or a resoundingly loud and cotton clad resignation to being 44, low estrogen and single.
With Fall in full swing in New York, warming meals come to mind, but I’m not quite ready for stews. I figured I could hold on to a shred of summer by combining pasta with a hearty sausage and eggplant sauce, you know, in order to make it filling and Fall friendly. When I traveled to Rome on my own in 2016, I took myself out to a lovely and memorable dinner at a small restaurant off of the Spanish Steps. Surprisingly, the spot was not touristy and the waiters spoke to me in Italian even though I, Tina Marie Theresa Corrado of Italian heritage do not speak Italian. I speak Spanish, una mala Italiana, as I often tell my friends in Mexico. From a young age, I’ve been a lover of eggplant.
When I was a little girl, my father used to drive a Polly-O cheese truck. The truck was big, bright yellow, happy and filled with cheese, not unlike my dad. I thought it was cool that he delivered cheese to pizzerias because cheese makes most people happy and, well, I believed that those who could not eat cheese would generally be less happy. I still hold the same beliefs today (my sincerest apologies to vegans and those with lactose intolerance). My dad used to eat a lot of cheese and, so, I thought he would be happy forever. I also thought that he would live forever, and that nothing would ever change, but his age has been a marker of change.
Somehow, at the end of every summer, I end up with an ABUNDANCE of zucchinis in the house. In the month of August, zucchinis are plentiful and inexpensive, hence the attractiveness of overbuying. Sure, I might not be buying much clothing or home goods any more, but somehow overbuying something is still in the addiction cards. I guess it could be worse than zucchini. The seniors in the house love zucchini, but I wanted to do more than pan fry, roast or grill it to serve it as a side or over pasta.
Living, I mean staying with my parents, has brought with it my official title as Sr. Manager of the Senior Center. Duties have included (but have not been limited to) cooking, finding new meal strategies and efficiencies, while also helping with house decluttering, organization, calling haulers to remove “junk” and donating goods. My favorite responsibilities are getting creative in the kitchen and playing word games with the seniors. Not every day is easy, but every day comes with a new learning or discovery about love, God, compassion and cottage cheese.
During the summer of ‘88 my grandma made my dream come true. She finally caved at the repeated request (can’t we have a pool? why can’t we have a pool? there’s so much space in the yard for a pool?) and somehow managed to convince my grandfather that it was a good idea. We had one of the biggest yards on the block, so much of it was going to waste - you know, like the huge garden we kept, rose bushes, grape vines, the cherry tree. Get rid of that garbage, we could have a pool! I was chubby, but man was I stoked at the thought of cannon balls
