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.
Read MoreI 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.
Read MoreA 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.
Read MoreWhen 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.
Read MoreOn 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.
Read MoreOver 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.
Read MoreOn 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.
Read MoreWith 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.
Read MoreSomehow, 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.
Read MoreStepping into a fish market will always prove to be somewhat of a time machine. No matter where I’ve lived or traveled, the fish market is always loud, as loud as crashing waves that pound the sand on the beach with fury. The voices of men that can carry for miles and, that, realistically, do not need to be that loud in a small store. Salumeria’s work the same way. I think men who play with fish and meat are in a similar club, lots of bravado, knife skills and the moving of heavy protein, objects and machinery. I’m kind of also really into it. Men who cook and use their hands.
Read MoreI’ve been told by a good friend, and trustworthy cook, that my bolognese is the best that he has ever had. If you knew my 6’5” honest to a fault friend, you would know that these words are to be taken as a compliment of the highest order. He is tall, can fill a room with laughter or fear, is brutally candid and equally kind. There are many reasons to love him, including the fact that he almost always picks up the phone when I need his advice. When we were on the phone, some weeks ago, before I left NY, we were catching up. Shooting the breeze about colonoscopies and the weekend. He said “We had dinner at a friend’s house. It was nice. He made bolognese. But it was no Tinamarie bolognese. I’ve yet to eat a bolognese that was that good ever again.”
Read MoreIn a celebration of food and friendship, which if you ask me is the me is the main reason to revel in every day we’re blessed to be on this earth, last night I made soup for dinner. Not just any soup, but a soup that harkens the fondest of childhood memories alongside my mother and father in an old world Brooklyn that no longer exists.
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