For all of my life, I’ve been told I was Italian. Sicilian and Calabrese if you really want to know. I have a large and very loud Italian family. For most of my childhood, I remember spending lots of my time in either my house or one of my aunt’s houses, with everyone gathered around the table.

With my Papa at the head of the table, he would grab my Nana’s hand, and signal for my oldest cousin to say Grace. I can still remember closing my eyes, the smell of hot and fresh chicken cutlets sitting in front of me, and the words I was dying to hear all prayer: bon appetit.