Some things are sacred. Like the smell of Sunday dinner taking shape even before you have had your second cup of morning coffee. That’s the way it used to be in a lot of Italian homes. I remember the smell of onions hitting the pan as I woke up, my mother and grandmother already at the stove getting that “Sunday sauce” ready to cook just before going to church.
That sauce was made more than rich and succulent with the addition of pork sausage, spareribs, meatballs and braciole. All that meat simmered together for a long time in the “passata” (tomato puree) that was put up the summer before with Dad’s homegrown plum tomatoes. Sometimes red wine was added and even a pinch of sugar to bring out the sweetness of the tomatoes.
