by Marc Bona

Growing up, you could say I ate traditional meals on Thanksgiving – with the emphasis on the plural meals. While I helped by staying out of the kitchen and watching college football and an NFL game, my mother controlled the cooking. She cut, she stirred, she sliced, she baked.

First course: A broth with pastina, tiny pieces of pasta that work well in soup. Sometimes she would opt for wedding soup. Antipasto would come out next – cold cuts, roasted peppers, artichokes and tomatoes. Then came the lasagna – never meat, always cheese – a few inches thick with gravy (we never called it sauce).

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