I remember it all too well. Our large family, Ma and Dad, six kids, and my Nonon, my grandmother, who would WALK over to our house, to help my mother every day, all cramped in a small three-decker apartment. The radio playing, set, every Sunday morning, to a local AM station that played Italian songs: "... volare, oh oh, cantare, oh oh oh oh ..."

A harmonious sound blending family, music and, most of all, the sound of gravy (tomato sauce) cooking. The stewing gravy teasing us with its aroma, popping, simmering, accompanied by a lush and robust garlicky, sweet smelling steam permeating the entire house, all our clothes, and even our hair.