Rachiele Newsletter - back on track

Hi folks,

We are finally getting back to our roots with a monthly newsletter (monthly is a hope not a promise). Our first one can be seen here. If you have not done so, please sign up for our monthly mailing. Here is a link.

My family's life revolves around cooking, good food and wine. I thought I would share some thoughts about food and family.


Growing up, my mother cooked almost every meal. My father would grill steaks on occasion, but my mother was the cook of the family. My father was a psychologist and had his own practice, so often he would get home after 7pm. We never ate before he arrived. We always ate together. Dinners (Suppers for you southern folk) were a time for family discussions, joking and of course eating and drinking wine. As a child, I was allowed to have wine with my dinner. I know that is not politically correct these days, but I personally feel what goes on in our home is our own business. Having full access to a glass of wine, or a gin and tonic as a young teenager caused me to be puzzled as I grew into my later teens. My friends wanted to go "drinking". I thought - how odd? I can drink right at home and I really never wanted more than one glass of wine. Throughout high school, my friends would go out drinking, and I either stayed behind or was the designated driver. I found it funny that my friends would spend their money on beer, etc. when I could just go home and have a glass for free with my parents. Italian families grew up with wine at lunch and dinner. It was an essential part of the meal. For me, it was not taboo, nor something I would consider sneaking out to imbibe.

Well, enough of my epistle. I truly hope I have not offended. My parents blessed me with great talents, however one that was not passed down was a social filter. I have a habit of saying what is on my mind with little concern of the consequences. I have found that attempting to always tell the truth comes with two benefits. One: I don't have to rely on my poor memory to remember a fib. Two: It seems easier to think clearly when you don't have to filter your words and thoughts. Those who know me always know where I stand. Wow, did I just say "enough of my epistle?" The Tucci side of the family was born with at least two years more conversation in their heads than normal people (I am half Tucci).

Now that I am on a food and family discussion, let me say a few words about the Tucci's and foods. The Tucci side of my family not only cooked, but were a bit fussy about how things were cooked. Pasta was always cooked al dente (or slightly undercooked by most American standards). Pasta and meatballs was not a staple. In fact, meatballs were fried up and eaten "as is" with some Italian bread and wine. Sometimes meatballs were thrown in the "ragu" along with pork, sausage and beef. By the way, ragu is not Ragu! Ragu is Italian for a tomato sauce with meats. Please... nothing in a jar! Only imported or fresh tomatoes are used in the ragu. I have yet to taste an American canned tomato that was nearly as sweet as San Marzano Italian tomatoes. There are, according to our family and many other Italians, a right way and many wrong ways to make sauces and pastas. A no-no is sugar! If you need sugar in your tomato sauce is is because you are using inferior tomatoes.

My cousin, Stanley Tucci, wrote and starred in a film back in 1996 called Big Night. The dishes were so familiar. If you have seen the movie, the Timpano served at the last meal, is something we have had for every Christmas since I was a child. That being said, there was always lamb, ham, fish and other assorted foods along with it. It was a wonder we all did not perish from over eating. Food was part of the wonderment in our family. It was the glue that kept family together at every meal. Meals were events, not quick chores. We laughed, told stories, complained that the food was not cooked just right, and laughed more. It wasn't the food that I looked forward to, it was the meal. To me a meal was something shared among those we loved. A meal was more than the food, more than the conversation and more than resting. It was a good feeling. It was a time to be happy, no matter what had happened. It was a time for family to share thoughts, feelings and love. I was, and am, one very fortunate man. I grew up with meals, not food.

Thanks for reading,

Dino