My first girlfriend was ravioli. Pasta and cheese all under the same blanket of sauce??? Oh, Mylanta, step back. If this is wrong, I don’t want to be right. I fell in love with this special made pasta and treasure our courtship. On Sundays after church Papa Spats would drive a couple of us children over to Ravioli Kitchen in Hartford, CT. This was a big moment on it’s own, so many of us vying for Pop’s attention, #winning. Ravioli Kitchen was an amazing smelling place that made these little pillows of joy. The rectangular box was pale blue with white and red accents. It was sealed with plastic red tape. Inside egg and cheese would waft. The pastas were in uniform rows, layers divided by parchment paper. Going to Ravioli Kitchen was like a treasure quest in many ways.
We would only have ravioli on special occasions, there were so many mouths to feed in our house growing up that ravioli every Sunday was not in the realm of possibilities. And with the appetites of Pop’s, Brother John’s and mine waiting, forget it. I remember those Sundays with great love. It meant quality time. It meant family time. It mean all my best friends were getting together for a little party on my plate. It was Yalta to the taste. Happy National Ravioli Day to you and yours. We hope your memories warm you too.
And a little ps here…….
Happy Birthday Sista Trish!!!! We’d put an embarrassing photo up to mark your special day, but remember that you can still punch pretty hard at your age. Go eat some ravioli, it’s the first day of Spring y’know!