Never Too Much Gnocchi

Gnocchi sandwichI was the baby of a very, very Italian family. My mother was a tough woman with a kind heart and wonderful sense of humor. She had thick, muscular arms from keeping the home; doing all the cleaning, child-rearing, and cooking. She cooked everything from scratch; from bread to pasta to pastries of all sorts. She was an imaginative cook, using whatever we had in the ice box to make the most delicious, creative concoctions.

And being the portly kid I was, I loved to eat. My robust body and lusty appetite encouraged her to supply me with large portions of her savory Italian delights.

I would eat anything and everything my mother placed in front of me, but my all time favorite was gnocchi. Gnocchi are potato dumplings served with thick tomato sauce and filled with chunks of sausage, beef, or whatever else my mother could find.

One day I reminded her that we hadn’t had this splendid dish in quite some time. She smiled down at me and my fat rosy cheeks, reminding me that it had only been one week.

I pouted, insisting that a week was a long time ago. My mother patted me on the head and told me not to worry; she would make me gnocchi soon, and when she did, she would make so much that I would be sure to be sick of it.

My eyes widened at the idea of mounds and mounds of my mother’s gnocchi. This was a dream come true!!

My mother did exactly as she said, and supper after supper we had gnocchi, and supper after supper I eagerly gobbled it up. I was in my glory.

Then one day, I opened my lunch to find a marvel of nature: gnocchi piled between two slices of my mother’s homemade bread. I smiled from ear to ear and announced to my friends that I would not be joining the sandwich swap today, as I had hit the ultimate jackpot (carb-stuffed carbs between thickly sliced carbs).

I ran home from school and flew into my mother’s arms, exclaiming, “You’re the best mom in the whole world,” even better than the gnocchi. She hugged me back and rolled out some more, not giving up her promise.

If my father hadn’t reminded my mother that I had a brother and sister that were getting sick of gnocchi, I may have eaten it for the rest of my life. Oh, how wonderful it is to be the baby in an Italian household!

Old Tone About Old Tone

Old Tone is a widowed 84 year old retired University administrator and Graduate School professor; one married daughter, four grandchildren, enjoys the Arts (music, theater, painting), Etymology, travel, reading, loves eating and cooking, limited gardener, devoted Catholic, outdoors man. Banks robbed and parole records available upon request.

Old Tone About Old Tone

Old Tone is a widowed 84 year old retired University administrator and Graduate School professor; one married daughter, four grandchildren, enjoys the Arts (music, theater, painting), Etymology, travel, reading, loves eating and cooking, limited gardener, devoted Catholic, outdoors man. Banks robbed and parole records available upon request.

  • TheBigMilkshake

    Upon reading this story, bought 4 pounds of gnocchi… by accident. Time for some Gnocchi sandwiches

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