Linda Cardillo

In much the same way that I believe it is important to gather our parents and grandparents around the table to capture their stories so that we can pass them on to the next generation, I also know how precious the food we put on the table is to our family memories.  Some of my most treasured recipes are the ones passed down to me by my mother, written in her own hand.  She has been gone almost fourteen years, but when I read her instructions for preparing artichoke hearts or pickled eggplant, I feel as if she is at my elbow in the kitchen.

Giulia cooked in the same way that she used her healing powers--with intensity, with passion and with generosity.  Whether she was rolling out pasta dough to a paper-thin layer that would lift if you blew under it or preparing hearty meals of sausage and peppers for the working men who frequented the Palace of Dreams, cooking was was her art, her refuge and her survival.

The Dante family's restaurant in Boston's North End is called "Paradiso," after the third volume of Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy.  In Paradiso, Beatrice leads Dante through the spheres of heaven.  Early on, believing that she has shown him more than he can comprehend, she tells him "sedere un poco a mensa." She wants him to sit awhile at her table and digest all that he has seen.

Throughout Across the Table, the Dantes are sustained by Rose's belief that there is no pain that cannot be eased by a homemade meal, such as those you will find here.

Food feeds the soul as well as  the body.  Many years ago, I was traveling in southern Italy with my sister and we spent the night at a hotel in the mountains that was nearly empty, so the staff doted upon us in the dining room.  They brought out the specialties of the region, and my sister and I closed our eyes and tasted the meals that had nourished us as children at the tables of our mother and grandmothers.  Not the tomato-heavy dishes that most Americans associate with Italian food, but the subtle flavors of garlic and parsley mingled with artichokes, lightly breaded and sautéed chicken, broccoli rabe that had been dressed with an aromatic olive oil.  That meal transported us to the oilcloth covered table under the grapevines in my grandmother’s backyard.