Said day is my family's Easter (or, in this case, week after Easter) feast, in which my aunt makes all of my great-grandmother's Italian recipes. None of which are even remotely vegetarian. Thus, while my husband and daughter thoroughly enjoyed their sauceless homemade pasta, I partook of the sauce that is marinated with meat and my three meatballs (while abstaining from the ravioli), partially to ensure that the ghost of my great-grandma Rose would not haunt me
|Behold, the holy feast.|
And somewhere, Rose (with a picture of Karl Malone clasped in her hand) is smiling.