Family's love for lasagna no secret
Sunday afternoons at my grandmother Rose's house were devoted to her "family famous" lasagna.
The car ride across Brooklyn to her house in Flatbush would almost always begin with an argument. My brothers and I would usually be in the middle of some important baseball game when Dad would call us to leave. At 12 years old, baseball usually took precedent over G.G.'s (Great Grandma's) lasagna, that is, until our father's will would trump our personal opinions.
(Rich Hein/Sun-Times)
But soon we'd come around, as we drove up G.G.'s driveway and caught the aromas of braised meats, slow-cooked tomato sauce and melting cheese. It didn't disappoint to also find our favorite cousins there, waiting for our arrival. Once we were there, there was no other place we would rather be.
Two pans of lasagna would arrive on either end of the table, one for the adults, one for the children. We all knew there was a third pan held in reserve in the kitchen.
Down on the kids' end of the table, the elbows would begin to fly. We all wanted as much of the crispy top as possible -- not just the crackling, caramel-colored pasta from our own portion, but some from our brother's or cousin's slice too. It was as if a rugby scrum had broken out in my grandmother's basement. After the commotion died down, we all ate until we couldn't breathe.
My grandmother always knew, though, that the best lasagna was the one you ate directly out of the pan in the kitchen about an hour and a half after you finished the first. So later, in the early evening, we would sneak into her kitchen with forks held high, looking for second helpings of that "secret" pan of lasagna. That was all the praise she needed!
In tribute to her famous lasagna and those childhood Sundays, I put Nonna Caputo's Lasagna on the menu when we opened A Mano. It's such a favorite, I think I'll have to stash away my own secret pan.
John Caputo is the executive chef at A Mano, 335 N. Dearborn; Bin 36, 339 N. Dearborn, and bin wine cafe, 1559 N. Milwaukee.