My father, of blessed memory, used to tell wonderful stories about the Thanksgiving celebrations of his childhood. My grandfather was one of seven brothers and sisters, most of whom were first generation Americans, only too eager to celebrate the rituals and customs of their new homeland.
Thanksgiving, of course, featured American food, so when my father sat at the family’s holiday table as a child, there was plenty of turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce. But that was the secondo. The primo featured a big plate of spaghetti and meatballs, and only after it was eaten, could the... Read More