Journal entry

Every Thursday, when I came home from school, the aroma of fresh baked bread would greet me at the door. Mamma always made round loaves of Italian bread in recycled pie tins, and with the left over dough, she’d make Frittelle (kind of like a donut, but flat). A small round of dough would be stretched to about the size of a hand then dropped in hot oil until golden on both sides. She also made them with a filling (mozzarella in some and pre-cooked cauliflower in others), for my father.

Reserved for me and my sister Lilia, were the flat ones. Spread atop with real butter, and sprinkled with cinnamon-sugar, we‘d sit quietly at the kitchen table and eat them whilst still hot. Today, I made bread in the bread machine. Not the way mamma used to make it, far from it, but good just the same. Today, the Thursdays of my youth visited me.