Nothing brings a family together like a homemade meal. In our house, we had supper together every night. It was more than just eating—it was when we laughed, shared stories, and enjoyed the food our Dad prepared for the six of us.

My parents were Italian—my Mom was from Naples, and my Dad was from Sicily. Together, they raised four kids: two boys and two girls. My Dad used to joke that he had two generations under one roof since there was over a 10-year gap between the first two and the second two.

My brother Tony (Anthony) was the oldest and truly the best of us. Then came my sister Mary Lou—“all Pappalardo,” as my Mom used to say. I was next—my Mom’s little mini-me. And finally, Sam, the baby of the bunch—and in many ways, mine too.

We flourished under our parents’ love and guidance. They taught us to be good people, to work hard, and—most of all—to take care of each other. They were both part of the Greatest Generation.

My Mom grew up in a big family—one of four girls, in a time when everything revolved around the boys. She worked hard at home from a young age. My Dad was raised by his mom after his father passed away early in his life. He learned self-reliance when he was young.

When I was growing up, my Dad did the grocery shopping, cooking, and laundry—very different from most families we knew. My Mom always worked full-time, and my Dad worked full-time plus two part-time jobs to make ends meet.

I got my love of cooking and feeding people from my Dad. He truly loved it—nothing made him happier. I’m the same way. Nothing is more satisfying than watching someone enjoy a meal I’ve made.

It makes me smile—and fills my heart.

I hope you enjoy my food and that it also brings a smile to your face too.

— Aunty