You cannot live by bread alone because you need to dunk it in the gravy.
No, not brown gravy but the Italian red gravy, “ragu” as my Mom called it; the kind where bracciole and meatballs have been simmering for hours.
Mom woke at 6 AM on Sunday mornings, and we woke to the banging of her pots and pans as she was to start her gravy. It was for our predictable Sunday dinner.
We arrived home from church and, led by the enticing aromas, we made our way to her stove.
We found the Italian bread, broke a piece, dunked it in the gravy and ate. And then we searched for a meatball (polpetta), pulled it out stuck it in the bread and we were in heaven.
Ahhh… Sunday mornings. Bread, gravy and meatballs…I loved them.