I've been dreaming about my grandmother lately.* The last one had me attempting to cook Thanksgiving dinner at her house, which is something that would never ever have happened because I would be terrified of making a mess. In the dream, I needed a saucepan to make gravy in, which I couldn't find no matter how many cabinets I opened. And, in dream logic, there were a lot more cabinets than could ever have existed in that kitchen and it was really starting to tick me off.
So I went downstairs to ask where a pan was -- and there was my grandmother sitting in her chair. She looked well. And my grandfather was in his chair, too, also looking well. The Steelers were on the TV. I never did ask about saucepans, simply because my awake brain reminded my dream brain that they both were dead. Still, it was nice to be in that kitchen for a little bit and to see both of them.
Which is why I made Italian Easter Pie last weekend.
My Dad had mentioned it the last time he visited, which would have been Thanksgiving. I have vague memories of eating it. I don't know that it was made by my actual grandmother, though, because it just doesn't seem like something she would have willingly cooked. My great-grandmother made the ones my Dad remembers. It could have been an aunt or cousin who made the ones I've eaten. Memory is fickle.
Anyhoo - I made a version of the pie, which was a two-day process. Not at difficult process, mind, just a lot of steps with resting in between.
The inside. There are layers of provolone, ricotta, hot sausage, broccolini (which I had to sub for broccoli rabe), hot capicola, and more provolone. Pretty tasty, if I do say so myself.
And as one does when one makes a dense cheesy and meaty pie, one invites over any who likes to eat. We had a fine Easter. I'm not sure my grandmother would have approved -- I made one heck of a mess in the kitchen -- but it made me happy nonetheless.
* For more about my grandmother (with bonus great-grandmother), click here.