7 Italian Women, 3 Generations, 1 Kitchen, and 16 Years of Baking Tradition
By: Kelly Neuer
Tags: Beyourself, Baking, Family, Tradition, Italian

Hey ya!

I walked into my cousin’s house an hour late.

The six chatting Italian women had already made almond tortes, snickerdoodle cookies, lemon cookies, a pecan pie, and a chocolate bundt cake.

Are you kidding me!?

While each woman was furiously mixing her next delicious treat, all of them were waiting for the oven to free up. At which point someone said, “who needs a 350?” and three women yelled over each other as to why their cookies/cakes/tortes were next.

It was a fantastic flutter of shouting, laughing, and sabotage to get to the oven.

As usual, I was greeted with smiles, kisses, flour-covered hand hugs, and my sweet mom saying, “Hi honey! Want a mimosa?”

My family

Technically, we are all some combination of cousins, or first cousins twice-removed, or something of the sort. It doesn’t actually matter. We are all sisters.

Three generations of loud-mouthed, fun-loving, sassy pants, open-hearted, hand-waving, brunette haired, Italian goddesses.

Every event needs an outfit

Every year we have a dress code. It’s always the same. Our matching shirts.

They read, “Sangervasi Girls Roll With It”. They’re sparkly, pink, and have a cute rolling pin in the center.

Cousin: I was thinking of making us all aprons with Sangervasi on them.

Me: Oh aprons, that sounds great! Then it doesn’t matter how fat I get!

Counsin #2: Well…she’s not wrong.

We all burst out laughing. No one could deny we were all feeling a bit of a squeeze in the shirts as the years rolled on.

No matter. A rolly polly Italian woman is a perfectly acceptable life goal.

An Italian woman’s domain

The kitchen remained in a state of chaotic baking bliss all day. Sugar, flour, and measuring cups were everywhere. Bowls and baking sheets resting on top of one another, like Jenga.

In an effort to contribute, I volunteered as the Dishwasher. I must have cleaned the same freaking spatula a dozen times.

Thank goodness for the double-oven! At the end of the evening, a few of us kept asking if something was burning. Nope. Just the oven…completely exhausted from an entire day’s work.

The Italian’s motto

Jam Cookies — My sister was making jam cookies. You know, the ones with the center caved in to make room for jam. Well, the thumb is the fastest way to make space for jam so…boom. A thumbprint in every cookie. Oh, wait! Gotta clean up the escaping jam filling. When a little spills over it’s a quick swipe of the finger, lick, and repeat until all cookies have been “cleaned up” in lightning speed. It’s the Italian way! No one will know. ;)

Crinkles — During a dough transfer from bowl to wax paper for dough resting, the sweet-smelling blob may or may not have fallen on the floor. Italians don't really have a five-second rule. Just brush it off and continue on. I mean, as long as it’s still good, no one will know.

Biscotti — We’ve made this recipe every year. Every log is rolled out by hand and can get very sticky if the dough to flour ratio is not right. At one point, my cousin and I both saw a long, dark, rogue hair weaving its way through her hands and into the batter. With a quick glance at one another, I slowly pulled it through the dough, we smirked and kept going. No biggy. I mean, no one will know.

Cream Puffs— Let’s just be honest. There’s a huge bowl of delicious cream puff filling just sitting there. I don’t know how many fingers went in and out of that bowl. Tasting the product is the golden rule of Italian baking. And that’s okay. No one will know anyway.