The key is Wine... It requires Red Wine.
Brought back memories of Carlo3B. Gone, but not forgotten. RIP.
You have to make Braciole and put it in the sauce. It’s what makes the sauce!
Calling it sauce or gravy defines where you grew up. In the east it was Sunday gravy
My family isn’t Italian but this speaks to my heart. Big family gatherings where we shared much loved, delicious dishes feature heavily in my most favorite memories. It gets more difficult when grandparents and parents pass on but it’s a tradition worth fighting to continue. Fix those family dishes and make the kids and cousins, aunts and uncles come eat, people!
Peach
“Sunday sauce” in our house was the chicken gravy my other would make to go with the roasted chicken we had for Sunday dinner.
Cornbread, mashed potatoes, dinner rolls, green beans or peas .
Pure heaven...
Husband’s Italian family - either lasagna, eggplant parmesan or spaghetti and meatballs - ALWAYS for Sunday dinner.
When I was growing up {in the early 40's on a farm with only a coal stove that was always hot} we had no Sunday sauce, only every day "sauce".
There was a large, five gallon pot sitting on a corner of this stove that always had sauce in it.
The old Italian "bubba" made sure that olive oil, wine, tomato, garlic and water was always there and every kind of meat that was available was also thrown in.
This included robins, crows, chicken, rabbits, groundhogs, squirrels, beef and even a horse that died from old age. Nothing went to waste. There was a large ladle that was used for dipping, 7/24 and that included breakfast and mid-night snacks.
They also had tons of polenta that made a couple of dips of sauce with "mystery meat" a complete meal.
Your breath {and body odor} was always garlic, but you were never hungry.
The world was at war, but for a young kid, life on that farm was a great time and I didn't realize how bad WWII was until I got older and talked with some of my uncles that were in the battles and read about it in history books.
People don’t eat together any more, so sad. On Sunday growing up the Italians gathered at Grandma’s house - every Sunday around 1pm. We also ate dinner together, at home, every night. Again that does not happen. I know husbands and wives who don’t eat together, so odd.