Mom’s square pizza was easy to hold. The flop was in the middle. I held my slice like a goblet and ate from the edge.

Dad—entrusted in Mamina's arms—voyaged the great divide between Sicily and the Island of Hope.

We treat sauce like liquid gold. None gets tossed—not even the thick paste left on the inside of the pot after the simmer.

With love and together from the heart, Salty Mamina is born. We’ve reimagined our family’s garlic recipe to pay homage to my Italian heritage.

Where ever the wind takes you and your family, I hope you continue your traditions, relish in new ones of your own making, and have fun with it all.

Mamina means little mother in Italian.