My Nonna Nicolina was a wonderful storyteller. As a child, I loved hearing nonna share stories about her childhood, especially about her own nonna, her nana, as we say in our Sicilian dialect.
I was always amazed at her vivid storytelling, even as she was well into her nineties. It was as though these stories transgressed time. I didn't understand then, but I do today; because regardless of how much time passes, your grandmother's impact on you can last a lifetime.
Remembering nonna
It's been just over eight months since my nonna passed away. There's not a day that goes by when I don't miss her stories, our cooking days and our chats over morning coffees and afternoon aperitivos. Yes, she didn't mind the occasional sneaky spritz.
My nonno migrated to Australia in 1956, with nonna and my mum arriving in 1960. Even though she was incredibly proud of the life they'd made together in Australia, she experienced a constant ache that came with the sacrifice of immigrating. It was integral to retain those links back home.
This was something we bonded over after I returned from Italy for the second time when I was nine years old. After spending a few months in Italy, I became interested in my heritage and family traditions. I finally met her siblings, nieces and nephews, and visited the home where she was born. I could place the faces and places she'd often talked about. I even tried the much-hyped pasta reale di Tortorici: a hazelnut biscuit from their hometown. (Nonna's hype was warranted).
Daniele Foti-Cuzzola with his grandparents at Christmas. Source: Daniele Foti-Cuzzola
I also developed a newfound passion for Italian cuisine. Growing up, we spent weekends making wine, , olive oil and , but this trip ignited something else in me. I remembered a distant relative or place I had visited by what dish I ate. It was then I realised the important association between food and memories.
As my grandparents got older, they found comfort in their old age by eating food they enjoyed during their childhood. I loved it when nonna recalled the dishes her nana made for her.
Recreating family favourites
I soon made it my mission to learn how to recreate as many of their favourite childhood dishes as possible. I'll never forget surprising my grandparents and their friends with a tray of pasta reale. Many of them told me they hadn't had that type of biscuit since they left Italy and how biting into it evoked memories of their childhood.
The cooking skills and memories she gave me have helped me keep her legacy alive.
I made them again the following year for nonno's funeral, and then again for nonna's. These biscuits are forever a bittersweet reminder of their two respective commemorations. I'll forever think of them each time I have one or see them in a pasticceria (pastry shop) window when I'm in Tortorici.
Cooking with nonna
Nonna sensed my passion for cooking and my love of my heritage, especially after we travelled to Italy for a whirlwind three-week trip. Not many people understood why a 21-year-old wanted to go to Italy so desperately with his 87-year-old grandmother. And while I've been to Italy many times for European summers, Contiki tours and a high-school exchange, this trip is the one that I treasure the most: enjoying aperitivos in the hilltop Ragusa city; dining on the finest seafood at her niece's wedding; making passata sauce with her sister, and feasting on pasta reale in her hometown.
After that trip, she gifted me her maccheroni (short tube pasta) machine and her recipe book. And over the following years, we made many Sicilian specialities together for Christmas – from pignolata (fried honey balls) and to her signature dishes: cannoli and maccheroni. We held these traditions dearly, and our bond over food was present till the end. 
The day I was told she wasn't coming home and would lose the strength to eat, I prepared a batch of our signature limoncello cannoli cream. I fed it to her in hospital – I was determined that one of the last things she'd eat would be a taste of home and something we both loved. I'll never forget how her face lit up.
Daniele Foti-Cuzzola teaching how to make cannoli. Source: Daniele Foti-Cuzzola
Nonna even made me promise not to buy store-bought pasta for Christmas, which I kept. Last year, the first Christmas I've had without her making our traditional maccheroni, evoked sadness yet fond memories of her home cooking.
My countless cooking lessons from nonna have been a gift that has kept on giving. I regularly run cannoli and pasta classes, and invite friends over for lunch or dinner. The cooking skills and memories she gave me have helped me keep her legacy alive, just as she cherished her beloved nana.
Through cooking, I will continue to talk, reminisce and remember my courageous, passionate, loving and Bellissima Nonna.
MORE ITALIAN FOOD
Italian bread pudding (pinza di pane)
