Adolfo Umberto Benone, my sweet (I use this loosely), little Italian grandpa. My grandpa and his family migrated here from Sicily in the early 1900s, with not much to their name and barely any English under their belt they made the United States their home. My childhood is full of meals that my Grandpa Al has cooked from scratch that his own mother taught him. The Christmas eve lasagna, the meatballs, and—my personal favorite—the Carbonara. Nothing warms to the corners of my heart more and satisfies all my creamy desires more than this.

Several years later, in our rented restored farmhouse in the countryside of northern Italy, as the sunflowers turn to follow the sun my family gathers at the long table for one of our last meals. My Aunt Jen and her family drove from England, My Aunt Jorj and her best friend flew in from LA, and my parents, grandparents, and I flew in from Orange County. Here to celebrate my mother’s big fifty, it is the first time that as a family we have been anywhere. Coming together as a family to enjoy every meal in the Italian countryside is the favorite thing of our trip. This one night, in particular, was the best night of the trip, Grandpa’s Carbonara and I got to help him make it. In the farm style kitchen of our home, equipped with a farm sink, vintage cabinets, large windows, and a great view, I stood next to my Grandpa at the stove as we chopped and cooked and not measuring one thing, we made a mess.

“Now Alex, some may use bacon but when you want a traditional Carbonara you will use Pancetta and will fry it to a crisp”. And that is exactly what we did, the snack crackle pop of the Pancetta crisping up filled the kitchen with the aroma of what was going to be a happy belly. As the pancetta cooked, we began to the boil the pasta, “now you always want it al dente and never too mushy, always salt your water,” and to this day this advice stands true to me. When we cooked the pasta I can remember our test check of the noodles and we threw them against the ceiling as one of them stuck and the other fell, “Molto bene, it is ready” my Grandpa screams as it echoes through the house. In one of the many bowls my grandpa and I dirtied, he let me crack the four eggs, add the cheese, and scrape in the greasy crumbly pancetta, and for the secret part he looked at me. “you know what makes it the tastiest Alex, some heavy cream” and adding a little dash we began to whisk it all together. I was amazed that my Grandpa had just a constructed a full meal right in front of me without measuring anything, yet adding a pinch of this and dash of that, and in a white serving bowl adding the pasta, a little pasta water and the creamy, cheesy, egg mixture we tossed it together. Topping with a little fresh parsley we had gotten from the town market earlier that day, the Benone Carbonara was served.

At a table the that seated at least fifteen, we gathered and we said our thanks and dug in. Every bit of that pasta encompassed not only the happiness in that moment, but it also tasted of my Grandpa’s childhood and we were now sharing in that memory as a family. We twisted and twirled our noodles in pasta spoons. While my cousins George and Arthur boyishly stuffed their faces, it was clear that everyone in our big Italian family table was happy and full. Every bite of the pasta filled with my mouth with bacony, gooey, creamy sensation mixed with a fresh bite of parsley. As I finished my last bites of pasta, I was left whipping the corners of my mouth that had accumulated the creamy mixture, as if I was saving it from later.

There are not many moments that I can distinctly pinpoint just my Grandpa and me, but being able to share in that moment of cooking his Carbonara in the countryside of Italy out beats any moment we have ever had.

It is not often that I get to see my grandpa anymore, now that he and I live in opposite states. I decided recently to make his Carbonara for my roommates for a Sunday dinner. I cooked the pasta and threw it to the ceiling, my roommates looked at me like I was, adding enough cheese to a bowl of eggs to make your heart hurt or happy, and crisped the bacon (knowing all together I was cheating on my grandpa’s advice of pancetta), it all came together. As I served the pasta in our square white bowls and sat down at our table that seats six, it may not have have been the Italian countryside or my direct family members, but it is my family in Tuscaloosa and in one bite it was just like my grandpa was right there enjoying with me.

Al’s Carbonara

Salt

Pepper

Extra Virgin Olive Oil

4 ounces of pancetta (or 8 slices of bacon)

1 onion chopped (small onion)

4 large eggs

6 tablespoons of cream

Fresh Grated Parmigiano- Reggiano Cheese

1 lb. of spaghetti

chopped parsley

Instructions

Heat a skillet with some olive just enough to get a good coat on the pan, add the pancetta and onion cook until the onion is caramelized and the pancetta is crispy. Then once cooked move to the side and leave in pan to lather in its grease and fat. While that is cooking begin to cook the pasta adding to boiling water and cooking until al dente about 8-9 minutes.

In a large bowl crack all 4 eggs sprinkling and cracking some pepper and salt add a good handful of cheese, the cream and whisk together. When combined scrape the pancetta and onions along with grease into the egg mixture and stir. Set aside.

Drain the pasta and transfer to serving bowl. In a large serving bowl add a few tablespoons of pasta water and egg-cheese mixture and toss until thoroughly coated. Sprinkle some chopped parsley and extra cheese on top and serve.