Tonight we had pizza night at Camp Waterloo. There were many people on our list (I think we counted 51, without our six) and we had many pizzas to make. I said we should make no more than 18 pizzas, and my mother scoffed at this. 25 was the number of pizzas that was settled on.

When I asked how many garlic cloves I should chop, my mother replied, “Four.” She meant heads. Four. heads. Of garlic.

I meant to take pictures. But soon, we had many friends over, and when I got back to the kitchen, it seems as though everyone was leaving. It was lovely to see A, B, K, and N. They are lovely ladies that I never get tired of laughing with. So I only got a few shots, which I will upload and share with you. Mostly of the massive amount of dough in my kitchen.

This is what I come from. This is why Jeff understands me. Because sometimes, when we’re having only two other people over for dinner, Jeff says, “Let’s make three. No, four. Do you think that’s enough?” Sometimes we have twenty people in our apartment, and sometimes we have all our wine glasses dirty. But we keep doing it anyways.

It’s the Italian in us. It’s who we are.

Tonight, we clean up after 50 close friends. Tomorrow we’re making the Feast of the Seven Fishes. We’ll be cooking all day long, making, among other things, ten pounds of shrimp. It’ll be a day of all days.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.