Mrs. Rosselli could roll a meatball and grind out pasta like no one else. And her sauce was always on the stovetop simmering in one pot or another. She was a woman from the old country and she believed in three things: The Pope, her family and good Italian food.
She was 50 years old and a widow for three years before her children finally convinced her to have a man over for dinner. Now that night was here and she was worried. She wasn't sure whether she remembered how to behave with a man. Was she supposed to kiss him when she greeted him at the door? The rules of courtship were so different in America! Finally she reached the decision to be her regular "Italian" self, which was outgoing and direct.
Her date for the evening was a reserved, Jewish man named Shelomo Glichstein who lived down the hall in her building. Over the years they had gotten to know each other in the course of doing their laundry together in the basement. Through their conversations he had learned about her children and widowhood and she about his business and controlling mother. So it was agreed that he would come to her apartment that evening to try "real" Italian food and see what he thought.
When Shelomo arrived he presented Mrs. Rosselli with flowers which she graciously accepted by giving him a kiss on the cheek. The kiss made Shelomo blush and this put her at ease. He was a thin, bookish man in his early fifties and he was wearing a badly fitting black suit. Mrs. Rosselli took his jacket and the flowers and put them in the dining room. Then she returned to find him still standing stiffly in the same spot by the door.
"Mr. Glichstein", she said, motioning to the couch, "pleasea have a seat!"
They sat together politely chatting about her photo collection until the food was ready. Then he sat down and she brought out a steaming plate of baked ziti for him. The oregano and parmesan wafted up and filled his nostrils with joy. He savored the sight and smell of the dish so much, he didn't even wait for Mrs. Rosselli to sit before sampling a forkful. She stayed and waited for his reaction. A broad smile broke across his face after he swallowed.
"It's very good, Mrs. Rosselli! Very delicious!" he said, in an uncharacteristically emphatic way.
Mrs. Rosselli smiled.
"Please", she insisted, "calla me Rosetta!"
They ate the ziti together happily, Mrs. Rosselli watching his every reaction. She had put special ingredients in this sauce that her grandmother had told her about as a young bride.
Her grandmother had referred to it as "love sauce" and it had worked for Mrs. Rosselli quite well through the years of her marriage.
After the ziti, salad, and garlic bread, they enjoyed her homemade orange sherbet as Mrs. Rosselli talked about her adventures as a new bride in Italy. She spoke plainly about her wedding night and her difficulties as a young virgin. She even laughed as she recounted the mistakes she made in bed. Then she stopped as she realized Mr. Glichstein had become noticeably uncomfortable.
