I remember today, when I was a child, the smell of steaming broth that reached the vaults of the tiny atrium that led to the beautiful stone houses of the village on the mountain where my aunt Sina lived.

Running and climbing two by two steps of the staircase to find out if she really had kept her promise to prepare her tortelli: but the big surprise was when, arrived in the kitchen, besides the smell that took me there, began to expand the smell of her and her only meat balls with pine nuts.

The party started.

The aunt embraced me and she whispered to my ear:
"I've just cooked the struffoli with honey!"

I've always follwed those moments, in my memory and affection, and today that they seem so far away, I want to make them live again with the true tastes, not only of the kitchen but also of the time.

Mario Gallerani