There are several things I do when I go home to Pittsburgh in the summer:
1 – Take my shoes off and feel real grass under my feet again–actual soft, won’t-slice-open-your-toes, Northern grass.
2 – Sit in the cool basement and vegetate. (Because that’s another thing we don’t have in Florida–basements.)
3 – Consume ALL THE CARBS.
Basically my parents’ home is built with bread walls, mortared with dough, with spaghetti running through its faucets. So many delicious, perfect carbs.
My version of burning hell would be someone forcing me to endure a stint of the Atkins diet. I’ve learned in my adult years that I can cut down on carbs, but I can’t cut them out. Just not gonna happen, even though, yes, I know it would help me with this whole baby weight thing.
Eh. Still won’t do it.
True story: When I was young, we’d have spaghetti dinners every Sunday at my grandma’s house, and sitting there at the kids’ table I would hollow out a dinner roll and fill it with spaghetti. The Spaghetti Sandwich. I would still do this at the dinner table if it wouldn’t elicit stares of disgust from other, actual adult-types around me.
So it goes without saying that I don’t exactly watch what I eat when I visit family. And here I am, on my first full day back at home, and I’m already begging my mom to make homemade pizzas and stopping off at our favorite bakery, Mancini’s, to pick up both dough and bread.
The same place that made the dinner rolls that are part of my famous Spaghetti Sandwich.
While I realize my culinary creation doesn’t fit every palate, there is some form of carb at Mancini’s that every breathing person–Italian or not–will love.
So if you’re in Pittsburgh, promise me you’ll make a detour to McKees Rocks or one of the many places that sell Mancini’s and give their carb creations a try. No spaghetti necessary.