Memory helps us build our stories, and the older we get, some of our earliest memories seem to be kept on that dusty, forgotten shelf of our minds. When thinking about memory and food, two specific references come to mind. 

 

The first one is the moment when Remy serves Anton Ego his famous Ratatouille. With just one bite, he’s transported back to his childhood: his mother’s warm embrace, the familiar taste of home, and the quiet comfort of a meal that once soothed his sadness.

 

The second is from Chef’s Table, in the  first episode with Massimo Bottura. He shares a story about growing up in a big family and finding his safe space in the kitchen, under the table where his grandmother rolled pasta. From there, he saw the world from a different perspective, flour falling down like snow, the temptation of a raw tortellino just within reach.. It’s a memory so close to his heart that he aims to bring all that wander and comfort to the dishes he creates.

 

Both moments unlocked something deep within me: mornings at my grandma’s house; Nonni, as we called her.

 

Every time I bake or toast bread, or pass by a bakery in the early hours, that yeasty, buttery smell takes me right back. I’m instantly transported back to Nonni’s house, waking up to the smell of toasted bread and coffee, paired with the familiar sounds of her setting up the breakfast table.

 

I remember walking down the cold stairs, still half asleep, my hunger awakening as I followed the trail of smells. I’d find the long dining table, covered in her classic white tablecloth with small colored flowers details. There were white plates with big yellow flowers around the edges, a basket piled high with freshly toasted bread, a pot of cream cheese and the orange marmalade in a transparent glass jar with a white-and-red checkered lid. Next to our plates, a cup of warm milk with a splash of coffee waiting for us.

 

Isn’t it funny how something as simple as the smell of bread can take us back decades? The scent, the warmth, even the way the crust feels in your hands, it all creates a story we didn’t know we were writing. 

 

For me, it’s mornings at Nonni’s table. For you, it might be a favorite dish, a family recipe or the warmth of a loved one’s kitchen.

 

Perhaps this bread recipe will create a new memory for you, or bring back one you thought you'd forgotten.