In my family, like many others, food embodies memories and is a vessel to create new ones. I remember vividly while growing up, my Italian immigrant mother and grandmother telling the stories associated with the traditional southern Italian recipe they were teaching me to make. That food-memory connection was passed down, with birthdays smelling of gnocchi and chocolate cake and summers bringing back memories of gardening with my dad. He still carries a knife in his pocket, ready for picking whatever is ripe and ready to eat whether it’s fruit or vegetables. We especially love eating tomatoes from the vine and feeling the juice run down our faces.