We gathered in front of an outdoor kitchen with a large brick oven and long table. Folding chairs were set up, and I took a seat next to Allegra, excited to watch her during the demonstration.

Patricia wore a matching apron and narrated while Maria began to make the mozzarella. “We will show you the most popular form of mozzarella that is sold to stores and local markets—the braided version, which is called the treccia.”

Pots were set out already with boiling water. “The secret is in the milk, which makes the curds for the cheese. Our cows and sheep are the most important ingredients on our farm,” Patricia said. “To make curds, we add citric acid to milk, heat it, and add diluted rennet to complete the coagulation process. These curds will begin to separate, and then she will drain them of the extra liquid.”

With expert, precise motions, Maria owned the kitchen like a queen, matching each action to Patricia’s narrative. She placed the curds in heated whey and strained the pieces multiple times. “The cheese must cool before we reach the next stage, but we have some over here at the perfect temperature.”

“I wish I could take notes,” I whispered to Allegra.

She patted my arm. “Nonni, I’m videoing it on my phone. We’ll try to duplicate it when we get home.”

Wow. I hadn’t even noticed because she wasn’t holding the phone up in the air. It was just resting on her lap, tilted upward to catch the entire process. I remembered growing up with a color television and soap operas, and when my parents wanted me home for dinner, they’d open the window and scream my name down the block. I shook my head and refocused.

The cheese seemed like a broken lump. I leaned forward with interest for the next step. “The whey will now be heated to one hundred eighty degrees and Maria will work her magic.” Maria bowed and we all laughed. With her gloves donned and a white hat on her head, she began to mix the steaming liquid with the cheese, her hands kneading and manipulating the cheese like da Vinci wielding his paintbrush. The lump slowly formed into a shiny, smooth mass. Maria pulled the cheese through her fingers, twisting with varied speeds, and a gorgeous braid emerged, the cheese fresh and glistening when finally laid upon the wooden table.

We burst into applause. A tiny spurt of regret flickered inside me. This was a woman who knew her heritage and her place in life. The only thing I ever prided myself on was my family. I never wanted to work outside the home. Is that why I put my entire heart and soul into raising Frannie? And when she didn’t respond to my doting, I only increased it, trying to smother her with enough love so she’d always be mine.