THE WOODEN SPOON

The Wooden Spoon BY HENRY MESSERSMITH ‘25

I remember all the Sundays as a little kid . Waking up to my Nonna, my mom and sister in the kitchen making the week’s tomato sauce . My Nonna, with the same wooden spoon she would only use for the sauce, waving it at me and yelling to “esci di qui!” (Get out of here!) . It was not because I was a boy or because I would soak up the sauce with the crusty bread when I thought they were not looking . I was not welcome in the kitchen on Sundays during the sauce making because I had not reached that “rite of passage .” My sister Alexandra is nine years older than I am . She had transitioned from saucetaster to sauce-maker many years before . At twelve-years old, I hoped my Sunday would be coming soon . The MerriamWebster Dictionary defines rite of passage as a “ritual, event, or experience that marks or constitutes a major milestone or change in a person’s life .” As that boy looking into the kitchen, smelling the tomatoes, basil, and garlic simmering, I did not realize how much it mattered that I would eventually be allowed to hold the wooden spoon . Being allowed to enter the kitchen on Sunday mornings to prepare the week’s sauce was my first rite of passage from childhood to adulthood . As a young boy, I did not really have many opportunities to have a “rites of passage” moment . A few of my friends had already experienced significant transitions: puberty, bar mitzvahs, confirmations, graduations, and even driving . My mom, raised in a strict Catholic home, did not want me or my sister to have to abide by the “rites of passage” required of her . Therefore, the making of the sauce was seen as a true “rite of passage” experience for my family . It represented more than the passing down of the wooden spoon . Like a bar mitzvah or confirmation, it marked my transition from childhood to adulthood . As far back as I remember I was always allowed in the kitchen . I learned to cook from my father, how to bake from my Nonna, and how to burn food from my mom . However, the making of the sauce meant more . It meant I was ready to be patient, because my Nonna’s sauce takes all day . I would be responsible because this family recipe is sacred and cannot be shared . The Sunday sauce represented a transition in my life . It reminded me that we are always changing, and that life is always evolving . Standing over the large pot with bubbling sauce, I am reminded of a childhood book, Strega Nona . It is a story of a magic pot used by an Italian grandmother who uses witchcraft to feed an entire village . My Nonna explained to me during the “passing of the spoon” ceremony that, just like Strega Nonna’s pasta pot, our sauce would feed our family and friends in abundance . If we had the basic ingredients, plus the secret addition, we could provide a hearty meal for our family . However, that is not the only lesson she was trying to teach me . The “rite of passage” from childhood to adulthood meant that I now had a responsibility to contribute to the community in some way . My family has used this sauce to make lasagna for families in need, for someone who lost a member of their family, or even to celebrate happy times . The sauce needs to be shared . I must now be someone willing to share . Unfamiliar cultures and religions celebrate the transition from childhood in adulthood in many ways . However, being allowed in the kitchen to help make the tomato sauce is not the same . No one lifted me up on a chair, I did not get presents, people did not dance or streak my face with paint . Unlike the tithing party in the book The Unwind, my “rite of passage” did not end when the party ended . I was expected every Sunday morning to help with all the steps to make the sauce . It meant that my passage to adulthood would take time . Becoming an adult would require more lessons from the other family members in the kitchen .

As the years went on, the lessons changed . My Nonna is older and when she visits, she sits in the kitchen instead of standing . I have more responsibilities to make sure the sauce is just right . I know the sauce I make does not always taste exactly like my Nonna’s, but that is not what matters to me, it matters that I made the sauce and have taken over the spoon from my sister . For some, this may not seem like a real “rite .” Making sauce once a week can be seen as ordinary . However, the welcome into the kitchen meant more to me than any fancy party or ceremony . Instead of “get out of here, Henry!” my Nonna tells me, “Andiamo a la cucina Enrico .” (Let’s go into the kitchen, Henry .) My transition from childhood to adulthood may still be in progress; however, the first “rite of passage” of making our family’s secret sauce recipe was my first step . Besides the lessons learned, the meaningful time with my family, the sense of community and giving back, I know one day I will be sitting in the kitchen telling my grandchildren the lessons I learned .