Italian, not French dressing

The other day on the train, I randomly recalled a conversation that I had with my mom many, many years ago. It went something like this…

My mother had told me that I was part French. While I now have a bizarre pride in that small percentage of a background, when I was young, I was more interested in being Italian. We were talking about our family “heritage”  over dinner and I explained that I would rather be Italian because that was my favorite salad dressing–French, on the other hand, didn’t excite my youthful palate. Looking back, I find it quite humorous that I connected what background I wanted to the food I most enjoyed. 

Just something to look back on…