The First Ingredient is Love

Generally speaking, Dario is the cook in our family. While I enjoy baking and specialize in salads and appetizers, I leave the heavy lifting in the kitchen to Dario. I don't love cooking, but I do love cooking with Dario, so I happily assume the role of sous chef.

Dario always says that the first ingredient in any dish must be love, a lesson he learned from his dad.

In 1977, Dario's late father, Alfonso Campolattaro, an accomplished physics professor, took an unexpected detour into the culinary world by self-publishing a cookbook titled "Spaghetti All'Italiana," solely dedicated to spaghetti recipes.

Wrestling with the unconventional blend of his academic background and culinary pursuits, he chose the pseudonym Allesandro D'Annarba, combining his name with that of Dario's mom, Anna, and their friends Arthur and Barbara Hyman. The fictitious publisher, Alandarth, echoed the fusion of Alfonso and Arthur.

With contributions from Dario's mom and financial assistance from Dr. and Mrs. Hyman, the book found its way into Italian delis across Baltimore City and beyond. Today, only a single copy remains in the family's possession, a cherished relic of their culinary legacy.

In the early years of our marriage, we made regular visits to Dario's dad's waterfront home in Baltimore's Canton neighborhood, where elaborate Sunday lunches became a cherished tradition. Several dishes from the book were on the menu, and Dario's father took great joy in passing down his treasured, time-honored recipes. We eagerly joined him in the kitchen. However, on our first occasion, Dario neglected to mention the multiple courses, leaving me unprepared for the huge feast ahead. I can honestly say that I have never felt so full in my life! The mix of sweltering heat in his apartment—likely a nod to his Napoli roots—thick cigarette smoke swirling through the air, and an endless flow of wine had me breaking out in a sweat and feeling uncomfortably full and queasy. Nevertheless, those afternoons became treasured memories.

Dario's dad frequently sent us home with typed up recipes for dishes we had enjoyed. He even included citations for the recipes he referenced.

Born and raised in Naples, his dad's recipes reflect Neapolitan cuisine and it's simple, fresh and flavorful ingredients. Each dish his dad prepared was irresistibly delicious! Dario's dad, ever insistent on savoring every morsel, subtly taught me the delicate balance of portion control and pacing myself to avoid his not-so-subtle disappointment. A mere hint of uneaten food would inevitably trigger his familiar refrain in a heavy Italian accent: "What, you don't like it?" One memorable meal in particular challenged my resolve: the introduction of cold tripe salad. Faced with the pressure to try it and not wanting to offend, I bravely took a bite, only to find the slow chew an impossible task. No matter how I tried, it simply wouldn't go down fast enough!

On Father's Day, Max and Wesley helped me make homemade ravioli for Dario. The first ingredient was love.

Often times, Dario's dad would send us home with copies of his adapted recipes, complete with citations, reflecting his meticulous nature as a professor. Many of these recipes, which we still have today, serve as cherished mementos of his legacy. Since he passed away in 2001, we're especially grateful to have these recipes to carry on his memory.

We're toying with the idea of working our way through his dad's cookbook and recipes, making each dish, and sharing the recipes here. Stay tuned!