Just last week, some friends visiting from abroad texted me on a Sunday to say they’d love to get together while they were in town. 'But don’t go to any trouble – we’ll just order a pizza, they said. I laughed. 'Too late,' I told them. 'I’ve already been cooking all morning.' That’s what happens on Sundays in my house. Even if I don’t know who’s coming by, there’s always something simmering on Sundays: A pot of beans; a red sauce; a pan of green beans braised with garlic and vinegar. Cooking slows me down –it’s the one ritual that grounds me at the end of a week, and the foundation of my cookbook Mother Sauce.
