My very earliest memory of what I’d now call antipasti is standing at the table with my mother and brothers, making mini meatball sandwiches en masse. Everything was laid out in an assembly line: soft bread, room-temperature butter, a big bowl of meatball filling. We’d all pitch in, talking and laughing, wrapping and stacking until there were literal bags of sandwiches heading for the freezer in the run-up to the holidays.
