21-07-2025
Cooking up connections: how a New York restaurant is preserving grandmothers' recipes and healing hearts
In Scaravella's words: 'Every dish has a story. And those stories keep people alive, even long after they're gone.
Image: Los Muertos Crew /pexels
Growing up, I never had much of a relationship with my grandmother.
Yet watching my mom pour love, laughter and gentle discipline into my daughter has quietly healed something in me. Suddenly, all the stories about gogos (grandmothers), their warmth, their love, their quiet power started making sense.
That's why when I saw a viral Instagram post shared by thishowthingswork about Enoteca Maria, a New York restaurant that hires real grandmothers, not chefs, to cook in its kitchen, it stopped me in my scroll.
It wasn't just a sweet gimmick; it was a comforting reminder of how food, family and memory can keep us stitched together, even across oceans and generations.
A table set by love and loss
Enoteca Maria isn't your usual trendy New York spot.
Opened in 2007 by Joe 'Jody' Scaravella, the restaurant began as a tribute to the two women who taught him the language of love through food: his Nonna Domenica and his mother Maria.
Scaravella, 70, told "TIME" magazine: 'This is not a restaurant. It walks like a restaurant, smells like a restaurant, talks like a restaurant, but it's not. It's a cultural exchange.'
After losing his grandfather, father, mother, grandmother, and sister in quick succession, Scaravella fell into a deep depression. He used part of his inheritance to buy a storefront on a quiet Staten Island street, near the St. George Theatre.
His vision was to fill the space with the same warmth, stubborn pride, and homemade recipes that had once filled his childhood kitchen.
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Grandmothers behind the stove
Scaravella didn't want professional chefs; he wanted real grandmothers, each carrying family recipes shaped by memory, migration, and maternal love. He placed an ad, and soon, grandmothers from every corner of the world responded. At Enoteca Maria today, half the menu is consistently Italian.
The other half changes daily, shaped by whichever grandmother is cooking that night. From Nonna Diana's Mexican dishes to Sri Lankan curries or Senegalese stews, each meal becomes a living history lesson.
Scaravella explained to "The New York Times", 'They're taking what their mother taught them to make, what their grandmother taught them to make, and every time these ladies are in the kitchen, you have all of this culture coming out of their fingertips.'
This idea goes beyond nostalgia. Food anthropologist Dr Krishnendu Ray, chair of Nutrition and Food Studies at NYU, notes that recipes passed through generations act as 'archives of memory'.
They're living proof that our identities aren't just built on what we eat, but how we share it. That sharing can heal, too.
According to a study in "Appetite", cooking family recipes with loved ones can reduce loneliness and strengthen intergenerational bonds, something Scaravella's restaurant embodies every single night.
Beyond dining, Enoteca Maria hosts free cooking classes where guests can learn directly from the grandmothers. Scaravella dreams of building an online community where anyone, anywhere, can share and preserve their family's recipes.
According to a study in Appetite, cooking family recipes with loved ones can reduce loneliness and strengthen intergenerational bonds, something Scaravella's restaurant embodies every single night.
Image: olia danilevich/pexels
On screen and in spirit
This remarkable story even inspired a Netflix movie, "Nonnas", released in May this year. Although I haven't seen it yet, it's definitely on my binge list now because of Vince Vaughn.
Vaughn plays Scaravella, while Susan Sarandon, Lorraine Bracco, Talia Shire, and Brenda Vaccaro bring the grandmothers to life.
But behind the Hollywood sparkle, the film honours something deeply human: how food can keep us connected to people we've lost, and to those still beside us. Watching my mom bake with my daughter, giggling over too much flour on the counter, I see what Scaravella saw.
Grandmothers carry more than recipes; they carry stories, lessons, and gentle reminders of who we are. In our culture, we call them gogo or oomakhulu, guardians of memory, laughter, and sometimes stubbornness too.
Whether in a New York kitchen or a village home in the Eastern Cape, their love tastes the same: patient, warm and deeply healing.
Enoteca Maria isn't just about food. It's about reminding us that growing older shouldn't mean becoming invisible. And those family recipes, much like family stories, are most powerful when shared around a crowded table.
In Scaravella's words: 'Every dish has a story. And those stories keep people alive, even long after they're gone.'
