Edible Memories: The Dishes That Raised Us

That one Dish that Stay With Us

There’s always one.

One dish that follows you through time — not because it was fancy, or even particularly good, but because it was always there. On your plate. In your memory. In the hands of someone who loved you without needing to say it out loud.

It’s the dish that shows up in the background of birthdays, holidays, long lunches, or rainy afternoons when someone decided to cook “just because.” You don’t always notice it at the time. You might even take it for granted. But looking back, it’s there — steady, anchoring, full of meaning that only reveals itself later.

Why Food Is Tied to Memory: A Scientific Reason

That’s not a coincidence. The brain processes taste and smell in the limbic system — the same area responsible for memory and emotion. It’s why the scent of roasted garlic or orange zest can unlock a memory faster than a photograph, why some foods hit deeper than others. They're not just remembered — they’re felt, embodied, as if they carry traces of the people and places they came from.

According to research in neurogastronomy, flavor is a multisensory experience: it’s shaped by context, emotion, environment, and even relationships. That’s why the same dish can taste completely different depending on who made it, where you are, or how you feel. And that’s why the dishes we associate with comfort and love — however simple — tend to stay with us for life.

The Quiet Power of Family Recipes

These dishes aren’t centerpieces. They’re constants. The kind of food you stop noticing, until one day you realize it’s one of the few things that never really changed.

And if you really think about it .... everyone has that dish.

For me, it’s biscotti al vino.

Biscotti al Vino: A Cookie That Feels Like Home

They’re not showstoppers. They don’t draw attention or demand compliments. No one posts them on Instagram. But in my family, they mean one thing: the meal is over, and we’ve officially entered the sacred realm of “stay a little longer.”

Simple rings of dough — made with flour, extra virgin olive oil, sugar, baking powder, and that bottle of red wine we never drink but always keep in the kitchen — shaped by hand, traditionally rolled in sugar (but NOT my version... I like them without), and baked until they split and shimmer. Recipe

Ingredients

• 500 g (17.6 oz) all-purpose flour

• 100 g (3.5 oz) white sugar

• A pinch of salt

• A pinch of baking soda

• 150 ml extra virgin olive oil

• 150 ml red wine

Instructions

In a large bowl, mix the flour, sugar, salt, and baking soda. Add the olive oil and red wine, then stir with a fork. Once the dough starts to come together, knead briefly by hand until smooth. No need to overwork it. Take small pieces of dough and roll them into ropes (about 1 cm thick and 8–10 cm long). Form rings by pressing the ends together. Dip one side of each cookie in brown sugar and place on a baking sheet lined with parchment, sugar-side up. Repeat with all the dough.

Bake in a fan oven at 160°C (320°F) for about 45 minutes, until golden and crisp. Turn off the oven and let the cookies cool inside with the door closed.

I don’t bake them often, if I’m honest. Life is fast. Rushed. There’s always something more urgent than a tray of cookies. But when I’m sad and want to cook, this is the first thing I make. If I want to show someone I care about them — really care — I put my hands in the dough. If I’m alone, the kitchen is quiet, and I want to blast music and sing while baking, this is what I return to.

I learned them without realizing I was learning. From watching my mother’s hands move without hesitation. From standing next to my grandma and noticing she always rolls hers thinner. From seeing trays line the table while someone says, “They won’t all fit in the oven,” and someone else insists, “Yes they will.”

Colazione, merenda o dopo cena, dipped in more wine (because there’s never enough) — they’re perfect at any time of day.

So what is the importance of this?

That as for me my wine cookies, the dishes your grow with have a quiet magic. They don’t make a scene, but they leave a mark. They give us something to hold onto. A reason to pause. A way to feel connected to the people and places that shaped us, even when they’re far, or no longer here.

In a world that moves too fast, making these cookies brings me back to myself. Back to the kitchen where I learned by watching. Back to the long tables and full trays. Back to the version of me that isn’t performing, rushing, or trying to prove anything — just someone with her hands in the dough, making something simple, and full of love.

We all need that kind of ritual — something that roots us, even in our busiest or most uncertain moments.

For me, it just happens to be wine, flour, oil, and sugar.

For you, maybe it’s something else.

But I hope you have it.

And I hope you go back to it often.

With love, Maggy