Recently, my lady Mosey, hitched a ride (with the rest of our crew) on the 30s train. To celebrate, PerryA coordinates an overnight stay for the three of us. With a floating holiday to dispose of, I nonchalantly take Friday off from work and meet the ladies in Poi before rushing to the Hyannis ferry that takes us to Nantucket Island.

In honor of this occasion, PerryA taps a couple of her client connections. A short while after we board the ferry, we are greeted by her client, whose Roy Orbisonesque appearance and faithful smile seat us right at home in the comforts of the pilot house. If you ever have the same opportunity, do not dismiss it.

The view is far-out.

Bobbing seal heads. Glistening waves. Sea-diving birds. Fractured rainbows. Cloudy brushstrokes. Glorious sun streaks. The photo opps are plenty.

The waves carry us away from a sun-filled day on the mainland toward dusk caressing an Island with freckles of holiday lights.

The Island’s Christmas Stroll is already well trodden. Shopkeepers welcome guests well into the evening. As their seasonal closings are only days away, bargains abound. Restaurants swell with patrons whose good cheer stumbles out onto cobblestone sidewalks framed with ornamented trees.

After a brief walk and a single stop for directions, we navigate the slender side streets toward the bed & breakfast PerryA reserved for our stay. Mosey likens the atmosphere of our room to that of a grandmother’s house. Cozy. Lace. Pink. Floral. Well-worn books and boxed dominoes. Permanent knickknacks. A short vanity. Adorable.

Hungered from our nautical travels, we snack on slices of fine cheeses, apple, sesame crackers and Rosé Prosecco, while flipping through a restaurant guide. Always having this blog in mind, I also nestled my review copy of Pasta Sfoglia by Ron and Colleen Suhanosky in the bottom of Nils’s messenger bag I pilfer each time I travel. We trade glances between the guide and cookbook. Attempt to hasten our dining decision as the snacks dwindle to cracker crumbs and cheese flecks. The nourishing photos of pasta do nothing to damper our appetites. We decide to give Sfoglia Restaurant a go.

Unfortunately, the restaurant has other plans as it’s already closed for the season. Back to square one, we resume neighborhood exploration. Savor a pricey round of espresso martinis. Return to the B&B to call in a reservation at a sister restaurant of one I'd dined at ages ago.

We share a mellow meal. Nudge plates to the table's center for communal dining. Fill conversation gaps with a moody salad, heavy risotto and frites rich with oily truffle and garlic bits. A bottle of Pinot Noir flushes our cheeks with laughter. Somehow a crème brulee sneaks onto the table saluting Mosey with a cheerful candle. We make a couple of more stops throughout the evening. Pay tribute to Mosey's birthday properly. Usual beer. Celebratory shots.

The next day, my head quakes.

Sambuca gets me every time…

Much coffee is guzzled at breakfast to quell the pain. Soon we are in tiptop shape to shop the sales. About an hour before our departure, we are compelled to comb through the high-end wares at Gypsy. Moments later, we are shown to the toilet to try on our sale items as we aren't allowed to change in the same dressing area as those trying on regularly-priced items. Seriously? We laugh at the absurdity of being shuffled into a bathroom. PerryA finds a pair of jeans and is told that only cash is accepted for denim. She hands over the money and mockingly shows off the bag the rest of the afternoon.

Even lets it have its own seat on our return ferry.

That evening, we resume birthday shenanigans with Mosey's friends and family. We dine at Turk's, where Nils and I agree after a whispered conversation to have at some sushi. It's been over a year since we last ate sushi. Four days of the most intense sickness we've ever experienced followed. The food infected not only everyone in our party, but all others that were at Turk's that evening. With chopsticks in hand, we take the plunge together. The sticks click a familiar tune. We put to rest our long-felt caution---enjoy delectable trinkets of salmon and tuna maki.

On Sunday, I drive my usual route back to Cambridge. Listen to my favorite holiday music by Vince Guaraldi and a few NPR segments. A bit of separation anxiety pricks at my mind. I banish the feeling by looking forward to the pasta and wine dinner scheduled for this Friday with most of my girlfriends. I devise a plan to spoil them with pots fat with risotto and pasta, crusty bread, pours of their wine favorites and dollops of Sid Wainer mousse. A shameless meal of comfort.

I also set out to summon memories of our Island antics by cooking Nonna's Sunday Ragù, which I adapt (below) from Pasta Sfoglia by Ron and Colleen Suhanosky.* I hope to return to Nantucket sometime and visit Sfoglia Restaurant. Until then, I'll fabricate this sauce that speaks of the Island vibes with which I'm most familiar. Inviting. Caring. Giving. This cookbook is homey and attractive, boasting photos of glorious homemade pastas and sauces. There even are photos of the chefs crafting noodles with their darling family. As I aspire to tackle homemade pasta making (someday), I foresee this lovely becoming my dependable pasta book.

The meat bully each other for browning space in the pan. After a bit of time, each niblet is tanned and ready for a swim in the saucy sea. Red foam swirls the surface. The hefty meat loosens its resolve a smidge, swims along and is met quickly by the aromatic meatballs.

Bobbing meatballs keep watch. A slight muttering may be heard over goings-on, just to make we haven't forgotten. Chores are looked after. Television is watched. Books read. Bills paid. Blog posts written. All the while, the aroma keeps the satisfactory promise of sustenance in mind.

The recipe's flow is almost intuitive. In fact, after one go-round, I feel that it is so. Perhaps that's why it's Nonna's sauce. One go at it and it's in your bones.

Nonna's Sunday Ragù
Adapted from Pasta Sfoglia by Ron and Colleen Suhanosky (p. 62)

3 pounds ground pork from the shoulder
1/2 cup unseasoned breadcrumbs
2 eggs
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon grape seed oil
2 pounds pork chops from the shoulder
1 pound sweet Italian sausages
Three 1-pound 12-ounce cans peeled whole San Marzano tomatoes, passed through a food mill
4 cups water, swirled in the tomato can (I adore the expression of this ingredient!)
1 1/2 pounds good-quality spaghetti
Grated pecorino Romano or Parmesan cheese, optional garnish

Place the oven rack in the middle. Heat the oven to 400. To a large mixing bowl, add the ground pork, breadcrumbs, eggs, garlic, salt and pepper. Use your hands to roll out approximately sixteen 2-inch meatballs. Place the meatballs on a baking sheet that has sides. Place the sheet in the oven and cook until slightly brown and firm, about 30 to 35 minutes.

Pour the grape seed oil in a heavy-bottomed saucepan and heat over high heat. When the oil is smoking, brown the pork chops and sausages on all sides. Add the pureed tomatoes and water and bring to a boil. Lower the heat to medium. Add the meatballs and their pan juices and simmer for 3 1/2 hours. Remove from the heat and let cool. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

The next day, bring the meat and sauce to room temperature before reheating. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Heat the sauce over medium-high. When the meat is heated through, remove the meat to a serving platter. Taste for seasonings and add more salt and pepper as desired.

Add the spaghetti to the boiling water and cook according to the package directions. Use a wire-mesh skimmer or tongs to remove the spaghetti from the pot and place them directly into the sauce. Stir to combine.

Serve immediately with the platter of meat on the side. Garnish with grated cheese, if desired.