The day my boyfriend put giardiniera on a pizza changed my life forever. That boyfriend, now my husband, is a third-generation pizza maker, and his suburban Chicago family pizzeria has served tavern-style pies and other Chicago-style Italian fare since the 1950s. As much as I’d love to shout out the pizzeria’s name,…

I grew up as a latchkey kid in the ’90s, and my after-school routine consisted of my sister and I watching an episode of Sally Jesse Raphael and doing our homework until our parents arrived home from work. Then, without skipping a beat, we’d all head to the kitchen to cook dinner and chat.

I’ve eaten homemade focaccia nearly every Sunday of my life. Sunday dinner in most Italian-American families, mine included, is one tradition from the old country that has stayed alive through the generations. Every week growing up, my extended family crowded into my grandparents’ kitchen and pulled chairs up to long…