The Lost Ravioli Recipes of Hoboken: A Search for Food … (2024)

The tone of this book was not at all nostalgic, but angry. Very dry writing by a boastful former food journalist. And, for the record, no self-respecting Italian would EVER use cream cheese to fill their ravioli!

A surprisingly enjoyable book. Laura Schenone translates her obsession with learning her family's culinary history into brilliant words. Had I known of Laura's quest for instructions in how to roll out pasta, I would have invited her to drive over to Morris Plains, NJ in the 1970's and 80's to watch my mother slap a big circle of dough with her 30 inch home-made rolling pin (she called it a vetté.) As perfectly as she did it, my mom would always say that her Calabrian mother would tell her "You're not doing it good enough."

I was disappointed in this food memoir about the author's quest to find authentic family recipes. After failing to find the recipes in family sources, she traveled to the Genoese region from whence the family immigrated. She continued her quest in both the states and Italy until she found what she felt was similar to the original recipe. She added other recipes from the region to her repertoire as well. She eventually became a proficient ravioli maker and able to pass her recipe to future generations. There was something missing in the story's telling.

This is a wonderful account. Laura Schenone lures us in with the promise of an "authentic" recipe for ravioli and indeed offers several versions, but ultimately leaves us to ask what authenticity means exactly and whether it's the actual food that is the most important part or if it's the gathering of family and friends to partake of the feast, almost regardless of what is served.

This passage is the essence of the book:

I listen to the bare unaccompanied voices of women, singing tales of life's loves and misfortunes, songs of forced marriages, soldiers gone to war, shepherdesses in fields, and many love songs. [...] Often the singer is alone-and the voice is crying out with a need to tell. A voice, at times, almost unbearably naked and droning. [...] I am one of these old women singing, driven by some force I can't understand to tell the stories of everything that has happened. Cooking and singing and storytelling - perhaps all these are variations of the same human desire to communicate over time and space, to make the invisible real. This is what I do, whether I like it or not.

- Laura Schenone, The Lost Ravioli Recipes of Hoboken, p. 221

(Luckily, the internet was useful in tracking down several farinata/socca recipes. And here is our version of farinata that we made simply because of Schenone's description. It has become one of our favourite things to have.)

Her "dedicated mother who keeps her last name and takes off to Italy alone for weeks at a time on a fruitless quest to find a family recipe" wore thin pretty fast. The author of this memoir pretty much let everything else go so she could find her grandmother's ravioli recipe--one of those old family recipes that doesn't involve measuring and that is tweaked by each successive cook, so that you never will get to exactly that recipe your grandmother made. I'm guessing she had the book deal in the works pretty early on in the process, because this sure did take a toll on her marriage and family. C+. May '09

This is a wonderful book about a New Jersey woman’s quest to find the origins of her family’s ravioli recipe, which was first brought to America by her great-grandmother in the late 19th century. The author’s adventures take her to the Ligurian region of Italy where she pieces together her great-grandparents’ history and attempts to perfect the art of Ligurian cooking.

The book is poetically written and so entertaining. There is much to be learned about handmade pasta making (and by handmade she means rolling the dough with a pin, not putting it through a roller or Kitchenaid attachment). Yet, the real lessons have to do with family, authenticity, and our desire to find ways to connect to the generations who have come before us. I especially enjoyed how conscious she was about her purpose in seeking out her past in Italy. This was not a typical, romanticized and idealized Italian travel memoir. The Italians that she encounters are also honest and practical about their culture, even as they honor the past and work to retain their culinary heritage. Her new Italian friends remind her that traditions are always changing and evolving, and that what is “authentic” Italian cuisine varies by region, neighborhood, and even family.

This book will make you want to start rolling out pasta!

I found her quest captivating. Although part of my family is from Piemonte and my grandmother's ravioli were delicious, I remember my step-grandmother's ravioli with special fondness. She was from Liguria. I wish I had her recipe for ravioli.

I think I'm a lemon, olive oil, and rosemary person, not a tomato sauce person.

I highly recommend this book. A pure delightful read but I also had a lump in my throat in places. It made me wistful of my own shortcomings keeping the family cooking heritage alive with my sons. I rarely rate a book five stars. This book deserves every one of them.

Like Schenone's, my Italian immigrant ancestors had a defining recipe, made for Christmas and special occasions, handed down to descendants, and after all these years possibly (probably) no longer authentic. Like her, I went back to the old home town to look for a sense of family, visited the cemetery where nearly everybody had the family names, marveled at the steep switchbacks up to the mostly deserted little mountain villages.

I was just looking for Piedmontese agnolotti, though, not a cure for alienation. I wasn't shocked when my brother used a pasta maker, or experimented with different fillings. I didn't feel like I was betraying my heritage by cutting my dough in squares instead of circles, or using a jarred sauce, because it was quicker and tasted just as good. "Grandma's anyaloits" meant love, but it wasn't the only source of love in our lives.

delightful and now i need to go make fresh pasta!

All in all a good memoir wrapped up in recipes. I enjoyed the descriptions of the small town people and ways of life in Northern Italy, near Genoa, and surrounding villages as well as tales from early Hoboken/NJ. The author (who's partially North Italian-American w/ German and Croatian background as well) speaks of the lore of Italy and the dreaminess Italian-Americans have for the old country yet how not much of what is cooked in America is not truly Italian but a morphed version over time. It's a simile for how the families have become "different" as well. I love the appearance of Philadelphia cream cheese in the book. I will say no more about that ;) but I found this a good read. For the culinary readers- Lost recipes are in the back of the book and the food descriptions are a foodie's dream!

WHY I PICKED IT UP:
Let's face it. I'm obsessed with reading out food. I saw this on the table at Arnes & Noble one day and bought it for my Kindle shortly thereafter.

NOW THAT I'VE READ IT:
I really enjoyed this book. It's not just about raviolis. It's about family, heritage, tradition, roots... All vividly captured. Yes, I do desperately want to make ravioli now, but what was truly captivating was reading about the family struggles, Laura digging up her roots, going to Italy, and struggling to define what exactly she was looking for. Perhaps she wanted her family ravioli recipe to be the perfect, classic ravioli, but she quickly discovers that the perfect ravioli for one family from one region is very different from the perfect ravioli for another family from another region. Highly recommended!

A food/family memoir about Laura Schenone, a woman trying to track down her great-grandmother's "authentic" ravioli recipe. Her ravioli quest is really a family quest, and we watch Schenone come to terms with her family's troubles. Many of the troubles and rifts are fairly recent, and boy would I love to know how her relatives reacted to this book. I was surprised by Schenone's sad and tense tone throughout almost the entire book. Even when she's in Italy, eating what sounds like the best food ever, she seems conflicted. But that tone brings an authenticity (the one that she's been seeking?) to her writing. And yes, you will walk away very hungry.

Schenone's story is a bit romantic for my taste. I'm rarely in the mindset for something so romantically fetishized and to be honest I wonder if I would have finished if it weren't about food! Just the descriptions of her family leave me a little itchy.

On the other hand, I like a story of kindness and it has plenty of that. Her writing is on-point and I feel like I understand her well even when I don't agree. The recipes themselves are great; it is clear Scheone has learned a ridiculous amount on her journey. I like the references to the old recipe texts we get glimpses of. For a good cook but beginner pasta-maker, I can't wait to get going using her clear, concise guidelines.

(p. 255) "When I was 12, I made my first face-to-face confession, and the penance lasted my whole life...Father Jose looked at me with sincerity and kindness, grounded in faith...'Now for your penance, go outside tonight and look up at the sky and the stars and thank God that you are here. Thank God for allowing you to be a small part of his enormous and beautiful universe."

I like memoirs. I like food books. I like reading about Italy. This book has it all. I now know more than I ever wanted to about making ravioli but I am a better woman for the knowledge. Entertaining and interesting.

This was a good book. Interesting and a lot deeper than you think it will be when you first set out. Much more of her family history, and a very honest, candid presentation of it, than you would expect. I like how she ended it, it didn't get wrapped up clean and tight, but it felt resolved.

I love this book. Not for just the thorough research and passion that drew this author Laura Schoenone to her ancestral Genoa, Italy homeland several times and her persistence to practice making pasta until she could feel and hear the sounds of what is right but also for how her passion awakened the passion in me for my Dad’s family’s homeland and recipes. Torino is just a couple hours to the north of Genoa so some of the recipes and certainly the ingredients are similar. Although polenta was more prevalent than pasta in Giuseppina Bertolero Negro Reviglio’s home, my Dad recalled her ravioli, recalled anglotti in Torino and late in life tried to replicate it.
How this book enlivened memories of dishes my Grandma prepared. Fortunately my mother learned to make her Polenta with chicken sauce ( chicken cacciatore) and roulade. But there are others that I heard my father speak of. For instance, stuffed peaches, Pesche Repiene, I had heard of but never tasted until I visited Torino in 2000 and ordered from a take-out shop, which also sold polenta.

Here in this time of quarantine and isolation, I feel as if I’ve traveled to Torino. While reading “Lost Raviolis” I reconnected with a Facebook friend, Linda Negro, (I periodically friend all Linda Negros of the world on Facebook) who lives in Torino, and she has shared a couple of recipes from her father, Flavio’s, family in the Torino Suburb of San Gillio. I would love to know if and how we are related.

I believe there is no coincidence that my love and yearning also connected me with a cousin I haven’t seen in nearly 60 years. I talked with him this week just literally moments before he was about to dispose of my Uncle’s work on the family tree. And he is now sharing it with me.

Some of my yearning stems from my Dad who would occasionally remember a dish of his mother and try to recreate them. With Pickled tongue he succeeded. He also tried to recreate his mother’s ravioli which was stuffed with roasted meat and spinach and parmesan or pecorino instead of all cheese such as ricotta.
My grandmother's Walsenburg, Colo. yard was converted completely to a garden and she would wrap the sprinkler in burlap to escape the notice of water rationing edicts
She was an inventive cook who never turned away anything.
When the wheel of parmesan at the grocery was down to a dried rind she would take it home for pennies and send my Dad to bring in the saw. It was boiled to sterilize, and then he used to cut the rind into cubes which she covered with a vinaigrette until it was soft and delicious.
When they drained the city pond and there were barrels of fish available, she fried them up and layered them in crocks and covered in a vinaigrette for preservation.
Mountain porcini where gathered and sliced. Window screens were taken from the house, set on c-horses and covered with the slices. Some slices were so big they covered a breakfast plate and I recall the jars of dried mushrooms (today they would be worth hundreds) that she sent by mail.(Dad tells the story of how the family tried to tell his mother's father that he was collecting poisonous mushrooms but he wouldn't listen. Until they noticed that flies which landed on his mushrooms on the window screens died instantly.)
There are so many more stories of bootlegging and science and two sons and a lost daughter. And how the clothes of his baby sister were still in my father's bureau when he died. They've all come back to me.

And I’m thankful to Schenone for the very last recipe in her book -- pan dolce, that put me back in Grandma’s kitchen with its coal burning stove ad ivy trimmed dishes and the small buns/cookies studded with citron that she shared from her refrigerator.
I’m so grateful for those vivid memories from 55 years ago and this book that awakened them.
My order for pasta flour is in and my pasta roller is ready. Pan dolce will be made and I can't wait for peach season. Thanks Grandma.

Laura Schenone’s Obsessive Quest

I really wanted to like Laura Schenone’s The Lost Ravioli Recipes of Hoboken for so many reasons. I love to cook and make ravioli from my Nona’s family recipe, my husband and I spend lots of time in Italy with our family, Laura is a James Beard award-winning author, and the book got lots of five star reviews...what’s not to like? Well, lots of things, and I will share a few.

First of all, the story was very disjointed and needed serious editing. I often found myself calling on my speed reading skills just to get through the book.

Second, I really wish the author hadn’t shared so much about her troubled family relationships. Her father’s estrangement from his family and her own troubled relationships with her father and two sisters were things I would rather not have known about. I couldn���t help but wonder how they reacted to these revelations in her book. It’s no surprise that there were extended periods of time when the author and some of her relatives didn’t speak to one another. I’m honestly surprised that her husband was still her at the end of the book.

Finally, Laura Schenone came across to me as basically a selfish and self-absorbed woman on an obsessive quest. Her moods seemed either angry or sad. This memoir, which I had hoped would be a wonderful read, simply lacked joy.

I very much enjoyed this memoir of Laura Schenone of her quest for her family's culinary roots through ravioli recipes and for the story of her grandparents from Genoa. I've been looking to perfect a ravioli recipe myself, so I found the food portion and all the history fascinating. I'll be trying some of her techniques, but without the hand rolling. I found a video of her doing a demonstration and it was fascinating, but I'm more like her friend who is totally satisfied using a machine to roll the pasta.

I also enjoyed the memoir portion of the author and her family, who are just regular folks from an immigrant couple working hard to make it in this country. No one would care about them otherwise, but I think Laura made her family interesting, even though they are pretty ordinary. I also loved hearing about her travels to Italy to learn more about not only making ravioli, but the old ways of making Genoese food. Italians were warm and giving as they welcomed her into their kitchens and homes to learn what they loved. I had a similar experience of unexpected and abundant generosity of time and helpfulness while visiting the hometown of my grandmother in Sicily.

A gift from my sister-in-law, this book is yet more proof of the food culture that American immigrant descendants and native Americans have lost. The connections made on the author's trip to Italy and subsequent observations of their food culture confirm what most of us suspected: that respect for cultural food rituals and the tremendous work involved in keeping them runs deep in all ancient cultures and is easily lost in our self-focused, convenience-minded era. The irony is that by cultivating relationships and roots - the very thing that we all crave and need - those time-consuming and, yes, messy food rituals contribute to our health overall - physical, emotional, spiritual - and connect us to family and the earth. Thankfully, food historians like Laura and her contacts are picking up some lost threads and abandoned values and reminding us of their importance. It's up to us to find ways to integrate those abandoned values into our speed-obsessed 21st-century lifestyles and pass their importance on to the next generation.

Damn. Umm. Yawn. I really wanted to like this book a lot more than I did. I used to live in Hoboken, I love pasta, I love personal searches for family and food history. And there's no doubt that Schenone really gets into that search - multiple trips to Italy, to the region her family came from, seeking out long lost relatives, talking with food historians and chefs, trying a plethora of different recipes and techniques, all the while looking for that lost family recipe. And she does that really well. But she also does it interminably. The book goes on, and on, and on. There's too much detail, and too much of it is of the,let me jot down every little thing I did and thought that whole day, variety. She even, towards the end, acknowledges that a good storyteller would have not only stopped long before, but given a cool wrap-up that brought it all together. And then acknowledges she's not going to do that, and plunges right back down the rabbit hole. This book needed to be about 1/4 to 1/3 shorter, with a lot of judicious editing and making the writing flow. It's still an interesting read, but you'll need to breaks, over and over and over again.

This book is pretty dated. These days many people are making pasta from scratch. People also recognize that the definition of "authentic" in terms of cuisine is fluid now.

Maybe it's just my fault, but I don't feel it's relatable when the author trashes batch after batch of dough because she messes it up. It reminds me of Julie Powell's My Year with Julia. Julia Child worked for decades ironing out those recipes and making them accessible for the home cook, and she famously said it seemed like Julie wasn't taking the recipes all that seriously.

The parts where the author describes the conflicts with her family were so uncomfortable. It felt very "missing missing reasons" when the author described how her sister said that if [author] was so depressed, maybe she doesn't need to come to Christmas. It felt like I was dropped right in the middle of that fight with no context. Then the second fight with her other sister. I don't know that it belongs in a memoir about pasta.

I liked this book! It was about a person trying to understand who she is and doing so by understanding a recipe passed down. Some of the reviews of this book only look at the fact that the author doesn't understand why a recipe for ravioli has cream cheese in it. Was it because that's what was used in Genoa? Was it because that's all they could get in America? Or was it because that was the home made cheese they made?
People don't seem to understand that the food eaten in a country changes from region to region. The food poor people ate wasn't same as food rich people ate. This was a very good book about self discovery and how we are made up of those that have gone before and where they came from and what they ate. I love the fact the author has the recipes she talks about in the back of the book. Very good read!

Superb Memoir of Family & Heritage

Laura Schenone has crafted a uniquely beautiful memoir linking her Italian-American family to its roots in 19th century Genoa.

This volume is multi-layered, combining childhood memories, longing for a family’s shared past and the desire for a more loving future with a journey to Liguria and an exploration of artisanal foodways.

Bravo to Schenone for having the bravery to interject the sharp edges of quarrels, estrangements and long-simmering resentments alongside the holidays, rituals and routines that shape family life.

This volume is also distinguished by Schenone’s careful research. Cooks and travelers will be grateful for the detailed recipes and notes on Liguria, while researchers will appreciate the bibliography.

2023 bk 219. I had a hard time getting into this book. I am glad I persevered as there was a conclusion that justified the time, expense, and obsession the author had with finding the 'right' ravioli recipe and creating the 'right' dough. For a while in the book I was afraid there would be a divorce as she seemed to focus on only the ravioli and not her family. The most important line in the book was not hers, but her husband's when he pointed out that Laura always had to be better than her sister (and everyone else in her universe). It is from there that she begins to not bludgeon the relatives, but rather invite them in to work with her in the creation of the family custom.

This is an intense book. I love a good food memoir sprinkled with recipes—my favorite genre—but the author cares much, much more about ravioli than I ever will. I'll never find it this meaningful, I'll never cook it this elaborately.

Interesting story of a food writer who became involved in her family history making Genoese pastas and raviolis from scratch. She went to Italy twice to research the subject! The last part of the book is recipes and directions for making your own pastas and raviolis.

This was a charming book about a woman's search for heritage. It was well written but a little lengthy. So many descriptions of food, cooking, etc. I was worried it would be dry and boring but the personal relationships saved it.

One of those memoirs that seemingly unknowingly paints a bleak picture of heterosexual marriage. Interesting thinking about legacy. Hungry for ravioli.