Every sunday we had lunch and dinner at my grandmother’s place.
Ironically, and against any italian tradition and expectation, grandma was not a great cook. Not at all. My mom did all the job.
But I remember those rainy afternoon, around five or six, waiting for dinner time (around seven) when we all sat in the kitchen. I remember the tv (soccer match, or silly sunday afternoon tv-shows) the old stufa a legna (wood stove).
and my uncle used to put some small potatoes on top of the stove, in a few minutes they were tender and delicious.