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  • Everyone comes from somewhere. Not necessarily where you were born, but where you grow up. A place where memory and context form your entire being. A coming of age if you will. Where places, events, experiences and upbringing form character. Where did I grow up? Where were my fondest memories as a youth? In upstate New York, sitting around Grandma Provenzano and Grandpa McG's red and white checkered table clothed kitchen table. Sauce, meat, fish, bread and red wine abound. The entire family sitting around, captivated by Grandpa's endless stories of yesteryear. A no frills kitchen, but with plenty of old world charm. Grandma didn't use immersion blenders, microplane graters or other fancy tools to cook her meals. She had a flat edged wooden spoon (flat not by design, but through use) and an old forged steel pot that was probably passed down for three generations previous. She cooked the majority of her meals with these few utensils. But you know what? She never complained about it. And meals at that home in that kitchen were some of the best I've ever had. Why did I drone on for two paragraphs about my childhood in a Primo Vino review? Because this place seemed familiar to me. This was my youth! Descending to that basement, seeing the large families gathering around the red and white checkered tables breaking bread together, the cheap red wine poured by the no-nonsense bartender, the Italian Lemon Ice, similar to the stuff my Uncle Guy Bonomo used to make? All reminders of my youth. I felt home here. Memories of a much simpler time were reminisced in the basement of Primo Vino. For the short time I shared with friends in that dining room, I had a moment, perhaps an epiphany. Life slowed down for a short while. We solved all the world's problems over a few glasses of red. These are the times I cherish in life. I'm nostalgic. I'm sentimental. The basement dining room at Primo Vino was a replica to a scene I remember growing up in and I took great comfort in capturing a moment like that during our visit.
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