Since coming home we've consumed our collective weight in sauce (tomato).
Lately, I've taken to half the Italy way (the way I witnessed moving from there to there). Smashing garlic cloves instead of mincing. Yet, I keep the tender, cooked to death cloves, in the pot. I don't discard them. I relish and treasure. I eat them right along with my pasta. Barbaric (I know).
I guess it's been a way of reconnecting with home while hanging on to the faraway memories of Italy. There and here. That and this.