If you grew up in an Italian-American household like I did, you probably learned early on that the word you use for what’s inside that pot on the stove says a lot about where your family came from.
In much of Italy, it’s simply sugo, what English speakers call sauce. It’s straightforward, tomato-based, and named for what it is. But when Italians immigrated to America, especially from Southern Italy, something changed.
Meat became more plentiful. Sunday meals became bigger. The sauce simmered longer, richer, heavier - so rich that “sauce” didn’t feel big enough anymore. Calling it gravy wasn’t about translation; it was about feeling. In English, gravy meant something hearty, slow-cooked, and meant to be poured generously.
So some families kept the word. Not because it was technically correct, but because it was emotionally right.
Today, “gravy” and “sauce” don’t really describe what’s in the pot. They describe memory, family, and tradition. And in the end, the truth is simple: whatever you call it, if it was made with love and simmered all day, you’re doing it right.
The basic equation on this is simple. If there's no meat in it, it's Marinara. Add the meat - any kind - and bingo, gravy. Ya get that now?
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