Famous last words

I like to look on the bright side of life.

And sometimes, of death.

I say this because of a story I just read in the newspaper, which is that women are putting their recipes on their tombstones.

Did you know that?

This is why we need newspapers.

Also investigative reporting.

The story reported about a son who put his mother’s recipe for fudge on her tombstone, and it became such a popular recipe that people visited the cemetery to see the recipe. And another person put his mother’s Spritz cookies recipe on her tombstone. And I saw online that somebody wrote a cookbook of tombstone recipes.

I love this idea!

Primarily because Mother Mary was an amazing cook, and the recipe I really wanted was for her tomato sauce. Any Italian American will tell you that a woman’s tomato sauce is her signature dish. In fact any Italian American would call it gravy, so let’s start there.

My mother made the best gravy in the world, so one day I asked her, “Will you write your recipe down for me?”

She smiled and answered, “Hell no.”

It wasn’t an Aunt Bee moment. It was a Mother Mary moment.

“Why not?” I asked her, surprised.

“Because it’s mine,” she answered, then stubbed out her More 100.

My mother always smoked while she cooked. That might be her secret ingredient.

Cigarette ash.

It looks like salt, but it’s not.

It’s nicotine.

In any event, over the years I kept asking her if she would give me her gravy recipe, and it became a running joke between us. Fast-forward to when Mother Mary was in hospice at my house. She told me, “You’re never getting my gravy recipe.”

We both had a good laugh.

But she wasn’t kidding.

Talk about the last laugh.

Mother Mary wrote her last words on a greaseboard, and they were, “Motto — who needs it???”

The answer is, I need it.

I need that gravy recipe.

And now I buy gravy in jars.

But still, I don’t blame her. It was her creation, not mine. I wouldn’t like people copying my books after I died.

Who needs it?

Of course it got me thinking that I don’t have a recipe good enough for my tombstone.

I like to cook, but I don’t make anything truly remarkable. My signature gravy is putting raw tomatoes in a food processor, adding olive oil, garlic, and fresh basil, then serving it over hot pasta.

That’s my secret sauce.

I call it Lazy Gravy.

You see, it wouldn’t look good on a tombstone.

Mother Mary believed she could cast off the evil eye, which also involved a recipe. She poured olive oil into a bowl of water, swirled it around with her finger, and whispered magic words in Italian.

Once I asked her if she would tell me the words.

She answered, “Hell no.” So there was no recipe she would part with, magic or otherwise.

It got me thinking about women I know and their recipes I crave. Daughter Francesca makes chocolate cake I would kill for.

Or die for.

And have on my tombstone.

My friend Paula makes a great ambrosia, Karen makes corn salad, and Nan has a delicious salmon dish. Her daughter Jolie makes scones, and Franca makes incredible baked ziti that she brought over when I had bunion surgery.

First aid for middle-aged women.

My friend Laura is more like me, in that we admit we don’t have truly memorable recipes. But Laura’s husband Shawn makes amazing salsa, and she brings it over, so that’s another mark of a true friend; somebody will bring you somebody else’s recipe, already made.

I have the dubious distinction of being invited places and never having brought a dish that I made.

I bring the booze.

Does that count?

Maybe my tombstone will have my margarita recipe.

The secret ingredient is alcohol.

Now we’re cooking!

Look for Lisa’s new best-selling domestic thriller, “What Happened to the Bennetts,” on sale now. Also, look for Lisa’s historical novel, “Eternal,” in paperback. Francesca’s debut novel, “Ghosts of Harvard,” is also in paperback.