The regulars at Da Rigatoni.
Her oldest friend and permanent project. She feeds him, corrects his stories mid-sentence, and has a standing order with the back door: locked to him before dinner, unlocked after. He claims she loves him. She claims he eats too fast. Both are true.
The 13-year-old rigatoni who lives for her Sunday sauce and serves as official taste-tester — a title Nonna invented so he'd stop "sampling" from the pot unsupervised. He is, she tells everyone, "too thin," which is why his portions are the largest at the table.
Her long-suffering second-in-command, a thin and speedy spaghetti who has worked the Da Rigatoni kitchen for decades. He can julienne basil in his sleep and has strong opinions about Penne's table manners, which he expresses entirely through sighs.
The widower who takes the corner table, the twins who "help" (steal breadsticks), the night baker who trades loaves for sauce — a whole quarter that runs on Nonna's cooking and shows up, every Sunday, to prove it.