Or maybe you do. But I certainly didn’t know about it growing up, nor did our New York-born, mostly Italian family before we introduced it during Sunday’s family dinner.

Thanks to Stanley Tucci, timpano has now entered our culinary lexicon. It was such a hit during Sunday Dinner that we (I) will assuredly be making it again. But what exactly is timpano?

If you have HBO, watch Stanley Tucci: Searching for Italy, episode 6 to be exact, and you’ll be enlightened. Tucci casually visits a Sicilian princess for dinner and dines on three separate timpani. To be honest, Matt and I were more taken by the fact that Stanley Tucci was eating with a real princess than the food, but after watching Big Night, another Tucci feature, a few weeks later, we were infatuated by the dish. (More homework: watch Big Night, also starring Tony Shalhoub, this weekend. You won’t regret it.) Imagine an Italian kugel or a chicken pot pie on steroids. If you need help with the visual, timpano means “drum” in Italian. Some Italians also call it “timbalo.” In fact, during a call with a friend based in Torino, I asked her if she was familiar with the Sicilian dish. I had to describe it before she asked, “Do you mean timbalo?” I’m not sure which name is more common.

I love spending an entire day in the kitchen, especially on a wintry Sunday. Cooking is one of the rare ways I enter a meditative state, and unfamiliar, laborious recipes are the best for tuning out the world. I was intimidated when I read Tucci’s own timpano recipe, studying it a few times before getting my hands dirty. Timpano calls for the whole gamut of Italian delicacies: pasta, ragú, salami, provolone, pecorino, and meatballs. Wanting to do Secondo (Tucci’s Big Night character) proud, I carefully took out our new pastry board and stand mixer, per the recipe, to begin forming the dough. About an hour into cooking, however, I realized that timpano, despite being labor-intensive, is really just a way to show off some fantastic Italian ingredients. I know how to make pasta dough, hard-boiled eggs, and meatballs. Why was I fretting over the measurements so much?

After greasing up my Dutch oven and successfully stretching out the dough, I trusted my instincts with the layers. After all, can one really go wrong with salami, sauce, and cheese? My biggest fear was poking holes in the dough when I sealed the timpano, but all went splendidly. Hours of baking and resting later, the six of us sat down to a perfectly golden, intact timpano, and it was delicious. To say I was proud would be an understatement.

Our guests (critics) suggested serving sauce on the side to counteract the crispiness of the baked dough, and Matt, alone in his vote, didn’t like the eggs. I say if he wants to cook, he can omit whatever he wants. In my opinion, è stato perfetto.