PITTSFIELD — For nearly all of the late aughts, I had spent every other winter weekend at Nonna’s house in Pittsfield. Nonna was my friend Eric’s maternal grandmother, but I knew her by no other name. If you’d asked me in 2008 how to spend a weekend in Pittsfield, I’d have suggested Friday-night lasagna at Nonna’s, or a warm bowl of Saturday morning tortellini soup before a ski session at Jiminy Peak, a few towns over.