| Vol.
I, No. 2 | Thanksgiving | Nov.
17th, 2000 |
Food
& Dining Abbondanza
... An Italian-American Thanksgiving First of all, let's
acknowledge that, for some, talking about Italian food on the quintessentially
American holiday of Thanksgiving may seem like heresy. ... Ok.
Acknowledged. Now we can get on with it. ... I
was talking with someone the other day when the conversation turned to
food. I don't remember exactly how or why. But what I do remember,
as the talk became more animated and more than almost philosophical, is
what she said: "Italians and food," she
said. "For the French, food is an art. Sure. But for
Italians, it's ..." Here, she paused a moment, searching for the
word. You could see she wanted to get it just right. Then she
found it. "It's life!"
That
conversation stayed with me and, later that evening, or maybe it was the next
day, I found myself remembering the Thanksgiving dinners of my childhood ...
family events of 25 or 30 or more ... grandma, aunts, uncles, cousins.
We'd gather early, around one in the afternoon, with the first course about an
hour away, and, as kids, all the while being called to the kitchen stove to
taste the soup, try a meatball, lick a spoon. ... Abbondanza
...
The basic ingredient in the Thanksgiving dinners of my childhood
was abbondanza ... abundance. As I mentioned, the dinner itself
would start around two in the afternoon, and at nine or ten, there'd still be a
gathering at the table. What follows, here, then, is not
recipes. Instead, it's simply the typical menu of those Thanksgiving
dinners, offered up as much as anything to stimulate the imagination ... and
maybe your palette. But most of all, the hope is it will arc across to you
the utter joy of family and food on Thanksgiving. A
Childhood Thanksgiving Dinner ...
As a child, most Thanksgiving dinners
were spent at my grandmother's, a small three-room, second-story flat, where
somehow, miraculously, her kitchen was transformed into an enormous space that
could not only accommodate all the cooking, but the dinner table and all the
guests, too. ... Most holiday meals began with escarole
soup with white beans -- 'scarole -- a favorite of just about
everyone, kids included. It was a clear chicken broth, with a
not--too-dense portion of translucent escarole ribs and softened leaves, and
a smattering of white beans. {At Easter dinner, the escarole would be
replaced by fresh dandelion greens.} Of course, there the wine
began to flow at this point, and didn't stop through most of the day.
In the earliest years, it would often be homemade. Also, as kids, we
almost always could have some wine with seltzer.
The
Antipasto came next, a magnificent spread of cold cuts {salami,
capicola & prosciutto} and cheeses {usually mozzarella
& provolone}, as well as the last of the tomatoes from the
garden, fresh basil, and all those marinated side vegetables ... peperoncini,
eggplant caponata, artichoke hearts, roasted peppers. This is
the point at which the adults would start to remind themselves that there
was lots more dinner to come.
At this
point came the break. This was the time during which the uncles
would migrate to the parlor to watch football, the aunts would clear the
table, and us kids would go outside and see who else from the neighborhood
was around, compare dinners so far, and maybe play stickball. Breaks
didn't last too long ... maybe 20 minutes, maybe half an hour at most.
We
came back for the Pasta, which we always referred to as
macaroni. For holidays, it was always one of two possibilities at my
grandma's -- either homemade manicotti or ravioli. It
may be one of those distortions of memory, but the manicotti
especially were so light, and the shells so thin, that most of us boys would
put away 8 or 10 without batting an eye. Interestingly, whatever meats
had been cooking in the sauce {which we always called 'gravy'} didn't come
out until after we'd finished the pasta.
The
meats that had been in the tomato sauce came next. And on
Thanksgiving, as on most holidays, there was lots to choose from --
meatballs and sausage, of course, but also bracciola {rolled filets
of beef lightly stuffed with breadcrumbs and garlic and parsley}, and
usually a fresh pork, which was so tender you could separate it easily with
a fork. Often, the meats were served with a side of green salad, heavy
on the vinegar.
The second break came
next. There wasn't much difference from the first break, except maybe
for the fact that some of the uncles would migrate outside this time with
the kids, and some of us kids would find our way into our grandmother's
attic, where we'd go through the old steamer trunks and look at old
pictures.
We returned from the break to the
turkey & trimmings. The bird was enormous, with a stuffing
usually made with bread & sausage, and a heavy taste of sage.
Along side the turkey were the roasted potatoes & onions, candied sweet
potatoes, mushrooms {sometimes stuffed}, corn, and cranberry sauce.
With that many people, the bird usually divided up nicely as the kids went
for the white meat, the men went for the moist dark meat or drumsticks, and
the women would have a helping of white meat, but really look forward to the
wings or neck. Sometimes, when two went for it at once, there'd be a
ritual of deference to see who would end up with 'the Pope's Nose'.
{You can figure it out.}
The third break
came next. This was usually the longest break as uncles would, by and
large, fall asleep in the parlor chairs, and aunts would clear the kitchen
with uncanny speed and precision, then sit down at the table to talk the
family talk.
Next came the fresh fruits,
cheeses & roasted chestnuts, as well as cordials, the
anisette or strega {which means 'witch'}, homemade by my grandma
until she got too old. {I don't know if anyone in the family learned
the art from her, of making those cordials, or of her lighter than air manicotti,
for that matter.} This part of the dinner always seemed optional, as
kids and uncles would wander in and out of the kitchen, sit, pick at
whatever was on the table. This was also the time when things slowed
down enough so that the aunts remembered that they wanted to pinch your
cheeks.
Finally came the desserts &
espresso. Of course, there were the obligatory pumpkin and apple
pies, and maybe others. But there were also the pasteries, like the
sweet filled canolli with citron and shaved chocloate, and the almond
cookies ... and the struffoli -- oh, the struffoli -- mounds
of fried dough, in balls the size of small marbles, dripping with honey and
covered with the rainbow of small nonpareils.
This,
then, was our Thanksgiving. ... It was abundant, not
because any of the family, least of all my grandmother, were well off. No.
The abbondanza was an expression of gratitude that began with my
grandmother and flowed to all of us like a wide and generous stream.
... Actually, I'm probably leaving something out. Even
in her later years, when she could no longer make it down the stairs to my Aunt
Marie's for an evening supper, nonetheless, every Sunday, my grandma made it out
the door, down the steps of the front stoop, and walked the seven blocks to Our
Lady of Mt. Carmel. She did it as long as she could. ... I
have a sneaking suspicion, then, that the flow I mentioned earlier may not, for
her anyway, have begun with her. A Happy & Joy-filled
Thanksgiving to you all.
lmc *******
******* If you would like to submit
a recipe or feature for our Food & Dining section, don't hesitate to let us
know. Simply e-mail us at food@downstreetmagazine.com.
The e-mail should contain your name, address, and a phone number where we can
reach you. You may also send a copy of your proposed article. The
text can either be included in the body of the e-mail, or you can send it as an
attachment in just about any word processing format. If your piece is
accepted, we will pay a small honorarium for your interest & your
time. [See Freelancers
Wanted for more details.] *******
******* If you would like to advertise in this
section, or throughout the magazine, please visit our Advertising
Info Pages ... or call, write, or e-mail ads@downstreetmagazine.com. *******
*******
|
