Memories of a Christmas Past Part II
by Lauraine Lombara
Our family
celebration of Christmas Eve and Day was centered on the religious
significance of this holiday and was enhanced by the recounting by my
Italian-born parents of stories of their Christmases in Italy. Theirs
was meager compared to ours. Similarities included the importance of
the Nativity crèche and figures, called the Presepio in Italy - a
village surrounding the crèche which was placed on a small table
covered with hay or straw and lit by electric candles in the window
close by. Attending Mass on Christmas Eve or Day was paramount. Small
presents, usually hand-made, were exchanged only within the family
and I, the youngest and only girl, received the lion’s share!
Unlike here, in Italy the gift-giving happened on the Feast of the
Epiphany, January 6th. Food played a major role in both
countries.
Shopping for food
during the week before Buon Natale was exciting. Papa came home from
Haymarket and the North End with tote bags filled to the brim.
Specialties from Italy grew into a mound in one corner of the living
room: two types of torrone – bars of the hard, white nougat filled
with chopped nuts and the small Florentine style decorated boxes of a
softer kind in a selection of flavors; mixed nuts; tangerines and
pomegranates; and one bag filled with huge, brown, shiny chestnuts.
On Christmas Eve
day, Mama spent the morning making anolini, a traditional specialty
of Parma: small pasta squares filled with ground poultry or meat,
eggs, Parmigiano Reggiano cheese, a small amount of breadcrumbs,
spices, salt, pepper, and a dash of grated nutmeg. These little
treasures were time consuming to make but exquisite to taste. Using a
long, heavy rolling pin, taller than I was, she would roll out the
dough made from flour, eggs, water and salt into a huge, thin, almost
see-through sheet of pasta called la sfoglia. It resembled a large
tablecloth, covering the dining table and draping down both ends. She
learned to do this as a young girl in Italy as most girls did. This
art is now said to become almost lost there. Next, she would spread
the filling over one half of the pasta, flip the other half over to
cover the filling, then, using another rolling pin, longer than a
ruler with indented “pockets”, roll this over the filled pasta to
create a quilted tablecloth of dough. Small fluted cutters made
individual little squares of anolini, which resembled mini ravioli. I
helped by separating the squares and laying them out to dry for a
short time on a very large wooden board covered with a clean white
tablecloth. They were stored in layers in boxes in our cold cellar
waiting to be gently cradled in the huge pot of hot chicken broth,
called brodo, which had been made that morning and provided the
chicken for the filling. This first course would be the star of our
dinner on Christmas Day. Freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano,
sprinkled generously over our steaming, fragrant soup bowls made with
love and handed down from generations in Italy…..a truly
spectacular gift each year.
Mama would also
make her crostadas, pastry tarts of a sweet dough, filled with stewed
dried fruits or sliced fresh apples. Cookies made from the same sweet
dough, twisted into fanciful “twirly” cookies, so named by my
first granddaughter, Claire, years later. An untraditional double
batch of scrumptious fudge walnut brownies – the recipe from
Baker’s Unsweetened Chocolate in Milton, MA - completed the dessert
tray. Meanwhile, Papa was busy tending the brodo and prepping the
vegetables: broccoli, green beans, salad and the mix of celery, onion
and carrot chunks to be added to the roast of choice: capon, beef,
veal or pork. Lots of cheese had to be grated and large bunches of
flat leaf Italian parsley chopped to add to or garnish just about
everything.
Christmas Eve
supper in Southern Italy and Sicily is the traditional Feast of the
Seven Fish. My parents never followed this custom, coming as they did
from land-locked Parma with a dearth of fresh fish, except lake trout
or salted dried cod. My brothers and I didn’t care a whit about the
salt cod! In lieu of shellfish and pricey other fish, my parents
served the familiar, commonly served dish of their region on
Christmas Eve. This was a time of fast meals - no meat allowed - so
the traditional pasta, a very delicious fettuccine or tagliatelle,
freshly hand made by Mama that morning was the main course. It was
served with melted butter and Parmigiano Reggiano cheese, perhaps
with some sautéed mushrooms or with a sauce of ground fresh walnuts
with butter, cheese and a little cream. Fettuccine Alfredo had yet to
hit the hills and valleys of Emilia-Romagna or the shores of the USA!
A crisp green salad and fruit ended the meal.
When supper was
over, I would set out my plate of cookies and glass of milk for
Santa, sleepily kiss my parents and brothers good night and crawl
into bed. Early in the morning I awoke and ran down the stairs to see
what surprises Santa had left for me. I remember beautifully dressed
dolls, tiny baby dolls - easier to play with which I happily did for
many years - a sled, a pair of roller or ice skates. My parents
gifted me with clothes, simple pieces of jewelry like a tiny ring, a
chain with a charm or little pearl. My brothers gave me puzzles,
games and books. I especially loved pop-up books and I can still
picture in my mind a yellow book, possibly titled “Hoppy”, which
featured a grasshopper slapping across each page as it was turned. I
checked to see that the Baby Jesus figurine was in his crèche and
that Santa had finished his milk and cookies.
There was no time
to play with my toys or reexamine other gifts since we had to get
ready for early Christmas Mass which we attended as a family. We
listened to the beautiful, familiar carols sung by the choir and also
sang along. We heard the mighty organ proclaim that Jesus was born in
Bethlehem. The priest seemed solemn but happy as he celebrated the
Mass and we filed out of church listening to the sounds of friends
and neighbors exchanging Merry Christmas greetings. I could hardly
wait to get back home to check out my gifts and have breakfast: the
sweet, soft panetonne, sent each year by our relatives in Italy,
eggnog, fruit and a cup of caffelatte, mainly warm milk with a few
drops of coffee to color it beige.
Our dinner was
never later than 1 PM, so after Mass, the preparations were underway
for the Christmas feast. The table was set with fine linen,
candlesticks and flowers. Christmas records played on the Victrola
and the Christmas tree and window candles were lit. Mistletoe hung
over an entry and boughs of balsam and pine lent another layer of
scent to the aromas of the roasting meat and potatoes. The antipasto
platter was laid out on a large oval platter lined with greens; paper
thin slices of coppa, salame, imported Prosciutto di Parma, olives,
marinated mushrooms and artichoke hearts, raw celery and fennel,
Italian tuna, anchovies, capers, tomatoes and a drizzle of extra
virgin olive oil over all. We would finally sit down and say grace,
thanking God for all our blessings. We would raise a glass of icy
cider or fine wine to wish each other Merry Christmas and Buon Natale
as we remembered our few cousins in America, our dear relatives so
far away in Italy, Venezuela and France and all our good friends and
neighbors.
The antipasto led
off the meal, followed by a large soup bowl filled with the “once a
year” magnificent anolini. We had to save room for the roast, sides
and desserts, plus leave a second serving of the pasta to enjoy the
next day, since next year’s Christmas was a long way off! As we
slowly progressed through the next courses, we paced ourselves to
enjoy this labor intensive, delicious meal that was so central to our
celebration. It tied the old Italian traditions of my parents with
the new customs learned in America, which showed their love of their
children and their distant families.
Later in the day,
after all helped to clean up, we sat again for desserts, fresh
coffee, roasted chestnuts and a specialty of Mama’s - zabaione or
zabaglione - the light, fluffy and alcohol-laced egg, sugar, wine or
brandy pudding which Mama would make right before serving. I would
only be allowed a small taste until I was an adult. Served with lady
fingers, it was delicious but potent! We enjoyed the rest of
Christmas day singing carols, laughing, talking, playing games and
resting. We basked in this warm, joyous day with family - the best
gift in the world.
