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 6^th. 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.