Memories and Moments by GrannyJo

I SMELL A MEMORY
Copyright 2003

COOKING UP CHRISTMAS EVE WITH MEMORIES

It's the early morning hours of Christmas Eve 2002 and I'm busy preparing the food for tonight's celebration. Suddenly, as the first whiffs of fragrant calamari sauce reach my senses, I am transported from my lonely kitchen back, back, to a Christmas Eve remembered, in 1940~~~

Everything really begins a week before the big night. Grandpa Falvo’s order of live snails arrived today. My cousin and I watch them crawl all over each other in their big keg, trying to reach the wine-soaked breadcrumbs that we feed them. Grandpa says it will fatten them up and clean their systems, until it is time for them to be slow-simmered in a thick sauce, made from the strained tomatoes that were canned in the fall.

Grandma Falvo, my mother and aunts are going to the Italian specialty store to pick up more provisions to be used in the preparations for the big event. As usual, I'm included in the group. I always try to wheedle my way into these excursions, especially when they go to Ambriola’s. Am-bree-o-la: the name, itself, drips of Italian delicacies and aromas to my young mind.

Once there, we buy large green, colossal black, and little, dried, Italian olives for the olive salad. Mr. Ambriola scoops them from big barrels that stand at attention in front of his counter---naturally we all get free samples. Then we taste our way through three or four choices of provolone cheese, from the very mild to the acrid-sharp wheel, which oozes droplets of oil testifying to its richness. His good-hearted craftiness pays off; we take some of each.

Of course, several dried baccala (cod) go on the counter to be added to our purchases. They perfume the whole place, delightfully blending in with the salami, pepperoni and cheeses, as though they were never intended for anything else than to hang from the ceiling rack in Mr. Ambriola's market.

Aunt Josephine doesn't forget to pick up several pounds of lupini beans. She needs plenty of time to process them into the salty, crunchy morsels we love. She does them the best! They seem to shoot farther when we kids take aim and pop them out of the skins at each other, in our annual lupini war.

After adding many tins of anchovies and bottles of anise, mint, and rosolio flavorings to the already loaded sacks, we're off. (Munching the tiny bag of confetti candy from my new, good-friend, Mr. Ambriola, I secretly hope that we've forgotten something, so that we can come again!)

Poor Grandma has diabetes and tires easily, so on the way home my mother and aunts divided up most of the pre-Eve preparations among themselves. Aunt Nora and my mother will make the pasta--very fine, hand-cut noodles for the squid sauce. They are much better than the commercial cappelini or spaghettini many people use, which grows sticky very quickly. The noodles stand tall and fine through the last forkful, even for leftovers several days after Christmas.

Aunt Liz will be in charge of the olive and other salads, in addition to helping Aunt Lee and Mom bake the cookies. My mother said that on the day before Christmas Eve, she would bake a huge batch of bread-- WOW! I can see the thick, crusty slices now; the only thing to go with that cheese and those olives!

Because Aunt Helen lives in with Grandma, she gets the (honor?) of sorting out the finished goodies as they arrive, setting a work schedule for the 'big day' and arranging seating for us all. If everyone comes (and why wouldn't they?), we will be 17 adults and 14 children, give or take a few neighbors who will drop in and out all through the evening.

Soon after we get home from the store, Grandpa and my dad disappear into the cellar. You can already smell the wine that they made early in the fall, as soon as you get to the top of the stairs; but now a sweet essence of anise, mint and other fragrant oils, begins floating up the hot air registers and through the open cellar door, until it envelops the whole house. It can only be the anisette, crème de menthe and rosolio that will stand in shining cut-glass containers, on the Christmas sideboard. Celebrating the season with their clear white, bright green and ruby red colors, they will burn hot and sweet to the tongue when we are given a taste. I can never make up my mind which one I like best, although the red of the rosolio always catches my eye.

It's great, living across the street from my grandmother's house; I get in on all the smells, samples and plain old fun of the preparation time. Today, I'm taking my crayons over there to decorate the place cards with Christmas trees. After Aunt Helen prints "Merry Christmas" and "Buona Natale" on them, she'll put them away with the other things she'll be using for the dinner table at the party.

How exciting it's getting! When I get to Grandma's, there are loads of large dress boxes that hold the fresh-baked cookies and nut rolls, lying between layers of waxed paper. A bushel of pizzelle, in vanilla, anise and orange flavors sits close by. A spicy, sweet aroma emanates from the huge tin holding the traditional fruitcake. I go down to the cellar with Aunt Josephine to watch her change the water in the big crock of lupini beans, one more time. They are triple in size now, threatening to burst their skins with the tender inner meat. (We won't tell anyone that we 'tested' them.)

It's the day before Christmas Eve. As soon as Mom has the large, white enamel washtub filled with bread dough and set to raise, the horn on Uncle Jim's car toots outside. We grab boots and coats and tramp out through the snow to join the 'fishing' expedition. Uncle Jim has the biggest car, so he's elected to take all the ladies (and me) to BUY THE FISH ~ a momentous occasion to say the least. Everything we eat on this Christmas Eve will be meatless, because it's a time of abstinence. That means fish and more fish. While we drive to the fish market, I can hear them talking about the Napolitano, the Romano, Calabrese; and "don't forget the Barese and the Basilicato". Whew! I can hardly pronounce them, let alone spell them. Anyway, it means that we have to buy fish to please every sector of Italy represented in our big family.

Am I glad that's over! We come home in a car laden with squid, octopus, eel, smelts, whiting--I gave up watching about then. Everyone takes home their share of fish to clean and we're all supposed to meet at Grandma's at six o'clock in the morning.

My mother is mixing another big batch of dough, to rise slowly through the night. She says she puts more sugar in this mixture than the regular bread dough, and that tomorrow it will be fried into everybody's favorite, crispel! After she takes the huge loaves of bread out of the oven and we've had our homemade pizza supper, it's time for bed and she is setting her alarm clock for 2:00 a.m. Mom has to get up two times during the night to 'punch' the dough down. By morning it will be airy and light and all ready to fry.

We never exchange gifts at the party; there's too many of us. Still, I'm more excited getting ready for it and all the fun of everyone being together, than looking forward to opening my presents at home on Christmas morning. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep..a...winnnnn.. ...zzzzz

Christmas Eve morning, 6:00 a.m. sharp! Everyone is present and accounted for and ready for duty. Aunt Helen has it set up like an army command:

*Breading and frying of fish and crispel--down to the cellar kitchen.
*Snail and squid sauces--upstairs kitchen.
*Salads and tray assembling--sitting room worktable.
*Table setting--dining room.
Everybody--go to work!!

At noon the sauces are simmering, the frying is done, trays are made up and the tables are set. Am I tired! I must have run up and down the cellar steps a hundred times. I couldn't make up my mind where the most fun and action were. Songs and chatter were echoing through the rooms and up and down the stairs all morning. All the cooks are going home now, to rest and dress for dinner.

Christmas Tree 1972

Christmas Eve In PA

What a SIGHT! What AROMAS greet you at six o'clock dinner on Christmas Eve at Grandma's house!

On the dining room table are olive, tossed escarole, chilled broccoli, baccala and Italian potato salads; huge bowls of the tiny snails in thick tomato sauce (one taste is worth the effort of laboriously working them out of the shells with a little pick); squid sauce to be served over the fluffy egg noodles--with plenty of horns of the 'devil fish' to scare the kids (not ME); baccala stew; fried and baked fish, breaded or unbreaded, spicy or mild--great platters there for your choice.

Trays of cheese, roasted peppers, home-canned-fire-hot-pickled peppers, crisp vegetables to be dipped in tazza 'n berra, all surrounding the bowls of golden lupini, offer relief from the heavier food. Carafes of home-vintnerd wine march proudly down center-table, with baskets of crunchy fresh bread as color guard.

A wicker clothesbasket, lined with a snowy cloth and piled high with sugared crispel, holds a place of honor on a small table of its own. Standing in a corner is a washtub filled with cracked ice and bottles of soda pop and beer, contributed by Uncle Jim, the 'beer man'. A tremendous jug of Grandpa's wine nestles in the middle of the ice, keeping cool until it is needed to refill the carafes on the table. Even we kids get little sips of the beer and wine. In our family it is not considered a vice, but a compliment to the good food and used only in moderation.

In the living room, a long table is set up with platters of biscotti, frosted anisetties, guando-dusted with powdered sugar, snowball and thumb print cookies; slices of tender nut roll and fragrant fruit cake, bowls of confetti candy, fruits and nuts of all descriptions. Salvers of each flavor of pizzelle vie for attention among all the rest. A sideboard displays sweet, homemade dessert wine and the Christmassy colors of rosolio, anisette and crème de menthe, plus the only commercial liquor ever brought into the house by Grandpa, Seagram's 7.

When we all finally find our name cards, Grandma lights the candles and Grandpa makes a toast, "to many more feasts like tonight's". Now we are free to eat at the table or to roam among the rooms, plate in hand, picking and choosing from the magnificent array. Jokes and stories are flying hot and heavy and I am joining in every song that explodes spontaneously into life. Friends, making their rounds of the neighborhood, bring cold air through the door with them to cool my flushed cheeks. They have a glass of wine and partake heartily of all the goodies.

Just when I think everyone will burst if they eat another bite, the ladies start to clear the table and apportion leftovers out to the families. Now I'm sitting on my dad's lap, here on the floor, the rest of the family all around us, crowding close to Grandpa in his rocker. In the glow of candlelight and Christmas tree lights, I can see each rapt face as we listen to his tales of Christmas Eves past. Too soon, it's time to go home and sleep, so "Santa Claus can visit".

As my mother helps me set out crispel and a small glass of rosolio for Santa, I think, "This was the best Christmas Eve--ever!"

Stirring from my memories of long ago, I realize that it is now again Christmas Eve at Grandma's house; only this time I'm the Grandma. Although I am busily preparing many of the favorites of long ago, it is usually just my immediate family here for dinner, though none have ever been so dear to me ~ husband, Rich; daughter, Lori; sons, Rick and Philip; granddaughter, Lissa; grandson, Michael; and son-in-law, Mike. We manage to put a good dent into Christmas Eve dinner, but there are still a lot of leftovers to apportion and send with them.

Most of the uncles and aunts have gone on to the big Christmas Eve dinner in the sky, along with my parents. We still have Uncle Mike and Aunt Lee and Cousin Michael sharing the evening with us. Aunt Liz and the rest of the cousins all have their own families and live in different states, while Aunt Helen is in a nursing home. The labor is less intensive, but the memories of the love that went into the preparations for that special Christmas Eve linger on.

When I light the candles for my family this Christmas Eve, and look into their rapt faces as I tell stories of Christmas Eves past, I will remember how blessed I really am.

(UPDATE 2006) In the past two years we have lost my brother, Aunt Helen and Uncle Mike. Aunt Lee is in assisted living. We hope she will be well enough to come to this Christmas Eve. Aunt Liz is 95 and will not be able to come from CA. Time takes us all eventually, but nothing can kill the memories within the heart.)

(See Christmas Eve Menu and Recipes Below)