Archive for the ‘family’ Category
she walks in beauty,
my mother
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair’d the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
~ Lord Byron
Thank you, Mom, for teaching me grace, kindness, and, above all, love.
Happy Birthday! Can’t wait to see you!
of snapdragons and lion’s mouths
Before I moved to Italy, I was never good at remembering and identifying flowers and trees. No matter how many times someone told me “this is a peony and that’s a petunia,” the information just didn’t stick in my brain–like it just wasn’t wired that way.
Thankfully things have since changed, and I find my memory working in perfect harmony with nature. I am always happy to learn a new leaf shape, a new flower, and have it stick in my head without much effort especially since I am surrounded by plenty of flowers I’ve never seen before (not that I remember anyway).
For weeks I had been meaning to photograph some interesting flowers that I pass on my walk with the dogs. I finally grabbed the camera the other day, afraid that the magenta petals would shrivel up before I had a chance to immortalize them.
For some reason, I kept thinking: “I *know* my mom would know what these are” but how could I describe them over the phone?
So I came home and put the photos up on Flickr, and asked if anyone knew what they were called. My new friend Doisemum kindly responded with a link in Italian telling me that these are Bocca di Leone (lion’s mouth) in Italian.
P had actually told me they were called something that starts with a B and ends in “leone” so he was on the right track. Then I searched for the name in English and found out that these are Snapdragons.
Immediately I thought, “My mom loves snapdragons!”
Only I had no idea why I thought that. No specific memory in which my mom talked about snapdragons came to mind, but I just had this overwhelming feeling that I had to tell her about these flowers.
Later that evening, I walked with the pooches again and couldn’t believe what I saw–the very same flowers that I had photographed hours before had been pulled up from the roots and left to rot on the pavement!
I guess someone thought they were weeds (mind you no one lives where these flowers grow) and decided to do his/her civic duty–and then let them sit there in small piles on the ground, as if that looked prettier.
Good thing I had taken the photos in the morning, I thought, and gathered up the long stems, brought them home, and stuck them in some water in a jar on my fireplace, hoping to extend their life just a bit longer:
Later I told my mom about the whole strange experience–and her reaction when I told her I found out what “those” flowers” were?
“I love snapdragons!”
Turns out that she has very fond memories of playing with these as a child, making their “mouths” open up and talk.
It is an understatement to say that my mom doesn’t have many fond memories from childhood, so this was extra-special for her to relive and also for me to hear.
I can only conclude that she must have told me about this somewhere along the way and that my brain kept just enough information handy for someday when I could truly appreciate the Story of the Snapdragons–for when it was rewired to handle it.
And now I will always remember what snapdragons look like and why it’s important that I stop and make them talk.
La Buona Cucina Americana: Thanksgiving Filling
Or stuffing or dressing depending on where you’re from.
Thanksgiving is absolutely my favorite holiday. It’s all about giving thanks and eating–two of my favorite things. And while I *like* turkey, for me the stars of Thanksgiving are the side dishes. Love them.
I love my mom’s filling the most–so much that it is my first contribution to La Buona Cucina Americana.
If you don’t know what this is, read Judith in Umbria’s description here.
Essentially we Americans are tired of the trash-talking (pun intended) about our cuisine. Contrary to popular stereotypes (often involving Golden Arches), Americans do shop at markets, slice and dice fresh ingredients, and otherwise make real homemade meals.
Through La Buona Cucina Americana, we are sharing some of our favorite recipes in English and Italian so our Italian amici can try them out too.
So far we’ve had:
- Mary’s American Style Shepherd Pie
- Judith’s Chicken Pot Pie
- Barb’s Scalloped Potatoes
- Sara’s Barbecue Baked Beans
And now, straight from my mom’s cucina:
Thanksgiving Filling
- 1 stick of butter
- 3 carrots, peeled and shredded
- 3 celery stalks, chopped finely
- 1 large onion, chopped finely
- handful of parsley, chopped finely
- 1 loaf stale bread, in chunks (sliced bread is fine)
- 2 cups chicken or vegetable broth
1. Preheat oven to 350°F.
2. Melt butter in large pan and add carrots, celery, onion, and parsley. Sauté for about 10 minutes.
3. In the meantime, make sure the water and broth are heated and grease a medium-sized baking dish with butter.
4. When carrots, celery, and onion are soft, pour water and broth into pan.
5. Add bread cubes, which should look something like this:
6. Mix with wooden spoon until all bread is moistened, but don’t overmix.
7. Pour mixture into baking dish, and bake in oven for about an hour, a little longer to get an even crunchier top.
8. Let sit for about five minutes after you take it out of the oven before serving.
Notes:
- I bake mine in the oven because I like an uber-crunchy top, but you can also use this as a traditional “stuffing” by stuffing this inside the bird of your choice; just let it cool off before you do so.
- Some of you may be wondering where the sausage is. My mom doesn’t make hers with sausage, so I don’t either. P–like a true Calabrian–asked if I would include it next time, and I will because I’m a good fidanzata.
Ripieno tradizionale per tacchino per il giorno di Ringraziamento
- 110 g di burro
- 3 carote pelate e grattugiate
- 3 gambi di sedano tritati
- 1 cipolla (bianca o gialla) grande tritata
- prezzemolo tritato q.b.
- 600 g di pane secco a cubetti
- 250 mL di brodo (vegetale o pollo)
1. Preriscaldare il forno a 180°C.
2. Fate squagliare il burro in una padella grande e aggiungete le carote, il sedano, la cipolla, ed il prezzemolo. Fate appassire per una decina di minuti.
3. Nel frattempo, assicuratevi che l’acqua ed il brodo sono caldi e imburrare la casseruola.
4. Quando le carote, il sedano, e la cipolla diventeranno morbidi, aggiungete l’acqua ed il brodo.
5. Aggiungete i cubetti di pane.
6. Mescolate con un cucchiaio di legno solo fino ad umidire il pane ma non troppo.
7. Versate il composto nella casseruola. Infornate per circa un’ora, qualche minuti in più per una crosta più croccante.
8. Fate riposarlo per circa 5 minuti prima di servirlo.
Annotazioni:
- Io lo cucino al forno perché mi piace una crosta croccantissima ma potete usare il composto anche come un ripieno tradizionale. Lasciatelo raffredare, quindi usatelo per riempire un tacchino, un pollo, ecc.
- Forse state cercando la salsiccia nella ricetta. Mia mamma non la usa quindi non la uso neach’io. Il mio fidanzato P–come un vero Calabrese–mi ha chiesto di aggiungerla e la prossima volta lo farò perché sono una brava fidanzata.
Buon appetito!
Where I’m From (Inspired by George Ella Lyon)
Some of you may have seen George Ella Lyon’s gorgeous, moving poem Where I’m From. If you haven’t, go here but then please come back.
Now, after reading my thoughts below, do yourself, your well-being, and everyone around you a favor and use this form to guide you in writing something of your own.
And then please, please share it with us.
————–
Where I’m From
I am from coal, the black diamond, from the depths of the earth, from the veins of life mined by my ancestors so that I would never have to, those who toiled away sotto terra as their wives worked hard at home or in factories hoping to never hear the whistle call them to the breaker in the middle of a work day.
From Big Ben’s blue birch beer, a taste so unique and delicious, only a chosen few have ever had the pleasure.
I am from a quaint, white house with a brick-colored porch, off on its own on a block of row homes, rebuilt by my family after a fire destroyed it, smelling often of garlic and onions, but also of fresh-baked everything.
I am from the spider fern, launching its branches far and wide, hoping that someone, somewhere will take in a baby off-shoot, plant it and nurture it.
The lily, the gorgeous lily that was a fixture in the house at Easter time, sitting in front of the fireplace, dying with each passing day but bringing such joy to all who saw her.
I am from Christmas Eve at my grandmother’s house, squeezing into the kitchen, eating baked ham, potato salad, cheese, meats, and so many sweet pickles and black olives, I thought I might burst.
And different shades of dark hair from my mom and my dad and my brother.
I am from the daily dinner table shouting (not in a good way) and keeping feelings inside, quiet, and out of view (except for the shouting).
From the “no soda before noon” rule and stories of what is was like to grow up as an immigrant family in America in the 1930s and 40s.
I am from a strong base of Catholics, with a slight dose of agnostic, and have come to follow a similar path. I am from a study of many world religions and finding some of each that bring me at peace with the world, and yet complete failing to understand how so many religious people hate so much and so many in the name of one god or another.
I am from the desire to learn, to understand, to love, to be loved, and from the wish that we all, truly, can live in harmony.
I’m from a small town in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania, from Lithuanians, Italians, and Germans, from pierogies, gnocchi, and sauerkraut.
From the great-great-grandfather who was saved from a bull by his trusty black mutt, the aunt who constantly changed her first name because she didn’t like her given one, and the father who served in Vietnam.
I am from an accordion-file folder back in the States, a wall in my brother’s house, and a small black-and-white photo album here with me—a collection of family pictures, documents, stories, and history that are worth little monetarily, but that couldn’t possibly mean more to me.
A struggle of one family that has moved around the world, been laborers and professionals, helped build countries, fought wars, healed the sick, played professional sports, cooked for the masses, touched the hearts of many, seen the best and worst of people, experienced many successes as well as failures, but, most importantly, persevered as a unit, as a family.
————–
Reminder: check out Judith‘s Chicken Pot Pie for La Buona Cucina Americana!
Buon weekend!
What’s Cooking Wednesday: Calabrian Zeppole for St Joseph’s Day
Happy St. Joseph’s Day! And to my dad, Happy Italian Father’s Day!
Perhaps you’re confused. That’s OK. You can read all about the Festa di San Giuseppe in last year’s post: Fava Beans and Cream Puffs. There you’ll also find a photo of my great-great-grandfather a.k.a. the reason I ended up in my charming village.
Auguri Papù and to all Josephs, Giuseppes, and dads out there!
Also to Giuseppinas, Josephines, and any others celebrating!
Also, if some of you happen to remember St. Joseph’s Day altars from childhood but are missing them right about now, check out this Virtual St. Joseph’s Day Altar. If you don’t have any idea what I’m talking about, read about this tradition.
Now . . . it’s time for zeppole.
Or as we say around here, zippoli.
As I noted in last year’s post, this word means many different things depending on where in Italy you are. This is a common phenomenon, and in fact, just last night I read a similar sentiment in Laura Schenone’s The Lost Ravioli Recipes of Hoboken: A Search for Food and Family:
“Prescinsêua cheese may mean one thing in the city, but to some contadini in the country it may mean something completely different.”
So, in that vein, some of you know zeppole as cream puffs, but there ain’t no cream in the Calabrian version. In fact, there are anchovies.
How’s that for una sorpresa if you’re expecting cream?
I have a very vague memory of my grandmother [perhaps] making these with anchovies when I was small, but the ones I remember best were simply coated in sugar while they were still hot.
Ah . . . zeppole memories . . .
Waiting patiently at my grandmother’s hip (seriously I was that high, or low I should say as she was under 5 feet tall) for these to cool down ever so slightly to dig in. She never got even near a platter-full before one batch was already gone. They’re that good.
Unfortunately for my recipe repertoire though, my grandmother didn’t make her own dough in her later years when kneading wasn’t possible; she always bought fresh dough from the *best* local pizzeria and bakery.
Indeed, she’d pick up the dough early Friday morning (during Lent especially), make pizzas throughout the day and then fry these babies up just as we were finishing up on the pizza. I cannot tell you how much I miss walking into that house on Friday afternoons after school.
MAMMA MIA . . . CHE PROFUMO!
So I went to a few sources for a recipe:
(1) P’s mom; (2) my friend Alida from nearby Isca sull’Ionio who I met in Philadelphia (she brought homemade biscotti to our first in-person meeting!); and (3) my dear friend Mary Amabile Palmer’s cookbook Cucina di Calabria: Treasured Recipes and Family Traditions from Southern Italy.
Between these wonderful women (grazie mille!), I am tasting exactly what I remember swiping off paper towels as a child. And now you can enjoy them too.
Zeppole con Alici o Semplice
(I Zippoli Calabrese)
Fried Dough with Anchovies or Plain
- 1 package active dry yeast or 10 g of fresh yeast
- 1 1/4 cups warm water
- 3 cups all-purpose or “00” flour
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- Splash of white wine
- 1 small jar or can of anchovies
- vegetable oil for frying
- confectioner’s or regular sugar for dusting (if making plain version)
1. Dissolve yeast in 1/4 cup of warm water.
2. Put salt and flour in a mound on your working space, a wooden board if possible, although I use something like this like my grandmother used.
3. Make a well in the center and gradually add the dissolved yeast, remaining water, and wine pulling flour into the liquid as you go.
4. Knead for between 5 and 10 minutes until the dough is smooth, elastic, and “bella morbida” as my suocera kept saying–quite soft. If you’re used to making pizza, you may have recognized these ingredients; just make sure the dough here is softer than for pizza.
5. Put dough ball in oiled bowl, cover it with a towel, and put in a dry, warm place to rise for about 2 hours.
6. After the dough has doubled in size, take it out, and knead it for another few minutes. Then put it back in the bowl and allow it to rise again for another couple hours. This will make for fluffier zeppole, but if you don’t have time, just let it rise once. They’ll still be good.
7. In the meantime, if you’re using anchovies, prepare them by removing them from their container and draining oil. Cut them in two pieces so that they will fit into a pocket of dough that will end up being about the size of the palm of your hand once folded over.
8. Heat oil over medium heat.
9. Pull off small chunks of dough about golf-ball size, flatten, and stretch into a rectangle. Place anchovy or two inside and fold over, sealing edges well. If you’re making the plain version, simply stretch to dough to the size of the palm of your hand.
10. Fry in hot oil for 3 to 4 minutes, turning zeppole so they are lightly brown all sides.
11. Remove from oil with slotted spoon and place on paper towels to drain.
12. If you are making them without anchovies, dust them with sugar while they’re still hot–and if you’re like me and actually like the anchovy-filled ones with sugar as well (ssh–they think I’m very weird here for this), go right ahead!
Note you can also fill these with lots of other things. Raisins, for example, are delicious inside and then I recommend dusting with confectioner’s sugar.
Buon appetito!
Michelle Kaminsky is an American attorney-turned-freelance writer who lived in her family's ancestral village in Calabria, Italy for 15 years. This blog is now archived.
Calabria Guidebook
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