I began my cookbook with a trip down memory lane:
Christmas is rich with tradition in our family -- new and old. My memory extends far back to those Christmas Eves at Nonna's and Nonno's. Waiting for the car to arrive from Los Angeles so we could quickly get through the baccala and ceci soup to what was really near and dear to our hearts -- opening the presents. Christmas Day was feast day. The highlight simply was food. Everyone contributed to the feast.
We would start with antipasto: ascuiga (anchovies) with tomatoes, garlic and olive oil and good homemade wine vinegar from barrels in the basement, crostini (traditional with sauteed chicken livers), fried cardi (cardoons), artichoke hearts, marinated tuna, prosciutto, mortadella, coppa, provolone, crab with garlic, parsley and lemon. All served with large baguettes of fresh French bread.
Only after the antipasti could we go on to the ravioli's. After ravioli's ensalata (salad), meat dishes, roasted potatoes, sweet potatoes, cooked vegetables, and more that is now forgotten it was so many years ago.
Dessert was the finale with pumpkin, mincemeat, torta verdura, torta cioccolata, assorted biscotti, torrone, panforte and fresh fruits and nuts.
At each step of the way we were served homemade wine -- my father's and grandfather's -- a zinfandel from Parducci vineyards in Napa. Everyone had their favorite food of the day. Mine was the torta verdura (made with swiss chard). Nonno's was roasted chestnuts. (When I studied in Florence I understood why, in winter chestnuts are roasted all over towns and the hot nuts warm cold fingers and are very filling.) Being Italian is about family. It is often said that Italians are loyal first to their family, next to their town, then to their province, and last to their country.
Here are snapshots of my childhood:
The citron tree in Nonno and Nonna's back yard;
The old fig tree in which Nonno built our swing;
Their pomegranate tree;
Eating the lacey leaves of fennel in their garden;
The large redwood tank where the red wine was fermented;
Large wine barrels lined up in a row in the garage;
Ravioli's freshly made and drying on all available surfaces;
Small chicken eggs fresh from the day's chicken cooked in brodo (broth) for me to eat;
Chicken feet being singed on the gas burner and tossed into the brodo;
Focaccia from Lucca's delicatessan pungent with tomato sauce and anchovies;
Trading torrone boxes;
Eating confetti (sugar almonds) at weddings and the hours it took to wrap the white confections in netting and tie with satin bows;
Sleeping in the windmill at Zia Inizes;
Zia Racchele's purple mosquito ointment;
The grape arbor at the farm house in Merced;
Nonna's dry cured olives in large ceramic vessels;
Carboys of wine in the cellar;
Garlic around Nonno Eugenio's neck to ward off illness.
La Mia Famiglia
Nonno and Nonna probably on the ranch in Merced, California |
My great grandmother and grandfather in Italy (unsure of year but probably late 1800s or early 1900s). |
My mother cutting a roast for an outdoor family pranzo. My father looking on from behind her. One of many I remember though I don't know if I was born yet here. |
Again, my grandmother's visit with her brothers and sisters in front of her childhood home in Porte a Moriano. My grandmother is the one standing in the middle with the white blouse and white hair. |
The Cresci brothers on their farm in Merced |
Parentis and Cortopassis. |
Nonno holding our hands (in front of our house in Oakland) |