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About TastyTidbitz
Tasty Tidbitz is a forum in which to
kibbutz about food and ways to prepare
it. Here I endeavor to present recipes
that blend old classics with new twists
on traditional themes.
Some of them are
tried-and-true creations from personal
collections, some are modern recreations
of early dishes, and some are
traditional renditions of family
favorites.
All, however, have stories that endear
the recipes to me. They
reflect the influence of
my family, the places I have lived, and
the friends I have made along the way.
My journey has taken me from New Jersey
to California to Virginia to Florida,
learning about foods from all parts of
the country and many nations. These are
the recipes I am now reworking and
modifying to reflect today's methods and
tastes. Hence the premise of this blog.
I hope you will enjoy reading the
stories and that you will join me in
this journey down memory lane. Most of
all, I hope that you will try the
recipes with your own family and friends
to create new memories and that you will
be eager to send me comments and
memories of your own. I welcome your
comments and encourage you to ask others
to join us.
Angela |
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The
Feast of La Vigilia
Christmas is known around the
world as a day of feasting and overindulgence.
But Italians take the holiday to another
dimension. They celebrate Christmas Eve as well.
While most families are rushing to finish up
last-minute Christmas preparations, Italian
families are gathering together for a festive
Christmas Eve dinner—a fasting feast. An
oxymoron you might say. Well, it may be, but
there is really no other way to describe the
Italian Christmas Eve dinner.
It is a fast, first of all,
because the Italians honor the belief that La
Vigilia—the vigil of the birth of Christ—is
sacred. And, much in the centuries-old Catholic
tradition of abstaining from meat on Friday and
certain holy days, only fish is served. But it
is a feast just the same, as the table is laden
with a bounty of fish dishes—traditionally
seven, nine, or twelve—although three, four,
thirteen and as many as twenty-one fish dishes
have been known to grace a Christmas Eve table.
There is no set number, and every family has its
own preference.
Each number of fish dishes
prepared signifies something, although its
significance is speculative and varies among
regions and families. Three dishes are said to
honor the Holy Trinity; four represent the
gospels. Nine signifies the number of months
Mary was with child. Eleven represent the
Apostles without Judas; thirteen include him.
The most common number is seven, which has given
the celebration its popular name, The Feast
of the Seven Fishes. The significance of the
number seven, however, runs the gamut.
The most popular explanation is
that seven signifies the seven sacraments of the
church. But it is also thought to stand for the
seven virtues, the seven deadly sins, the seven
days of creation, the seven gifts of the Holy
Spirit, the seven utterances of Christ on the
cross, the seven hills of Rome, the seven
pilgrimages, and even the seven wonders of the
world. Who knows? There is no consensus, nor
does any Italian family care. You might say that
each Italian family serves as many dishes as it
can afford—or even as many as will fit on the
table. But, regardless of the number of dishes,
the ritual of Christmas Eve has been handed down
from generation to generation and serves as a
living connection to a centuries-old tradition.
In Italy, the types of fish
served mostly depend on availability, and the
menu varies with each province. Traditionally,
however, the dinner always includes baccala,
eel, smelts, anchovies, scungelli, and calamari
prepared in a variety of ways—in a salad,
stuffed with ricotta cheese, broiled, simmered
in a tomato sauce, or breaded and fried. Here in
America, the menu often follows family
traditions that have been handed down from the
old country. But as life changes, so do customs,
and new generations are putting a new bent on
the traditional dishes. Today dishes that
incorporate all the fish into one dish—such as a
stew or cioppino, a paella-type rice dish, and
even a mixed seafood salad—are finding their way
onto modern tables.
The staple of the meal is pasta,
sometimes prepared with oil and garlic and set
alongside the fishes so each person can
incorporate the fish with the pasta or have the
pasta as a side dish. Or it is sometimes
prepared with clams, mussels, shrimp and lobster
and served as a separate course. Vegetables such
as broccoli rabe, eggplant, spinach, and
zucchini round out the meal. And stuffoli,
pannetone, pizzelles, and biscotti lend a little
treat at the end.
There are few holiday traditions
as bountiful as the Christmas Eve feast.
Virtually any and all kinds of fish make an
appearance, and preparing for the dinner can
take several days. A daunting task, no doubt,
but still anticipated by one and all. It is an
event, not just a meal. It is a tradition that
beckons family and friends to gather together,
unwind, and visit. It is an important part of
the rich and varied Italian culture. Celebrated
by most Italians, whether they live at home or
abroad, it is a tradition that helps Italians
them remain close to their heritage. |
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I am leaving Wednesday to spend the Christmas holiday with my
daughter and grandchildren in Virginia. They have just had a
heavy snow storm, and I am anxious to enjoy a white Christmas
once again. I miss Virginia and the white canvas of snow that
covers the countryside this time of year. It reminds me of the
Christmases of my childhood in New Jersey.
I love living in Florida, but I don't think I will ever get used
to the moderate temperatures here at Christmastime. I long to
head home. And this time I can, although that wasn't the case in
1960 when I moved to California. My husband was a new college
graduate with a stipend to study there, and with precious little
disposable income we had no hope of returning home for the
holidays. I tried to get into the spirit of a California
Christmas but, although we were there for eight years, I really
never did get used to it. Somehow the image of Santa Claus in a
palm tree didn't conjure up fond memories of my childhood. And I
hated the thought of rearing a child without the white Christmas
I so loved. I yearned to go home.
But since it was out of the questions, I wanted to have a
wonderful Christmas and continue practicing the traditions
anyway. So I tried everything I could think of to make our
holiday celebrations similar to those we had back home. But it
was just too hot and dry. Christmas trees shed their needles
before they were hauled from the lot. Garland strung outdoors
turned brown in little more than a day. The Santa in the
department stores wore shorts. But regardless of the obstacles,
I set out to create our own Christmas in California.
I was hell-bent on keeping the traditions, but I knew there was
no way I could recreate the Ciccotelli holiday celebrations.
There was no way I could replace the family and friends who
would fill my grandmother's home.
The food that was a never-ending affair. Grandpop beginning each
meal with a toast that commemorated his success as a tailor and
businessman:
Here's to those who have old clothes
And have no wives to mend them.
The many hours of preparations, eating, drinking, singing songs,
telling stories. The women, aprons finally removed, sitting
around the table reminiscing about the day. The men playing
poker well into the night.
Yes, I knew I couldn't recreate that atmosphere. But I did know
that I could create the dinner—the escarole soup with tiny
meatballs, the turkey and dressing, the mashed potatoes and
gravy, the fresh cranberry sauce and the star of the meal—the
homemade ravioli.
Ravioli has been the mainstay of our holiday dinners as long as
I can remember. Making the ravioli was and still is the prime
activity on Christmas afternoon. It has always been a major
production as many generations of hands join in to roll out the
dough, spoon out the filling, form the little pillows, and seal
their edges with the tines of a fork. No age group is exempt,
and children are commandeered from the moment they can sit on a
chair and reach the table. I think I was about four or five
years old when I first helped "fork" the ravioli, and I was a
mere eight years old when my grandmother first let me make the
dough.
"Measure out two eggs to each cup of flour—no salt, no water,"
my grandmother instructed. "Put the flour on the counter and
make a deep well in it. The well should be deep enough to hold
all the eggs, but just deep enough so that the eggs will reach
the top. That way, you will know you have enough eggs for the
flour and enough flour to drink up all the eggs. Use your
fingers and start to blend the eggs into the flour, but be
careful not to break the well or you will have eggs all over the
floor."
I worked and worked, but it seemed as though the eggs and flour
would never come together. My hands were full of sticky flour.
“Rub some flour on your hands until they are clean and then
knead the dough until it forms a ball. “Impastilo fino a che
non sia liscio e lucido come bambino dietro. Knead it until
is is as smooth and shiny as a baby’s behind,” my grandmother
would coax.
Once the dough had passed inspection, I set it under an
over-turned heavy earthenware bowl in order to keep the dough
moist and prevent it from forming a crust. I then let the gluten
rest, and after an hour or so climbed up on a chair to get my
grandmother’s black iron macaroni machine and all its
attachments from the cupboard. Then I fastened the machine to
the countertop, placed its wooden rollers in their proper slots
and attached the hand crank. Removing the dough from under its
earthen bowl cover, I carefully kneaded it once more, cut off a
piece, flattened it on the flour-dusted countertop, and put it
through the wooden rollers several times, tightening the tension
knob with each pass, until the dough was stretched into a long
thin rectangle, ready for the ravioli filling.
Throughout my childhood I anxiously waited for Sunday when I
could once again help my grandmother make the dough. I loved to
feel that silky pliable ball come to life in my own hands and
watch as the steel cutters of the macaroni machine magically
produced picture-perfect “homemades.” And, as I grew older, I
never got over the satisfaction of making my own dough. Over the
years, I have had many trials and tribulations, but never did I
stop the tradition of making ravioli on Christmas Day, not even
that first Christmas in California.
We had only been in California a few months and didn’t know very
many people, so I made the ravioli for just the three of us that
first year. But it wasn’t the same and, anxious to share this
tradition, I invited my boss and his family to join us the next
year.
It was very hot, so I made the ravioli early in the morning
before the heat of the day set in. I covered the finished the
ravioli (too many, I thought) with a tablecloth so they wouldn’t
dry out and filled a huge pot with water.
Once my guests had arrived, I turned on the burner under the pot
and joined them for drinks on the patio while I waited for the
water to boil. Everything was going well until I went into the
kitchen to cook the ravioli. When I lifted the tablecloth off
the ravioli, I gasped. My beautiful ravioli had softened,
spread, and stuck together in globs. “These are ruined, I said
to myself, shuddering at the thought. “What am I going to do
now?”
“It's a good thing I made too many ravioli,” I thought as I
gathered my wits. I was rattled, but I refused to become daunted
by the situation, so I went into the living room and asked
everyone to follow me into the kitchen where I handed each of
them an apron. “The ravioli got too warm, spread out and stuck
together,” I apologized. “But I made plenty, and I think I can
save some of them if I cut out every other one. You can help me
by putting flour on the ones we save and resealing each of them
with a fork. They agreed, and we all got to work, finishing our
evening with delicious ravioli served by candlelight—the hosts
and guests of honor still sporting remnants of flour as we
toasted Christmas in sunny California.
As we all came together that day, so has my own family come
together for more than fifty years—my daughter, who began to
help when she was about four, and all of my grandchildren who
were so eager to help that they needed a high chair to reach the
table. Although we make the ravioli at my daughter’s house now,
that’s the only thing that has changed. Christmas Day will still
find us singing and laughing as we all get together to roll,
cut, fill, and fork the much-anticipated ravioli. My
grandchildren—the fourth generation of my family to have been
born in America—are grown now, and two of my grandsons are
married. I hope their wives are beginning to get caught up in
the excitement of our tradition. It is my fondest wish that it
keep alive for many more generations.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
About the Idiom
The
saying, "egg on my face" means to have done something that
embarrassed you. There are two possible origins, both of which
date from the 1950s. The first could be a sloppy eater whose
face had a lot of food left on it, and the second may be a
performer at whom the audience threw eggs. Both would have been
embarrassed.
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This is the ravioli filling we have been using for the
six generations our family has been in America. The
dough, as outlined in the story above, is two eggs to a
cup of flour, no salt, no water. Knead the dough until
smooth and shiny. A half cup of flour per person will
yield enough ravioli to have a few left over. This
recipe will fill about 100 ravioli, which is the number
we make each year.
1 pound very lean ground beef |
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3 pounds whole milk ricotta |
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3 eggs |
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1/2 cup grated Locatelli romano cheese |
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1/4 cup chopped parsley |
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Salt |
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Freshly ground pepper |
Put ground beef in a skillet and
sauté until
brown. Drain completely on paper towels, making sure no
grease is left on the meat. Set aside to cool.
Meanwhile, put ricotta, eggs, and cheese in the bowl of
a mixer. Mix on medium speed until well blended. Add
parsley and mix in well. Season to taste with salt and
freshly ground pepper. |
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12.09.10
My mother’s
kitchen was very different from my grandmother’s. A creative
woman with a flair for the latest in design, Mother enlarged the
kitchen by tearing down the wall into the breakfast room, adding
bright linoleum on the floor and painting the cabinets a trendy
salmon color. Then she set out to fill the kitchen with every
new appliance. She was the first to have a chest freezer, an
electric “mixmaster”, a pop-up toaster, a pressure cooker. Her
kitchen drawers were crammed full of every imaginable new
gadget—a plastic syringe to baste a turkey, a wire contraption
to slice a hard-boiled egg, an implement to peel and core an
apple, a macaroni machine to roll and cut the dough in one step.
The kitchen was her habitat. Except for the few hours she spent
knitting in the evening, she was in the kitchen conjuring up
food with which to fill the freezer in case “company comes.”
Which it always did. Our house was continually filled with
people, and the freezer stood at the ready cramped with plenty
to feed them.
Read More
About the Idiom
The
saying, "a finger in the pie, mans to have an interest in or
meddle in something or everything. The precise origin of this
idiom has been lost, but it is presumed to come from the late
1600s and to allude either to tasting every pie or being
involved in concocting it.
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This is the original recipe for these delicious cookies.
There is some disagreement in cyberland whether or not
the original recipe used baking soda, but I dug out the
old recipe index card and, sure enough, it lists baking
soda. I think the soda is important as it causes the
dough to rise slightly, making the impressions even more
noticeable.
4-1/2 cups flour |
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1/2 teaspoon salt |
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1 teaspoon baking soda |
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1-1/2 cups sugar |
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1 cup butter |
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3 eggs |
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1 teaspoon vanilla |
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Sift together flour salt, and baking soda. Set aside.
Cream sugar and butter until light and fluffy. Add
eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition.
Add vanilla and mix well. Wrap well and set in
refrigerator to chill. Dough must be cold. Roll out
1/4-inch thick. Bake at 400 degrees for 10-15 minutes. |
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Any
regular cookie cutter can be used, of course, if you don’t have
Aunt Chick’s molds.
But, if you get the bug to start this tradition in your family,
you can get everything you need from Aunt Chick's granddaughter
at
www.grammascutters.com
Plus
you can read more stories like this one as there is quite a
large community of Aunt Chick cookie lovers out there.
Merry Christmas.
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7 comments so far
11.19.09
Thanksgiving never fails to bring a flood of memories to my
mind. It’s no wonder. Among our family events, holidays were the
most important and, among the holidays, Thanksgiving reigned
supreme. It ushered in the Christmas season, the most wonderful
time of the year for us. It was a time when rituals were created,
memories shared. A time for drawing together our family and
friends. A time for feasting and spirited toasting. By the
time the fourth Thursday of November arrived, the Ciccotelli
household was bustling with activity. Friends and family
gathered from far and near, and there wasn’t a day when my
grandmother’s house didn't overflow with the family, relatives
of the family, friends of the relatives’ families, and friends
of the relatives’ friends. Everyone was welcome. It was so
exciting for us children. We couldn’t wait for the next group to
arrive. They showered us with affection. And we basked in their
attention.
Read More
About
the Idiom
The
saying, "full plate," means that you have a very busy schedule,
many activities, or a great deal to cope with. The expression
originates from the first of the 1900s and refers an overloaded
dinner plate to a lot to get done.
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Aunt Katherine's Dressing |
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The
most difficult part of making this dressing is the
chopping of vegetables, which is very
time-consuming. But you will be rewarded with a
dressing that is light and fluffy.
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2 bunches celery |
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8 large onions |
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1/2 pound butter |
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2 loaves day-old unsliced bread |
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salt and pepper |
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Dice celery
and onions and put in large Dutch oven. Add butter,
cover, and
cook over medium heat until vegetables are just al
dente. Remove from heat. Cut crusts from bread and break
into small pieces cubes. Add bread to vegetables a little at a time,
tossing lightly just until mixture holds together. Do
not add more bread than it takes for the mixture
to hold together. Let cool to room temperature. When
cool enough to handle, stuff and truss the bird. Roast
immediately. |
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6 comments so far
11.04.09
It's hard
for me to believe that I have neglected to write a post for
three weeks now. Well, I hope it won't be hard for you to
understand. I was out of town for a week and caught a bug
that kept me sick for a week when I got home. But the fact
remains that October has come and gone, and it is already the
first of November. Were I now at Willow Grove in Virginia,
I would be busily preparing for our annual Chestnut Festival,
which we began in 1990 at the nudging of Edna Lewis when she
spotted the chestnut tree in the back of Willow Grove.
Read More
About the Idiom
The saying, "from soup to nuts," means that you have
completed a task from the beginning to the end. Its
analogy refers to the first and last course of a meal, and the
idiom has appeared in slightly different forms from the 1500s.
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Edna's Roasted Pork Loin with Chestnuts |
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This flavorful dish is light on fat and bursting
with taste. Chopped dried apricots make a nice
addition to the stuffing.
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5-pound boneless pork loin |
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1/2 cup celery, chopped |
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1
onion, chopped |
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1
tablespoon butter |
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1/2 pound ground pork |
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1
tablespoon chopped parsley |
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2
tablespoons brandy |
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1/2 teaspoon salt |
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1/2 teaspoon pepper |
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1/8 teaspoon allspice
2
tablespoons pork drippings |
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3
tablespoons flour |
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2
cups chicken stock or broth |
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1
pound boiled chestnuts |
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1
teaspoon brandy |
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Salt and pepper |
Have butcher butterfly pork loin. Pound light/y to even
thickness. Cook celery and onion in butter until tender.
Combine with ground pork, parsley, brandy, and
seasonings. Spread over roast. Roll up roast and tie
firmly. Roast in 350-degree oven until a meat
thermometer reads 160 degrees. Remove from the oven and
let rest 10-15 minutes. Remove pork loin from the pan.
Pour off extra fat from drippings. Add flour and cook
for one minute. Add chicken stock and cook over medium
heat, stirring until mixture thickens. Add chestnuts and
brandy. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve with
sauce on the side.
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7 comments so far
10.08.09
My
grandmother’s kitchen was big—really huge for the times.
Towering white metal cabinets held a wide array of cooking
paraphernalia—blue agate roasting pans, seasoned black iron
frying pans of all sizes, huge aluminum pots for cooking
spaghetti and gravy. The drawers were full of wooden forks and
spoons, many of which were worn, scorched, and bent from years
and years of use. The white formica counter tops held metal
canisters, bread boxes, and cookie tins, all hand-painted with
rooster and fruit motifs. Colorful aprons, potholders, and
kitchen towels hung on hooks on the black and white tiled walls.
Against one wall, in front of the white enamel and black iron
gas stove, was a rectangular chrome table with a red porcelain
top on which my mother, much to the family’s dismay, had
diligently scratched everyone’s name. It was here that we ate
our daily meals. It was here the women in the family spent most
of their time. And it was here that I learned to cook.
Read More
About
the Idiom
The saying, "eating humble pie," means that you have behaved
in an unacceptable way and that you are apologetic. Its
origin comes from medieval times when humble pie (or umble
pie as it was known in medieval England) was a dish made from
entrails that was served to lower classes and servants
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This paired-down version of TuTu's minestra can
be made in just a few hours, but the result is
reminiscent of the soup that we cooked for hours
years ago. Traditionally, to make this a minestrone,
pasta should be added. But, if you want to add
pasta, use ditali or small shells, and cook them
separately, adding the cooked pasta to the dish just
before serving. If left in the soup, the pasta will
swell and result in overdone, mushy pasta.
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1/2 pound pancetta or thick bacon |
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1
large onion, diced |
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2
cloves garlic, minced |
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1
cut-up chicken, 3 to 3-1/2 pounds |
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8
quarts water |
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3
new potatoes, cubed |
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4
cups canned San Marzano tomatoes |
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1
cup each fresh peas, corn, lima beans |
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1
cup cooked canellini beans |
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1
teaspoon fresh thyme |
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2
bay leaves |
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6
springs fresh flat leaf parsley |
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2
teaspoons salt |
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1
teaspoon freshly ground black pepper |
Cut pancetta into matchstick-sized pieces and place in
large stock pot. Sauté
for a few minutes, until fat begins to render.
Add onion and garlic and
sauté until translucent. Add chicken and brown lightly
on all sides. Add water, cover pot, and bring just
to a boil. Turn down the heat and simmer for 2 hours.
Add potatoes, tomatoes, vegetables, thyme, bay leaves,
parsley, salt, and pepper. Cook for about 30 minutes
longer, stirring frequently. Adjust seasoning if
necessary. Ladle into bowls and top with a generous
amount of grated romano cheese.
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2 comments so far
10.01.09
Today, as I sit at my computer in Florida, I am longing for
Virginia. It is early fall. The harbinger of the harvest. And
the thought of the faint chill beginning to develop in the
Virginia air, coupled with the fiery-red evening sky and smoke
from wood-burning fireplaces, makes me nostalgic. I can picture
the hills and mountains that will soon be bursting with color.
The maple trees that will show off their russet and gold leaves
The wild grasses that are boasting their magnificent
sand-colored plumes. And the beautiful mums and asters that are
lending the last bit of color to the garden.
It is a time when everyone in Virginia is busy. Golden fields
are overflowing with hay to be baled. Foods are ripe for curing,
smoking, preserving. The best of the fall fruits—apples, pears,
cranberries, pomegranates, pumpkins—are at their peak. And the
last of the crops stand ready for harvest.
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About
the Idiom
The saying, "forbidden fruit," means an object of desire
whose appeal is the direct result of the fact that it cannot or
should not be obtained or something that is tempting even though
it is potentially dangerous, illegal, or morally unacceptable.
The term originates from the Garden of Eden Bible story and
alludes to Adam and Eve's violation of God's commandment not to
touch the fruit from the tree of knowledge. It appeared in
numerous early English proverb collections.
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This is the best time of year for this dish.
Bartlett pears are at their peak, sweet and full of
flavor.
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6
firm Bartlett pears |
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1-1/2 cups Muscatel wine |
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1
cup water |
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1
cup lemon juice |
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1/2 cup sugar |
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1
teaspoon orange zest |
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1
teaspoon lemon zest |
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1
cinnamon stick |
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1
piece star anise |
Combine
Muscatel, water, sugar, orange and lemon zest, and
spices in a medium pan. Add pears to liquid, covering
with a plate to keep them submerged. Simmer for 20
minutes until pears can be pierced easily with a fork.
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6 comments so far
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About Angela
Hello and welcome. I am a writer,
designer, and small business owner who
has entered a new chapter in life. I
recently sold Willow Grove, the inn and
restaurant in Central Virginia that I
owned and operated for 22 years. During
my time at Willow Grove, I wrote three
cookbooks and began writing a fourth—a
personal account of experiences
revolving around family, food, and
friends.
Born in Philadelphia, I grew up in
Camden, New Jersey, and have been
transplanted to California, Virginia,
and Florida, where I currently reside.
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I
Grew Up Where???
Though you might find it hard to believe today,
Camden was really a wonderful place when I was
growing up. Ethnic in character, the city was a
mix of insular communities, each centered around
a place of worship, each a microcosm of its
ancestor—Greek, Irish, Polish, Jewish, Italian.
I grew up in an Italian family in a Jewish
neighborhood. Our
neighbors were the Blooms, the Greenbergs, the
Wisemans, the Brownsteins, the Salines, the
Parzows, the Liebmans, the Katzes. Their
neighbors were the Ciccotellis.
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An
Italian Christmas Dinner
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Antipasto
Escarole Soup
Ravioli
Turkey and
Dressing
Cranberry Sauce
Mashed Potatoes
Giblet Gravy
Pumpkin Pie
Cookie Tray
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Tasty Tips
To cook ravioli, fill a large, 6-8 quart pot with cold
water and bring to a rolling boil. Do not salt the water
until you are ready to introduce the pasta. Then pour
in the salt. My rule of thumb is to open the salt box,
turn it upside down and let the salt flow into the water
while you turn it three times around the inside circumference of
the pot. The water should have a saline taste. Before putting the ravioli into the pot, turn
down the heat so that the water is still boiling, but
not so rapidly that the ravioli will break up. Gently
add the ravioli, about 20 or so at a time, and cook just
until they rise to the top. Unlike the dried variety,
homemade pasta takes only a few minutes to cook. In
fact, because the pasta contains so many eggs, cooking
it longer will make it harder. Once the ravioli have
risen to the top, remove them with a flat strainer and
place them on a platter that has been covered with a
warm sauce. Continue until all ravioli are cooked,
topping each layer with sauce. Serve immediately.
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