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

 

 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.

 

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.

 

 

Ravioli Filling

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

3 pounds whole milk ricotta

3 eggs

1/2 cup grated Locatelli romano cheese

1/4 cup chopped parsley

Salt

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.

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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.

Aunt Chick's Cookies

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

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking soda

1-1/2 cups sugar

1 cup butter

3 eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla

 

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.

 

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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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.

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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.

 

Aunt Katherine's Dressing

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.

 

2 bunches celery

8 large onions

1/2 pound butter

2 loaves day-old unsliced bread

salt and pepper

 

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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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.

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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.

 

Edna's Roasted Pork Loin with Chestnuts

This flavorful dish is light on fat and bursting with taste. Chopped dried apricots make a nice addition to the stuffing.
 
5-pound boneless pork loin
1/2 cup celery, chopped
1 onion, chopped
1 tablespoon butter
1/2 pound ground pork
1 tablespoon chopped parsley
2 tablespoons brandy
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1/8 teaspoon allspice

2 tablespoons pork drippings

3 tablespoons flour
2 cups chicken stock or broth
1 pound boiled chestnuts
1 teaspoon brandy
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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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.

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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

 

TuTu's Chicken Minestra

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.
 
1/2 pound pancetta or thick bacon
1 large onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 cut-up chicken, 3 to 3-1/2 pounds
8 quarts water
3 new potatoes, cubed
4 cups canned San Marzano tomatoes
1 cup each fresh peas, corn, lima beans
1 cup cooked canellini beans
1 teaspoon fresh thyme
2 bay leaves
6 springs fresh flat leaf parsley
2 teaspoons salt
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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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.

Muscatel Poached Pears

This is the best time of year for this dish. Bartlett pears are at their peak, sweet and full of flavor.
6 firm Bartlett pears
1-1/2  cups Muscatel wine
1 cup water
1 cup lemon juice
1/2 cup sugar
1 teaspoon orange zest
1 teaspoon lemon zest
1 cinnamon stick
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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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.

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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Previous Posts
August 2009
September  2009

 

 

An Italian Christmas  Dinner

Antipasto

Escarole Soup

Ravioli

Turkey and  Dressing

Cranberry Sauce

Mashed Potatoes

Giblet Gravy

Pumpkin Pie

Cookie Tray

 

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.