Each Christmas, I anticipate spending quality time with people whose lives have touched mine through traditions. From decorating the house, baking cookies and pies, to cooking meals, I sense my dead relatives whispering words of encouragement. Not only do I look forward to it, but I believe they do, too. The creativity of placing ornaments and bows on my three trees, yes, three, improves yearly.

My mother’s artistic flair consisted of designing the most beautiful cakes, sewing, making ceramics, and painting. Her clothing style had colorful prints, unlike me, preferring black and solid colors. Christmas was her favorite fiesta, and she spared nothing when decorating her tree and house.

As I developed my arboreal design plans, I perceived her spirit providing help. Wrapping gifts is another story, though. She disappears. I hate it. Bags and tissue paper are more my style.

When the moment comes to bake our authentic Italian pies and cookies, my grandmother steps in. She is looking over my shoulder, along with my mom and a few aunts. The kitchen gets crowded.

Pies

Every year as long as I can remember, my mother made Paste De Grano, a common Southern Italian Easter pie for the Yuletide season. My Nonna created them as a family custom because everyone loved them. The recipe yields four pies. We eat two at holiday and freeze the rest for the spring equinox.

There are three steps to making these labor-intense culinary delights: custard, what you put in the custard, and the pie crust.

Back in the day, they included dried candies, but because my dad was picky, my grandma started grating orange and lemon peels instead. Have you ever eaten Panforte? (I don’t know anyone who does.) It’s made with dried fruits and nuts (yuk), so I prefer the zesting.

In Italy, they call it a breakfast cake. Nineteen eggs, a quart of milk, flour, sugar, bulgur wheat grain, Ricotta cheese, fruit, and a little semi-sweet chocolate paired with a strong espresso coffee is their idea of a healthy meal.

I cheat in this area since I need to improve my pie crust making skills. Pillsbury’s pre-made pie shells are my go-to and I double them up in the glass pan. I’m sure my aunts are gasping at my shortcut, but for the last ten years since I’ve been constructing them, they have turned a blind eye.

These treats take two days to finish. I cook up the bulgur wheat kernels on the first day, which takes eight hours. The water is replaced as it gets absorbed. Once the berries are soft and chewy, not hard, I place them in the refrigerator to cool.

Custard filling production and baking demands an additional day. Another labor intensive chore, but worth it. The sweet smell coming from the oven is mouthwatering. After they cool, I give one to my brother (his wife won’t attempt these), two for my husband, and I freeze another for the vernal equinox of springtime or Easter.

Struffolies

In the olden days, struffolies were a laborious job. Handling the dough was an exhausting workout. The recipe calls for four cups of flour and six extra-large eggs. That’s it. Oh, and hours of working that together until it’s smooth with the consistency of butter when you slice into it. Fortunately for us, we have a Kitchen Aid, which comes equipped with a pastry hook that does your kneading for you.

Don’t let that fool you, though. It still requires at least four hours to assemble. You chop small sections off the dough sphere, roll it into a snake line, and cut pieces the size of a tiny ball. Crisco, the kind in the blue can, is scooped out and melted into a fryer. Drop modest amounts, approximately twenty, into the hot oil and fry until golden brown. Strain, then pat dry to remove excess grease. When all the dough has been fried, heat honey, cinnamon, and Anisette liqueur. Pour the mixture over all the balls and mix well. Sprinkle sugar and cinnamon on top and some nonpareils candies for decoration and color. Place on a large platter and cover with plastic wrap.

These are so addicting! My kitchen is overflowing with spirits when my husband and I make these (a two-person job). I sense my mom, dad, aunts, uncles, and grandparents whispering in my ear. They let us know if we cooked them too long or needed to add more Anisette to the honey mixture. I reminisce about the days when we’d do this as a family.

Christmas Eve Dinner

During the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, a second wave of mass immigration from Italy to the United States occurred. My great-grandparents and my grandfather, one of nine children, were among these families. They lived in New York with other immigrants who took pride in their traditions and religion.

Roman Catholic adherents abstained from meat on Fridays and holy days. It was here in America where The Feast of the Seven Fishes or La Vigilia became a unique part of the Italian-American culture. No one knows how it started but it caught on and many families still partake in it.

The notion is to serve fish within seven dishes throughout the meal. This includes the appetizers, the main course, and side dishes. In the past, I’ve made crab-stuffed mushrooms, shrimp cocktails, and smoked salmon with crackers. Lobster Bisque or Clam Chowder for soup, lobster tails, baked salmon, cod, and Sea Bass for the entrée. Dessert includes some treats such as cookies, grain pie, gelato, and struffolies.

If I want to avoid going through the preparations of the Fishes feast, I’ll put together a lasagna or prepare a leg of lamb or a loin of pork. It’s what my mother used to cook, as my father wasn’t a fan of fish.

The Good Old Days

The days of old are gone. Many of the originals have crossed over, and with them, established customs. At one point, we all lived in the same town.  Today, my relatives are spread across the United States, and it’s difficult to come together with jobs, children, and money.

Even though I’m not with family, I try to keep the rituals of my younger years alive. To put me in the holiday spirit, I don’t mind spending days baking and cooking up meals my grandmother and mother relished. The effort invested in making these complex recipes is a valuable way to spend it with those you love, even if it is in spirit. Though my children and grandchildren don’t realize it now, in future years, they will hear my voice whispering in their ear, guiding them in these customary festival renditions.

Editor: Michelle Naragon