Monthly Archives: March 2015

Spring

ArcimboldoSpring

If you’ve been walking or driving due east at sunrise in the past few days, you may have noticed the sun rising almost directly ahead of you in alignment with your eastbound road. Same for due west at sunset. We’ve been on the approach to the equinox.

Spring, by the almanac, begins this evening. It is the vernal equinox here in the Northern Hemisphere, and it comes at 6:45 pm here in Lake Worth, which is Eastern Daylight Time. It is a time of balance, with the amount of daylight and darkness in approximate balance currently in both hemispheres of the globe. For the Southern, autumn is beginning, and for us, spring.

By traditional reckoning of time, this day is a midpoint: spring began with Imbolc at the start of February, and with the solstice we are at the midpoint of spring, well on our way toward May Day and the traditional start of summer. We are also now midway between the year’s longest night (Winter Solstice, or Midwinter) and its longest day (Summer Solstice, or Midsummer). Tomorrow, day will overtake night in the Northern Hemisphere, and we will continue on this path of lengthening days until Midsummer. The constant pendulum of nature at work. And yet for now, balance.

Image: Spring by Giuseppe Arcimboldo. Oil on canvas, 1573, [Public domain] via Wikimedia Commons.

 

San Giuseppe

SanGiuseppe

Today is the feast day of St. Joseph: a pretty big deal to my people. He is one of many saints sacred to Italy and his day provides a good excuse to eat rich and festive pastries in the middle of the otherwise somber lenten season. Even the Church offers a special dispensation to allow for corned beef & cabbage on those years when St. Patrick’s Day falls on a Friday, so even if you’ve given up sweets for lent, go ahead: St. Joseph’s Day comes but once each year. Today’s chapter of the Convivio Book of Days Blog is a reprint of last year’s. The only difference is that last year, lent began much later than it did this year. Anyway, I thought this chapter was really good and I think you’ll enjoy reading it again while I go out and get some zeppole from the Italian bakery. ––John

 

It’s St. Joseph’s Day today, the 19th of March. When the Lenten season begins early, which this year it did not, St. Joseph’s Day arrives bringing a welcome respite from Lent’s bare-bones penitence in the form of decadent desserts. This year, we’re only two weeks into Lent at this point… but still, we’ll take the decadent desserts.

St. Joseph is sacred to Italy. He is a patron saint of children and of pastry chefs, both of whom typically have a fondness for sweets, and any Italian bakery worth its salt today will be selling at least a couple of pastries made especially for San Giuseppe. It’s a good sign if you walk into one such bakery today and see trays and trays of zeppole and sfinci. Both are pastries of fried dough, generous in size, each typically something you could fit into two open hands. Zeppole are filled with custard and often include a few cherries on top. Sfinci are filled with sweetened ricotta cream, perhaps with a few small chocolate chips, very much like a cannoli filling. Many Italian bakeries sell these pastries for a few weeks before and after St. Joseph’s Day, but today is their traditional day, and we take that first bite into a delectable zeppole, with the aroma of strong espresso in the air, and we thank San Giuseppe for bringing a bit of sweetness to Lent’s otherwise stark and penitent nature.

Variations of these sweets, in name and in shape and ingredients, exist throughout Italy for the feast of San Giuseppe, but it is in the South, from where my family hails, that they are best known. Both sfinci and zeppole are pastries with histories that go back many centuries, with names that come out of the Arabic influence on the region. How far back do they go? The ancient Romans made fried pastries each year on the 17th of March in honor of Bacchus, and it is thought that the zeppole and sfinci we make today are direct descendants of those springtime sweets.

Both of my grandmothers were devotees of San Giuseppe. Many years before I was born, Grandma Cutrone used to prepare an altar to St. Joseph each year for his feast day. My dad would help her set up the altar in their home, and on it Grandma would place breads and ceci beans and oranges and animal crackers for the children. There are old 8 mm black and white home movies of friends and neighbors coming in to see the altar and pay their respects. The priest would come to bless it, and Grandma Cutrone would give each person who visited an orange to take home with them.

My Grandma Assunta did not have such an altar in her home, but she would often pray to San Giuseppe, and we couldn’t leave church each Sunday before she lit the big candle at St. Joseph’s statue in the chapel. We would visit him each week there. To this day, every time I go to a church, I light a candle for her, because that’s what she would do, and it’s one of many ways I have of keeping in touch with those who came before us.

I’m glad they both loved St. Joseph so much. A good friend of ours, Father Philip Joly, recently helped me see St. Joseph in a new light. St. Joseph, who is also a patron saint of families, is almost always depicted as an old man. The truth is, though, Mary was probably just a teenager when the angel came to tell her she would be giving birth to a son, the son of God. Joseph, who was engaged to her, was probably not much older himself, and he, too, received a visit from the angel saying, “Don’t be afraid.” There he was, a young man, with a pregnant teenage wife, pregnant not by him, asked to become a father to a son that was not his. That’s a lot to swallow, no? But he supported his betrothed, and he went through with it. He had compassion, and he had faith. Joseph’s family was no ordinary family. And so when we think of San Giuseppe as the patron saint of families, we know that that extends to all families, no matter how traditional or non-traditional they may be. What a guy.

 

Image: That’s Grandma Cutrone on the right, Grandpa Cutrone on the left, my dad’s Aunt Carmela between them, and the altar to San Giuseppe in their home for St. Joseph’s Day, circa 1940s, Brooklyn, New York.

 

 

Wearing o’ the Green

Green

It is said we’re all a little Irish on St. Patrick’s Day. To be sure, it is the one day each year that my Italian-American family bakes soda bread and eats corned beef and cabbage, though there is not a drop of Irish blood flowing in our veins. I know traditionally “bangers and mash” would be more appropriate than corned beef and cabbage, or shepherd’s pie, perhaps, but the St. Patrick’s Day I grew up with is one that was focused on making cutouts of leprechauns’ hats and pipes out of green construction paper at school. I remember also green milkshakes at McDonald’s, though I never had one. And stories of entire rivers dyed green. In other words, the St. Patrick’s Day I grew up with is one of American traditions.

A big part of that is the wearing o’ the green, and I’m seeing a lot of it out there today. Me, I’m wearing a gingham checked green shirt today, subtle enough, but then there are my socks: bright kelly green. Why not? It’s St. Patrick’s Day, and bright green socks make me so much happier than brown or blue or grey ones.

Since St. Pat’s falls in this year in the middle of the week, we’ve already had our corned beef and cabbage with the whole family at Sunday dinner, but there are leftovers for tonight. At dinner, Mom asked what she always asks about soda bread: “Why do we have to have this just once a year?” She also asks that about Pan de Muertos at Day of the Dead, but still, these are the things we do, and it makes each day as special as it is, and perhaps my sister Marietta’s soda bread, speckled with plump raisins, wouldn’t be as special if she didn’t ask that question each time.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day to us all!

 

Last time I went to visit my Aunt Anne, she gave me a bag full of my Uncle Joe’s socks. A lot of them were pretty bright, but that’s how my Uncle Joe liked to dress. I tend toward more subtlety in dress… but sometimes I like to channel Uncle Joe and walk in his footsteps.