Monthly Archives: August 2022

Mid-August Magic

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And here we are at mid-August. The Dog Days are over: Sirius, the Dog Star, which had been rising with the sun since early July, now rises on its own. It’s another of the old stories that return year after year. Early astronomers observed the two stars rising together each summer and thought for sure this contributed to making our days hotter. We know better now, but the term Dog Days persists, and I’m glad it does, for if it didn’t, I wouldn’t have that great song by Florence + the Machine popping into my head each mid-August.

It is Obon weekend, and so Florence is sharing space in my head with taiko drummers and the music of Bon Odori dancing, the community centerpiece of the festival of Japan that welcomes the dead home again for a summer visit. Growing up here in South Florida, in the presence of the Morikami, Obon was long an important part of August and summer. Some years I’d go with my family, some years on my own, some years with my little nephews in tow. I remember the heat and humidity, the summer thunderstorms that often accompanied the festival, the smell of pennyroyal in the air, which we would apply to ourselves in an effort to ward off mosquitos. But mostly I remember the colors, especially as the afternoon darkened into night, electric lanterns strung through the pines, glowing red and green and blue, festival vendors, and then the central pavilion –– the yagura –– painted in red and white stripes. There on the yagura were the taiko drummers and flutists, and the dancers, making their way around and around the yagura in mysterious movement. These, to me, were some of the most magical things I’ve experienced, and how serendipitous that I got to experience it here, in this strange green land that gets stranger and stranger and yet is filled with so much beauty and emotion that it sometimes sucks all the breath out of me.

And then, of course, the illuminated lanterns, set sail on the water: Transportation for the souls who were visiting, bringing them back to their distant shore.

For my family, of course, we remember my grandmother, Assunta, who was named for the Feast of the Assumption. She was born the Fifteenth of August, 1898, and so her parents chose her name in honor of the day. The feast is a holiday throughout Italy and most of Europe, though in Italy it is also memorable as the start of Ferragosto, when many Italians close up shop and head to the sea or to the mountains for a week away from the ordinary.

For her birthday, Grandma always fixed a simple Ferragosto supper of cucuzza longa simmered with eggs. And though she is gone these 35 years now, still we prepare this same dinner for the Fifteenth of August. It is hearty peasant fare that is quick and easy to prepare, which makes it the perfect sustenance for a hot evening in late summer, especially when it is paired with a crusty loaf and some wine––perhaps a sparkling white or a rosé, or maybe, if you have someone like Grandpa in your life, a pitcher full of the finest summer peaches, sliced, with red wine poured over them and set in the refrigerator for just a few minutes before dinner is served. It’s so easy to make, and so delicious. I invite you to join us.

You’ll need to first get hold of cucuzza longa. This translates to “long squash” and you may find them labeled that way at your local market. They are not a squash at all, but actually an edible gourd, which, left to their own devices, will grow to two or three feet in length and might end up straight as pins or as fascinating coiled shapes, like serpents. In markets, though, where uniformity is prized, chances are you’ll find them looking just like the ones in the photo above. This year, I’ve been to three local markets –– one a farmers’ market, the others Italian markets –– and I’ve had no luck finding my beloved cucuzzi. In a pinch, you can substitute zucchini… but the cucuzza is different and so much better. This year, we’ll be going with zucchini.

Here’s Mom’s recipe to prepare your traditional Ferragosto dinner. She learnt it from Grandma, who learnt it from Mom’s Great Grandma, and so on and so on… which is what I love about a meal like this: It’s not just dinner; it is, as well, a communion with others across time and space. Much like Obon, and much like Dia de Los Muertos and I Morti, the holidays honoring the dead that will come this fall. I think there is powerful magic in all of these things, and yet they are rooted in the simple act of preparing food and sitting at the table.

F E R R A G O S T O   S U P P E R
3 cucuzza longa (or zucchini)
1 large onion
olive oil
1 can crushed tomatoes
8 to 12 eggs
1/2 cup (or more) grated cheese: Romano or Locatelli or Parmigiano-Reggiano
flat leaf parsley, leaves removed from stems
fresh basil
salt & pepper

Wash and peel the cucuzza using a knife or a vegetable peeler (no need to peel if you are using zucchini), then cut into thick slices, each slice about 3″ long (you’re cutting lengthwise with the cucuzza, as opposed to slicing rounds). Chop the onion roughly and in a large pot, sauté the onion in olive oil until translucent and just beginning to brown. Add the crushed tomatoes to the cooked onion. Let simmer about 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, in a large bowl, beat the eggs with a whisk, then add the parsley and grated cheese. (A note here about measurements: recipes like these, handed down from generation to generation, don’t come with precise measurements. You put a handful of this, a pinch of that. As Grandma would say (though she would say it in her Lucerine dialect): The more you put, the more you find.) Once the tomato/onion mixture has simmered, add about one quarter of the sliced cucuzza, followed by about one quarter of the egg and cheese mixture. Continue layering cucuzza and the egg mixture until everything is in the pot. Add a handful of fresh basil leaves; season with salt and pepper. Simmer, covered, without disturbing, until the egg is set and the cucuzza is tender (about an hour, maybe less).


All the ingredients, in the pot, about to be simmered.

This one-pot summer meal will serve 6 to 8, especially if it’s served alongside warm, crusty bread, and perhaps a simple salad of escarole dressed with olive oil, wine vinegar, and salt. It’s delicious. And it was on our table pretty much each and every one of Grandma’s birthdays. Grandpa certainly loved it. He would have eaten his Ferragosto supper and then made a simple hand gesture, his finger pushed into his cheek with a forward twisting motion, proclaiming it Saporite!

 

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Lammastide, or Your August Book of Days

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the long and lazy summer days that were part of my childhood… mainly because I’ve not had a single one of them yet this summer. Work has been extra busy since May and there’s so far been not one visit to the beach, not one day trip, not one rainy hour leisurely reading a book. It’s all been a big rush, all summer long. Even Lake Worth’s Fourth of July fireworks display was like this. Seth and I were running late, so we took a hurried walk down to the lagoon to watch, and we sat on the grass and the show began and it was spectacular but it was over in three or four minutes. A malfunction on the barge put a quick end to things. We didn’t know about the glitch until later, of course, but in my mind, in the Work! Work! Work! state it’s been in, I just figured there was someone new in charge of municipal fireworks, someone who was going to give us what we wanted –– the grand finale –– and be done with it. “There are things to do. Get back to work!” It’s left me wondering, sometimes, whom I’ve become this summer. I’m not fond of myself lately.

The company that Seth works for was acquired not long ago by a larger German company, and now he works with people who are off from work on Easter Monday and Epiphany and for Corpus Christi and Ascension Day and Whitmonday and other holidays through the year: holidays that are outside the scope of our American labor calendar. This month, the company will close again for Assumption Day on the 15th of August. Assumption Day is the day my grandmother was born, back in 1898, and so her parents, my great-grandparents, named her Assunta in honor of the day. It is the time of the centuries-old Italian rest and relaxation tradition known as Ferragosto, when most Italians (at least those not working in the service industries catering to tourists) pack up and head to the sea or to the mountains for a week or more to escape the heat. My grandparents, when they came to America, brought many of their Old World traditions with them, but for some reason, the Great American Work Ethic won out over Ferragosto. The closest we got in my family was to enjoy a traditional meal of cucuzzi cooked with eggs and parsley each Assumption Day –– something we still do, to this day, with a crusty loaf and a bottle of wine. I guess we take what we can get.

Ah, but here now we reach the point in summer where July melts into August. With the transition comes another of those holidays that we just don’t have here in the States. To be fair, Lammastide is not very well known anywhere these days. Lammas, on this First of August, is a remnant of an agrarian past, a celebration of the first grain harvest of summer. It would serve a valuable purpose, were we to adopt it, for it marks the point in the Wheel of the Year where summer begins its shift toward fall: We are now halfway between Summer Solstice and Autumnal Equinox. The green of summer is deepening, maturing, and more golden hues are apparent. The days are already considerably shorter than they were just a few short weeks ago; in fact, by Lea Leendertz’ Almanac, which is decidedly British, daylight in Lancashire will decrease, over the course of this month, by just over two hours. There is an undeniable shift in the air, and the value of Lammastide is in the fact that it helps us acknowledge this shift, and honor it. And rather than enter into August as I used to as a kid, with the sudden dread that school would soon begin, Lammas gives us pause to celebrate the transition.

You may hear the name Lughnasadh (pronounced LOO-na-sa) at Lammastide –– it is the Celtic name for the holiday. Where Lammas and Lughnasadh are celebrated, it is done so with fruits of the grain harvest. The name Lammas comes to us from the Anglo-Saxon Hlafmass, or “Loaf-mass,” and at Lammastide, the first loaf of bread would be baked from the newly harvested grain and brought to the church to be blessed. All labor would cease and there would be community gatherings, perhaps the precursors of our contemporary county fairs that begin to pop up this time of year. And since grain yields not just bread but also whisky and ale, these things, too, play a part in Lammastide celebrations. You may hear the name John Barleycorn at Lammastide, too, especially in old drinking and harvest songs: He is the personification of the grain. Songs praising John Barleycorn are sometimes somber and sometimes jolly, but one thing is common to them all: the acknowledgement that to rise again as bread or as whisky or ale, John Barleycorn must die. It is the old, old story, told over and over again as our Wheel of the Year turns through the seasons.

If you are celebrating Lammas with us (and I think you should), the needs for a proper celebration are simple: a good loaf of bread and a festive beverage should be your table’s focal point. That’s it. And finally, here is your Convivio Book of Days Calendar for August. Our cover star this month is a reproduction of a lovely Lammastide postage stamp that was issued by the British Post in 1981, part of a series of stamps celebrating folk traditions. My kind of stamp!

With thanks to Cari Ferraro for the introduction to a version of “John Barleycorn” I had never heard before. For August, I’ll do my best to write more often, I promise. For now, though, Seth and I raise our glasses to you: Cheers to you and to all in your household this Lammastide!

 

SUMMER HIGH FIVE SALE
At the online shop, you’ll find my mom Millie as the cover star for the current HIGH FIVE SALE: Use discount code HIGH5 at checkout for $5 off your purchase of $35 or more. That’s on everything in the shop: our own letterpress printed books and broadsides, genuine Shaker herbs and teas, all of our handmade artisan goods for all the seasons. Plus free domestic shipping when you reach $60. CLICK HERE to shop, and thank you for your support!