Posted on 10/31/2002 11:16:35 PM PST by carlo3b
The voyage of the Mayflower in 1620 from Plymouth England, to Plymouth Rock started as a journey to find peace and justice in a new world. It began as a fervent prayer to give freedom a chance, and remains today as the promise each year for a new beginning. Thanksgiving Day is a celebration of hope, and remembrance.
Today, we bring our families and friends together to share our tables and our hearts, and give thanks for all that we have to be grateful for in our new and glorious country. From this grand experiment and it's courageous settlers, to the greatest nation of the world, we have a lot to be thankful for, indeed.My earliest memory of Thanksgiving was the fuss of preparation of the wonderful food being prepared in advance of our holiday feast. Being a traditional Italian American, midwestern home, a full cornucopia of cookies of every ethnicity was in abundance. Thanksgiving morning was a special treat with a home filled with the scent of baking bread, and roasted turkey which transformed our tiny cold water flat in "Little Italy" on the lower East side of Chicago into a 3 room palace. Everyone was involved, family and friends, young and old, with 4 generations of our own majestic women. An unspoken but respected hierarchy prevailed, with the eldest women in control, and a dance like rhythm appeared to take charge of this traditional and noble endeavor. It didn't take long before our small kitchen and dinning room filled, and every flat surface was covered. People scurried into the hallway, where neighbors shuffled pans and pots in and out of their homes to their own kitchens to make room for more, always more so everyone could share in the abundance. Remembering Thanksgiving
Preparation started days earlier, with the making of the pasta. I recall my great aunt bringing in the clothesline from our back porch, the one that strung across the small yard to the adjacent porch and back. She washed and bleached this cord to string across our living and dining rooms, from sconces to chandelier, and doorjambs to windowsills. It was strung as tight as possible to hold the pounds of lasagna noodle, and spaghetti needed to hang dry, to satisfy the hearty Italian appetites. I recall as if it were yesterday listening to our nightly radio programs with the shadows of stringing pasta on the faded floral wallpaper, lending an eerie overtone to the Green hornet, or Gangbusters. How could I ever forget opening my eyes in the morning with the sight of hanging pasta overhead, but then, why in the world would I want to forget that magical moment after all, and what it meant to a young boy that a wonderful and glorious holiday was just around the corner? The Preparations
Each family was represented in the choice of menu items. Every wonderful cook in each branch of the family offered to prepare their own special version of the chosen food. This made for a memorable feast indeed, there were at least 4 successful individual restaurant owners in our family. The competition was playful and fun filled, with chunks of bread, ladles, and spoons dipping into everything, testing, tasting, and teasing. The Family and Friends
It should not be construed that the food preparation was the exclusive provence of our family women, to do so would be to underestimate the culinary contributions of some of the finest cooks in the clan. A few of my uncles, cousins and grandpa were cooks in the Army, Navy, and Marines, as well as in their own restaurants. My great uncle served as a cook in the Italian army, then captured and recruited to cook in the prisoner-of-war camp, when upon his release, served 2 tours as a cook in the US Marines during The Korean War. However, whatever greatness the men may have achieved in the outside world, the kitchen was ruled by those formidable, yet diminutive, strikingly gorgeous, black clad matriarchs of the family. Great grandmothers from both sides of the lineage, grandmothers, great grandmother-in-laws, and great great aunts. Man I'll tell ya, it was a sight to behold at best, and an Italian culinary rivalry at least. Although sharing an Italian heritage, the 6 uncles married outside the Calabrian niche, creating a scrumptious provincial food fight. The Cooks
Children weren't immune from the holiday chores. Chairs were pulled up to the stove for short perpetual stirrers. The teens were given the sink, for the neverending pots and pans, and preteens were runners for last minute fetches and food deliveries. I was honored almost exclusively with the delivery of food for the church and hospital shut-ins because I had the bike with a giant basket. Trying to describe my cousins and most of the local kids wasn't hard, the first thing I recall was, hair, lots of black hair, big doe eyes, dozens of beautiful children with wide grins. At least one kid, sometimes more, was forced to bring his or her accordion, and at every holiday gathering some poor child was browbeaten into playing "Lady Of Spain"! The Kids
Serving 30-40 people, in a one bedroom apartment on the 3rd floor, rear, walkup, was a challenge, but doable. It took the coordination of most of our wonderful neighbors, and the cooperation of all of the residence, which were always invited anyway. Everyone brought pots, pans, dishes, and utensils, at least a chair, and some brought their kitchen tables. Everyone brought something eatable, most were prearranged as in bread, but some were heirloom dessert recipes, enough for at least a good spoonful, for everyone to get a taste. Older adults, always got a chair at the table, all adults got a seat, and kids sat at the card tables, on the stairs or on a carpet in front of the radio in one of the neighbors homes. The Holiday Table
All kids had to be within earshot of the saying of the formal Grace before dinner. Then everyone recited their own prayer in various languages of their native tongue. Our family and friends were of many faiths and nationalities, the overwhelming majority of coarse were Italian. Most remembered a loved one not present, and the names of every absent serviceman and woman were individually read aloud. With all heads bowed, everyone gave thanks for the wonderful gifts of food and health, and each and every person present, gave a special thanks and how grateful they were for being in the United States of America. The Prayer
Any good excuse to gather the clan in our family was and still is, paramount. Weddings, holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, births, baptisms and unfortunately funerals are used as good excuses to get together and, you guessed it.... eat. This is usually done at the familial home of eldest member of the family. The Italian family circle is close and tight, and many families still living within their hometown, even today, live within walking distance of one another. In our family, as in many, brothers, sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins grow as one family unit. The elders live within the homes of their offspring or siblings. The hierarchy is established by the ability of the surviving parents to have living arrangements central to the greatest number of kids and kin. Love of family is the reason, and love of food is the cement. Thanksgiving is one of the most popular days of the year, and has been since my earliest memory. Even today as I did with my parents in my youth, I talk to each of my 5 children and grandchildren, almost everyday, and have even when we lived thousands of miles away... I am truly blessed. The Family
Food for an Italian holiday is second to only to the family. Present at every holiday feast were several types of entree, lasagna, ham, veal, and one or more specialty pasta and of course the giant stuffed Turkeys. There were Kosher dishes aplenty for our many Jewish friends. Our next door neighbor kept a Kosher kitchen and always shared their wonderful food with us as we did in return. Not counted as entrees were homemade sausages, meatballs, and grilled peppers. A strange calzone, one I recall with nuts and octopus was always somewhere on the table as was braciole (Italian beef rolls, and great cannoli desserts were always compliments of our Sicilian side of the family). The Food
Salads and antipasto were a mainstay, with favorites cellentani con Insalata di Peperoni (cellentani with pepper salad), and the ever popular soups, usually a bean, as in minestrone. Breads, rolls, pizza and a mixed variety of biscotti, were always in abundance. Side dishes were a meal in themselves. A vast array of vegetables prepared as specialty items, like artichoke and bacon frittata rounded out every holiday meal. Even our popular lasagne, the recipe that created a chain of famous restaurants, has broccoli or spinach as a principle ingredient to the recipe. Desserts... oh my, great custards, and pastries, ice creams and cakes such as lemon berry tiramisu or frittelle di zucca (pumpkin fritters)
The Moment of Truth My grandfather sat at the head of the table, and next to him sat a gallon jug of his homemade Italian red wine. Almost everyone seated for dinner were given a glass of his wine, if only for the many toasts that were posed, to the cooks and a milieu of other celebrations. The moment of truth came when he would call the name of the boys that he felt were to be worthy of manhood, a scholarship know only to him, usually by some unknown merit method. If you attained that status in his trusted eye, he would invite you to accept a glass of wine and he would toast your new position and with everyone's applause you drank a glass and thanked him.When my moment came, I had just turned 10, and having worked with him on his paper stand in downtown Chicago for 3 years and to my surprise he felt I was ready! Proudly I swallowed a huge gulp, and felt the heat go down my throat and explode at the core of my stomach and began to rush back up. I forced a smiled and swallowed again and hugged him as tight as I could, until my uncle secretly handed me a chunk of bread, which I bit into and forced down before I let my pa loose, perhaps in the nick of time because he slapped me on the back and everything went back down... I never drank another drop of his wine, but accepted his offer to take a glass, each time he offered it until he passed a year later. How I loved that man.
The Carving At each end of the long tables were placed huge turkeys. The head of the households were given the honor of carving these beautifully prepared, golden trophies. It was a ritual and with surgical skills each bird was sliced and distributed to all in attendance until nothing remained but the bare bones. At the conclusion of this wonderful occasion, the men stood and with glasses raised toasted the blushing ladies as we sang... in our best voice, and in Italian, a song dedicated to our wonderful women, .. "Mamma"
Hungarian? I love this stuff, and never knew how or where it came from, you did it again...as usual...;)
No need to be alone with all of the friend you have on FR...LOL If you need any other recipes, just ping!
1) Cook whole zucchini in boiling water in a large skillet 7 minutes or until tender but still firm. Drain and cool.
2) Cut each zucchini in half lengthwise; remove pulp, and chop, leaving a 1/4 inch shell on the zucchini.
3) In same skillet brown meat, stirring to crumble. Drain and pat dry with paper towel. Wipe pan drippings from skillet.
4) Combine zucchini pulp, meat and remaining ingredients except cooking spray.
5) Fill zucchini shells with mixture.
6) Place in baking pan coated with cooking spray.
7) Bake 350 degrees for 25 to 30 minutes.
4 Servings
You have to tell us this story... I can't wait to hear it!!
BTW members of my family opened the first pizza place in Wisconsin November 1941 in Milwaukee, on Fond du Lac Ave, called the The Pizza King. It was a great place, and lasted for years.
Shhhhhhhhh...I won't tell if you don't... ;)
American Patriot Bread Pudding
Ingredients:
Preparation:
Coat the bottom and side of a 2" deep baking dish heavily with butter.
Tear the bread into 1" pieces.
Mix with the raisins in a bowl.
Spread the bread mixture evenly in the prepared dish, turning crust side down as this tends to burn easily.
Whisk the sugar, milk, 2 cups whipping cream, vanilla, eggs & cinnamon in a bowl until blended.
Pour over the bread mixture.
Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.
Place the baking dish in a 4" deep baking pan.
Add water to reach halfway up side of the baking dish.
Bake for 1 hour.
Remove from water bath.
Let stand for 20 minutes.
Spoon into dessert bowls, and serve while still warm.
Cinnamon Swirl Egg Bread
* This Cinnamon Swirl bread is great in this recipe, but make extra for toast and butter for breakfast or anytime..
Turn out onto a lightly floured surface. Knead in enough of the remaining flour to make a moderately stiff dough that is smooth and elastic (6 to 8 minutes total). Shape into a ball. Place in a lightly greased bowl; turn once to grease surface. Cover and let rise in a warm place till double (about 60 minutes).
Punch dough down. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface. Divide in half. Cover and let rest 10 minutes. Lightly grease two 8x4x2 inch loaf pans. Shape each half of the dough into a loaf. Place in pans. Cover and let rise till almost double (about 30 minutes). Bake in a 375 degree Fahrenheit oven for 25 to 30 minutes or till done. Cover loosely the last 10 to 15 minutes of baking, if necessary. Remove from pans; cool.
Makes 2 loaves. (32 servings.)
Alright then; as briefly as I know how, then. {g}
Our first place after my ETS'g from the military, was an *elegant* 4-family on the corner of Juneua & Martin Drive. (Place was gorgeous as we were in the apt occupied by the elderly owner's of the building, who'd just sold the building. So everything was extra-nice & extra-clean.)
About 3 months after we'd moved in, this black guy moves in across the hall.
The guy was HUGE; went around 6'6" with hands like catcher's mits.
*Since* the unit we had used to be the owner's digs, they had a *peep hole* in the door so they could see who came into their building.
This peep hole faced this new neighbor's doorway, so, I could watch every move this guy made as he came & went.
First thing I noticed was he kept very late hours & then when he did get home, his music was sometimes just loud enough for us to hear as we layed in bed.
Anyway, one night -- late -- there's a bang on the door.
I look through the peep hole & it's this big goon standing there & I think to myself, "What could this clown want from me? Hope he ain't lookin' for any *trouble*."
I open the door, & with both a chip-on-my-shoulder & my meanest ("puffer fish") face I snap, "Yea, what'cha want?"
In a booming baritone voice the guy says, "I live over there" (~gesticulating to Apt#2) "I noticed you've a Weber Grill around back I was wondering if I could borrrow tomorrow night. I'm having a few friends over & I need to cook 'em some food."
Now...what am I gonna say, huh?
Naturally, I *morph* into *Mr. Congenial* & say to this guy, "Oh sure, go ahead; need any charcoals?"
~to which he says, "Man, that's really nice of ya to offer, sure."
(I'm thinking to myself...want me to light the thing too while I'm at it?)
Anyway, we now move ahead 24 hours.
The party is a LOUD one, alright!
I mean, MOTOWN stuff going like crazy up to around, 11:30 pm.
As we're sitting in our chairs watching SNL?
There's a *knock* on the door & I look out the peep hole, & it's HIM! The *clown*! ~& I say to my wife, in hushed tones, "NOW what can he possibly want?"
I open the door?
The guy pushes a HUGE 3' serving tray loaded with foods of every description; sliced beef, sliced pork roast, cheeses, roasted vegetables including corn on the cob with the husks pulled-back to *display* 'em, just so & *everthing* with garnishs...
I was dumbfounded.
As I take the tray he says, "Here. Thanks for the grill; party was a success & the Weber worked great."
He turns right around & goes back into his apartment, closes the door, & leaves me standing there holding this magnificent tray full of food.
I wanted to start bawling, right then & there.
Just so happens we were really HUNGRY.
So we chowed-down while wondering aloud, "What-the-hell is this guy all about?"
The food??
*Delicious* beyond description...but Carlo?
The PRESENTATION could've made the cover of any gourmet magazine...easy.
The guy's name was, "Kenny."
He was recently divorced which explained his moving in across the hall with relatively no furniture?
He was also the Head Chef at the Pfister Hotel.
Turns out he had that *one* Saturday night off -- a BIG DEAL for a guy in his business -- so he through the bash.
I made it a *point* of becoming "friends" with ol' "Kenny."
Since Kenny had *every-other* Sunday "Off" & was as big a Packer fan as we were??
Kenny became the "Honorary Chef" at our place every-other-Sunday, on my dime; whereby, my wife & Kenny would go down to "Sendick's" (~on the East Side) late Sunday morning for all the fresh *everythings* he'd need to make our meal -- & I mean, everything.
(BTW: I cleaned that kitchen afterwards & I want to tell you a "Chef" will touch each & every pan, bowl, utensil a kitchen has, at least once.)
To this day my bride & I have used Kenny's "soul food" recipe's for baked beans, chicken, beef, BBQ sauces, you name it; and, always to rave reviews from dinner guests.
Who as you might've guessed?
Get to hear the story of, "Kenny"; the big goon who moved in across the hall from us when we were just a couple of young newly wed kids, 25 years ago.
"BTW members of my family opened the first pizza place in Wisconsin November 1941 in Milwaukee, on Fond du Lac Ave, called the The Pizza King. It was a great place, and lasted for years."
Wow...
Now most people simply are not going to have an appreciation for all of what you're saying, carlo.
When you say your family owned a resturant -- Italian, no-less! -- in Milwaukee?
That's really something mighty special.
For all the racial strife the Lamestream media seems to enjoy spewing at the nation's citizens about Milwaukee?
Which tends to make Milwaukee look like a real hellhole?
It takes someone who actually lived there, to know that's all just a bunch of BS.
What Milwaukee *is*, is a place of incredible ethnic diversity; which, translates into the best eateries to be found anywhere in the country.
Back in the years you'd be talking about, those eateries would've been family owned & operated businesses too, with names *like*, "Gloriosos," "Orlandos," "Palermo Villa," "Caradaro Club," "Primas," mostly all on the east side.
Then there were the Kosher delis in the northshore 'burbs of Foxpoint, Whitefish Bay, or West Milwaukee's, "Serb Hall."
Not a "bad" place among the lot.
When I think back to my youth growing up in Milwaukee, it's those places I remember most fondly.
I also remember we were too busy enjoying the different foods to be bitching & arguing about where someone's bloodline originated.
Really.
...what great memories.
Recipes???.....waiting.....taping fingers....looking at watch.....
What a wonderful story, and I can tell you if he was the chef at Pfister Hotel, he was/is a real pro. Your assessment of the culinary prowess of Milwaukee is a well kept secret, and few people are aware that the largest Italian Festival in the Midwest is held in Milwaukee, not Chicago...I remember it well...Thanks for sharing your great memory.
Oh no!! Now what do I do? I've already submitted your name to www.gigolo.com
Happy Thanksgiving!
Please add me to that flag, Carlo3b!
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