Where tradition and memory move
Feast of the Seven Fishes
Move with me if you will…
Rosa Perri Di Cello (Schell) was mother to one Angiolina, our grandmother. You the reader of an earlier zoetic message may recall references to her, Angiolina, and to a second reference, a big 1962 American blue Ford station wagon.
Great-grandma (Nonna) Rosa, I knew. She is my memory knot. She tethers me to a lineage that interlaces with “Old World” tradition. She passed on her wisdom to her 12 offspring until she passed 60 years ago this week on December 27, 1961. I feel her presence, her presence in the breaths I take, the lump on my throat, and the tears passing over my cheeks, as these words are placed here. I am eternally grateful.
… took off on a Italy road-trip
The connection of the two entities it’s quite simple. The United States Air Force assigned our father overseas to Aviano Air Force Base in Italy. He in turn extended an invitation to his mother Angiolina to come visit. This truly was a minor miracle. I don’t have the documentation as to how the trip was organized. It is fairly certain it was not by telephone conversation across the trans Atlantic underground wire. Those calls in the mid ‘60‘s as the costs were astronomical. Grandma Angiolina came to Italy from Western Pennsylvania to a tiny palatial Italian villa we lived, in Cordenons. From there our family of 7 of us, and 1 Angiolina, took off on a Italy roadtrip.
A preteen doesn’t account for the long term outlooks.
Without naming all the stops in between the most important stop was Nicastro, Catanzaro, Calabria, in the “boot” of Italy. Great-grandma Rosa was born here, as well as her spouse. This is the village where our grandmother’s ancestors left to immigrate to the United States. For Angiolina she was the first born American, with full blooded Italian ancestry. She found her self in the original “motherland” because of the invite and that big American 1962 blue station wagon, with its yellow French fog lights still mounted at the front of the bumper.
As a preteen you try to take in all you can, as you know it’s important, your grandmother said so, your mother has begged you to write notes of your experiences and you yourself have this overwhelming sense of it’s importance. That said, there’s a lot of preoccupation of just the day-to-day activity One has. A preteen doesn’t account for the long term outlooks.
Excuse the pun, ‘here’s the catch’
Three very important recollections on that trip were these:
Our grandmother spoke fluent Italian and conversed very well with our host the Italian, “Italian” relatives.
We, the other seven foreigners in the huge American vehicle, road the narrow streets of Nicastro barely able to squeeze by while driving the primitive streets.
Grandma Angiolina (Angeline) Without exception we seven seemed to be placed on a podium ascending into a royalty status. Later in life, I easily imagined this was possible and probable, as less than a generation had passed since the end of World War II in Europe. Mussolini gone, Hitler gone, the eastern axis gone, and looking back 20 years prior, it was the American armed forces that liberated italy. It was not unreasonable to see how this status emerged for one American military family and ancestor, in the beautiful surrounds of Nicastro.
Lastly, the meatballs.
The meatballs were not round, they were large and oval, football shaped, delectably smothered in marinara sauce and Romano cheese. Relished by the taste buds, food is always a big component of the nuclear family, and by extension the extended family. That is why I would not have been surprised in those strictly Italian conversations that I could not understand, they, the relatives may have been talking about ‘the feast of seven fishes’, Angiolina would have discussed with them this American-Italian tradition, created in the US of A based on the memories of the American-Italian moved as immigrants from the motherland, Italy.
Our tradition with my siblings and parents and our father’s siblings under the wings of Angiolina were grounded in a Christmas Eve dinner ritual. A fish stew was prepared each year. We called it Baccalà. The tradition with culturally charged memories were handed on to our southern bell mother, Dorothy, keeping in step each year with the bonafide recipe. Excuse the pun, ‘here’s the catch’.
… who is in charge of the meal.
The Baccalà prepared in their kitchens mixed a variety of fish into a big pot of stew. Loaded with seafood and surprises, typically seven unique fish were contained within. However, I was not the chef so maybe less, who knows, maybe more. By all accounts this meatless entrée was a staple of my childhood on Christmas Eve for as long as I can remember, until the time I stopped returning home for that specific day. My spouse also with an Italian bloodline, has faithfully continued the work each year. The thing is it, the stew we ate was the main entree, served with crusted white italian sour dough bread. The entree was a condensed version of the more traditional American-Italians preparing, serving and eating seven individual types of fish, yes seven separate entrees.
After 1860 the southern parts of Italy were historically impoverished, while the northern parts more affluent, not unlike the US of A in a similar time frame. The result our Baccalà was a ‘peasant’s stew’, a fine and tasty and healthy version of a “Feast of Seven Fishes” the more privileged America-Italians consumed. The fortunate may have had something like this:
lobster
baccalà (salt cod)
frutti di mare (shellfish)
capitone (eel)
calamari (squid)
scungilli (conch meat)
vongole (clams)
… on their Christmas Eve menu. The menu is not fixed, and other seafood options make the dinner plates depending on who is in charge of the meal.
… a forty year ritual kept moving
What one does not know, not in the slightest diminishes the one who knows not, nothing is dismissed, nothing is coveted, memories move on. Our ‘baccalà’ remains our eve’s entree, our respect to the motherland, our embracing of generations of memories of family, food, and festivity.
Stacey will start the stew simmering soon and blend,
anchovy
crab
cod
mussels
oysters
shrimp
scallops
There will be some fish spreads to spread and munch on outside the fish dish. Also our immediate family observance will consist of a side dish of baked ziti, a pasta and marinara dish supreme, nearly a forty year ritual kept moving.
… perfection holds the true meaning?
Northern Italy was much more affluent than southern Italy, she was crime ridden and impoverished. I recall seeing young children more than half naked running through the streets of Nicastro. Well a custom, made on memories, has found its way overseas, outside of Italy.
This feast of the seven fishes, although as a result of Catholic dictates about eating meat was not any official doctrine and indeed in Italy not known as it has become in the United States of America where Americans of Italian heritage used the occasion as a remembrance, a memory if you will, about times and ages past from the “motherland”. It is an event in the US of A first and foremost.
As for why the number is predominately seven, it is tied to symbols of Catholicism, though it’s unclear what exactly it represents. Some believe the fish represent the seven deadly sins, the seven days it took for God to create the earth, the seven sacraments or the seven virtues of Christian theology.
Could we suggest the “7” as sign of completion and perfection holds the true meaning?
Salute friends!
The Feast of the Seven Fishes generally consists of seven different seafood dishes made in traditional remembrances, and is not called a holiday. The true historical origination of the Feast of the Seven Fishes is undocumented. The tradition of eating seafood on Christmas Eve stems from the Roman Catholic tradition of abstinence of meat and dairy. Seafood is used, like stevia is, to replace cane sugar, in a sense.
La Vigilia di Natale (Christmas Eve) is a zoetic message. American-Italians celebrate uniquely in their ways. We all no matter our heritage, beliefs, or memories are being beckon by unfathomable joy to fill our souls with contentment, peace and selfless generational love. Be merry and emancipated all year through. Salute friends!
Where does your tradition and memory meet? Why not share with us with comment?
Duplication paragraph error removed on the website version, my apology.