As we go into our 5th year I thought I would ask some friends for some Christmas input. As you can see this is a long post as I had so many contributors. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all.
This was last year’s stories. Subscribe to our newsletter for the 2023 stories
New gallery for 2022, Courtesy of BOB SORRENTINO, Cara Ferraiolo, Ed Sherretta, Jim Abramo, Lisa Guarino, Lisa Litterollo, Lisa Saunders, Lydia DeRosa and Rosemary Fell
Growing up there was always the anticipation of Christmas Day. For me the season started Dec. 6th the feast day of St. Nicholas. Mainly because my paternal grandmother always sent my dad a name day card. Also, we always got a small gift from St. Nick that day. I remember going to Main St. in College Point to find a tree in the cold and dark. I think the trees were only about five or ten dollars back then.
Often, the tree spent a few days in the back yard before dad would bring it in and set it up. We, like most those days, had the big bulbs that would screw in, one good thing, you never had to hunt for the bad bulb. My parents had a lot of mismatched ornaments, and one day I asked why? My mom explained that when my parents got married in 1944, glass and the other materials used to make ornaments were in short supply, so their families gave them ornaments for their first tree. By the way, my specialty was the tinsel! Is that still a thing?
Christmas Eve we got to select one gift to open, and of course left the cookies and milk for Santa. My parents always went to my maternal grandmother’s house on Christmas Eve. I didn’t get to go until I was about seventeen. There were like fifty people packed in to about 300 square feet. Once you got in the front door it was everyone for themselves. And people were eating! I do recall occasionally going to midnight mass and/or telling my parents I did.
I was always the first one up on Christmas morning and had to sit around and wait! There are two toys that stand put from the early 1960’s, slot car racers and this neat helicopter that flew. Of course it only went in circles on a boom, but never the less, it was loads of fun. Prior to 1961, when my dad’s mom was alive, we would go there. She lived in a two family house with my godparents, my aunt Emily and uncle Connie. I was always special to them. They had a working fireplace and Santa would always show up to hand out the secret Santa gifts. After that we would go to my mom’s mom, who lived with my Uncle Frank and Aunt Dolly ( it was not as chaotic Christmas Day ). Aunt Dolly had the greatest nativity scene, there would usually be at least two Joseph’s and Mary’s, a baby Jesus bigger than them, assorted animals of various sizes and maybe a skier passing through. Uncle Frank would alway’s get several old spice products and wallets, as that’s what Aunt Dolly would tell everyone to bring.
Those were the days.
Bob Sorrentino
Voices From The Past -- Christmas Stories
Christmas in the North End — Courtesy of Anthony Riccio
Italian immigrants adapted to the American celebration of Christmas, switching the Italian holiday from January 6th to December 25th. Italians had grown up knowing the Biblical account of the Adoration of the Magi, and the folk figure of La Befana, who followed the star to the Magi leaving sweets in doorways on her way. Women performed in Christmas plays at the North End Union, reciting poetry in Italian to describe the brilliant star that guided The Three Kings to Bethlehem. In the early days of immigration, festive dried grapes tied with red ribbons brightened drab cold-water flats, and bountiful suppers at the Christmas Eve table reflected the economic stability of steady work.
For some, like Angelo Luongo, the excitement for the Christmas season started before Thanksgiving with his search for the perfect Christmas tree. Equally important was the Christmas Eve banquet he cooked for his family, and many visiting relatives. Before Christmas toys, Annie Arigo could hardly wait for the special moment when her father gave her a Christmas stocking filled with her favorite treat of fresh chestnuts. Her sister, Mary Arigo Ventola, recalled in the late 1930s when “the guys down the corner from the social club on Foster Street” spread Christmas cheer to local children. Dressed as Santa Claus, Gabe Piemonte stood by the Christmas tree at the playground handing out gifts to children.82
As North Enders became rooted in the working class, Christmas trees once decorated with dried grapes tied with red ribbons, fruits and candles were trimmed with lead tinsel, strands of spun glass angel hair, and strung with colorful lights. La Befana, who brought small gifts to children, was replaced by the robust, red-cheeked Santa Claus, who left Tonka toys and Raggedy Ann dolls for the magic of Christmas morning.
During the Christmas season, the North End’s normally vibrant streets buzzed with heightened activity. North Enders shopped for Christmas specialties on Salem Street for special cheeses, choice meats, grappa, apertivi, and large chunks of torrone nougat. Voices from Giuffries fish market hawked the traditional Christmas delicacy “Anguilla! Anguilla capitone!, Eels!, Big eels! squirming in a large metal tub.
Reminiscent of street vendors in Naples, Sam Natale yelled “Pizza, cauda, cauda!” offering fresh, hot pizza from his makeshift stand on the busy corner of Salem Street and Cross Street. Some shops offered regular customers a glass of wine, or a shot of special liquor to toast the holiday season. A group of zampognari in traditional peasant outfits roved the streets, serenading the neighborhood with Christmas songs on pastoral flutes, bagpipes, and clarinets. Friends and relatives exchanged holiday cheer on the street and returned home with a sense of satisfaction anticipating the Christmas holiday they would enjoy with loved ones.
The Epiphany, which takes place on January 6, marks the day the three Wise Men arrived at Jesus’ manger. This important religious event is also tied to the legend of La Befana, a much celebrated character in Italian folklore who is presented as an ugly old witch with a crooked nose. On the eve before the Epiphany, La Befana takes to the sky on her broomstick and visits the homes of little children who have eagerly left their socks out by the chimney in hopes of finding it full the next day. La Befana is known to bring candy and small gifts to good children and lumps of coal to bad ones.
You may ask, what does La Befana have to do with the Three Wise Men and the baby Jesus? Well, there is an old legend, which we’ve written about in the past and you can read about here. The story and the tradition of La Befana is a huge part of the Christmas holiday season throughout Italy.
La Befana isn’t the only mystical thing about the Epiphany. Did you know that the eve before the Epiphany is believed to be a magical night, a night where the unexpected can happen?
In Calabria, I’ve heard people talk about a rather peculiar superstition where on the eve before the Epiphany, people make sure to give their animals some extra TLC and a special meal or treat because it is said the animals can speak on this magical night and if they are not content they may put a curse on their masters.
There is a story that is heard in the town of Bisignano, located in the Province of Cosenza in Calabria, of a curious and skeptical farmer who wanted to see if this strange occurrence was in fact true. He decided to spend the night before the Epiphany in his barn and fell asleep on a haystack. At midnight, the farmer awoke to voices. He overheard the donkey say to the ox “We have eaten more than usual because tomorrow we have to work. We should send our master to the cemetery”. The farmer, frozen with terror, fled towards his home, but he never quite made it, because as soon as he arrived at the front door of his house, he died. Yikes! I guess now he knows!
So, do you celebrate the Epiphany with your family? Do you know any other traditions or legends tied to this holiday? Share your thoughts on the My Bella Vita Facebook Page.
Image Credits: La Befana, Waiting for the Word
Ed Sherretta as Santa Claus
My Two Italian Christmases
by Elena Frigenti
I always had two Christmases when I was a kid. I am not referring to the Italian tradition of celebrating December 25th and 26th, the Santo Stefano Day. This is a more personal issue: we used to spend Christmas no. 1 at my maternal granparents’ – and Christmas no. 2 at my paternal Grandma’s. They were pretty different celebrations, but I loved them with identical passion, and if I had to choose between the two I really wouldn’t know which to pick.
I was born and raised in Livorno, a small coastal town in Tuscany. There, I lived with my parents and my sister, and not far from my maternal grandparents’ house. Christmas no. 1 meant reuniting in Livorno with my maternal uncle and his family, who lived in Rome. I was always thrilled to meet my cousins, especially Annapaola who is just one year younger than me and usually slept over at my place on Christmas Eve. I loved eating in my Grandma’s living room, opened only on the most special occasions, and having the children table just for us, away from the grownups’ chats – into which we hardly had the permission to intervene. I bet my big cousin Alessandro, 13 years older than me, always begged his parents to let him stay with the kiddos – even though my uncle, a Navy officer, was pretty strict when it came to this kind of stuff. My Grandma always cooked for a batallion: I can hardly remember what, but for sure she always made the cappelletti in brodo, a sort of homemade tortellini. My Grandma was darn good at cooking: when I was around 10, I had almost convinced her to sell her ragù in jars.
Christmas no. 2 was a completely different story.We used to go to Scandicci, in the outskirts of Firenze, to my Grandma Lucia’s, my Dad’s mom. Back then it was almost countryside, now it’s just one of the Florentine neighborhoods. My father’s family came from the province of Salerno, among the hundreds who left Southern Italy after the war. My Grandma’s house was a kind of country house, and she spent most part of her days tending her garden. My father had a large family: there were seven siblings, and this meant dozens of aunts, uncles, and cousins… yes, we were a crowd when we reunited – even if someone skipped the date. As you can imagine, Christmas no. 2 was much louder and wilder than no. 1: we did not have separate tables, but just a big one, and we kids were allowed to leave as soon as we finished eating. I still remember my sister and I going up and down the stairs with our cousins, and then coming back to the table for some panettone or frutta secca. When it was time to go back home, Grandma Lucia always had something to give us from her garden and her pantry: bottles of tomato sauce and jars of preserved zucchini or eggplants, bunches of black cabbage and beets. I hardly understood when she talked to me, as she spoke a strict dialect, but I remember well what she used to say when we were leaving: “A Maronn’ v’accumpagn’”, that is “May the Virgin Mary look after you”. And while my father drove us back home, looking at all the Christmas trees glowing along the dark roads, smelling the pungent black cabbage from the rear trunk, I considered myself a very lucky girl to have two Christmases to celebrate.
Dad’s Tree
Dad decorated a Christmas tree the way he did everything else, with pride. No, it was not the best or the most adorned, and it would not win any prizes, it was not what you would call a classic. But it was one of a kind… his.
He did it alone, from the purchase to the last strand of tinsel. He tied it to the roof, drove it home, screwed it into the stand, straightened it, and planted it by the largest window. Dad strung the lights in a spiral, hung the ornaments, the balls… silver, blue, red, and green; draped the tinsel, skirted the stand, stuck the star on the top, and stood back. Perfect. “When I was a kid, we put real candles on our tree. We sat and watched them so the house wouldn’t burn down.”
The first memory I have is seeing the blur of lights, a glow filled the corners of my eyes with mist, and I was transported to a natural place. His tree was as green as a summer day and smelled as fresh as evergreens on the side of a mountain. Against the window, it radiated streams of low winter light that bounced off the balls, the tinsel, and the ornaments, then filtered through the branches with laser-like, speckled beams to the rug. The light’s glow and the tree’s aroma diffused throughout our house. It meant Christmas.
Each ornament was hung in the same place every year. Angels came alive, Santas brought gifts, balls reflected light and bells rang with joy. In the middle of the tree was a picture of me taken in front of the tree on my first birthday. And there was Dad’s favorite, a cloth Santa. “I bought that Santa when you were born. It’s as old as you.”
Santa was two-thirds the way up the tree. Made of cloth, stitched, and glued, he was no more than four inches high, wore a tall red hat with a white cotton trim, a long red jacket that hung to his knees, light blue pants, a brown sack over his left shoulder, and black boots. His droopy, pink face and blue eyes sang with joy.
Bursting with excitement on Christmas morning, the first thing I saw was the tree, and then the bounty; over the years appeared trains, a Red Flyer wagon, a football, shoulder pads, sneakers, a baseball glove, an erector set, a radio, a fire truck, ice skates, a hockey stick, and the bike, the Rocket Royal. The Santa watched from above.
Year after year Dad hung his Santa. The years went by, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, sixty. Santa never failed. He took his place two-thirds the way up.
I married and had children. Each Christmas Day, Dad anticipated our arrival, and then he strolled to his tree. “That Santa is as old as your father.”
Over the years Santa aged too; his beard went from white to tan, he lost his left hand, his pants drooped, pine needles stuck to his boots, his sack shriveled, the piping on the front of his jacket needed stitching, the cotton withered.
My Dad died in 1996. We bought a small tree for Mom and decorated it, never failing to place the Santa. Mom died six years later. Disposing of their collection was difficult. As we discarded the old decorations, I panicked. Where was Santa? At the last moment, I found him, surrounded by hunks of tinsel, attached to Mom’s last tree, in a junk heap in the corner of the yard. I captured him. Was he smiling? That year he took his place on my tree. “See that Santa. Pop bought it when I was born.”
One year, I lost the Santa. I panicked, again, searched everywhere and still I could not find him. He did not grace the tree that year. “I know he’s here in this house.” Christmas passed. Santa missed it for the first time.
The following year, while unpacking ornaments, I found him, lying in the bottom of the box, packaged in a Ziplock bag, smiling up at me. I took a deep breath as memories surfaced, melting into tears in the corners of my eyes. “I found him, I found him.”
Santa took his place in the tree, two-thirds of the way up from the bottom. I anticipate our grandchildren’s arrival each Christmas and stroll to the tree. “See that Santa. He’s as old as I am. Pop bought him when I was born.”
Dad’s tree will ever remain one of a kind…ours.
Ed Iannuccilli
Check out my new book, the perfect give for the genealogist in your family
Salerno Lights courtesy of Antonia Sparano our guest blogger and partner in Genealogy Detectives
Tommy Damigella
Traditional dishes from Cinzia Piromallo translated by Antonia Sparano
AGNELLO AL FORNO CON PATATE E PISELLI
Raccomando che l’agnello non sia troppo grande perché più è grande più è dura la carne. Io compro AGNELLO che senza testa e pelliccia pesa massimo 7-8kg
X4 PERSONE
2KG DI AGNELLO TAGLIATO A PEZZI
1 KG DI PATATE
PISELLINI A PIACERE
5/6 POMDORINI O UN PAIO DI CUCCHIAI DI PASSATA DI POMODORO
OLIO
SALE
CIPOLLA
ROSMARINO E SALVIA
Sbucciare le patate, lavarle e tagliate a spicchi piuttosto grandi in una ciotola. Condire con olio,sale, ROSMARINO e salvia. Metterle in una teglia. Mettere anche l’ AGNELLO, i PISELLINI, e i pomodorini. Aggiungere un po’ di cipolla a fettine. Mescolare tutto insieme con le PATATE aggiungendo un altro poco di sale. Coprire la teglia con foglio di alluminio e mettere in forno a 200° per 1 ora. Quando le patate sono cotte è cotta anche la carne di AGNELLO. Con il sugo si possono Condire pasta o meglio ancora fettuccine.
FETTUCCINE FATTE IN CASA
X4 PERSONE
4 UOVA
250GR DI FARINA 0
150GR DI FARINA DI SEMOLA RIMACINATA A PIETRA
UN POCHINO DI ACQUA PER AIUTARE L IMPASTO
Impastare tutto fino a che l’impasto venga liscio.
Stendere la pasta con il mattarello o con la macchina per la pasta fino allo spessore desiderato e tagliare nel formato che piace. Si possono preparare anche il giorno prima e seccarle su un vassoio o anche molto prima e congelarle sempre nei vassoi.
Condire con il sugo che si preferisce.
Meeting Aunt Jennie
Sometimes, a person can be a present. That was the case when I met my Aunt Jennie for the first time in 2001.
I had only known of Aunt Jennie through the occasional stories my mother would tell me about her. I knew she lived somewhat nearby, and that she’d bring flowers to my grandfather’s grave every year for Memorial Day. Aunt Jennie was my grandfather’s sister and they arrived from Guardia Lombardi, Italy, together in 1927.
One day, around Thanksgiving, my mother and I were talking about my grandfather, Aunt Jennie, and the rest of the family. Mom had lost touch with everyone after my grandfather died in 1973. I came along in 1981 and never knew anyone from her side of the family. My parents divorced when I was 3, so the only family I had was my mother.
Mom told me about Aunt Jennie, how much fun she was, and how she loved being around her. She mentioned she could still remember her phone number, and recited it.
I called that number the same day. When I told Aunt Jennie that I was her brother Joe’s granddaughter, she said “Honey, I have been waiting for this call for years!”
I got to meet her and my Uncle John for Christmas that year. From then on, I always associate Christmas with Aunt Jennie. Going to her house was special—the entire place was decorated beautifully, and the cookie tray was nothing short of gigantic.
Aunt Jennie placed the gigantic cookie tray in front of me the day we met. I distinctly remember eating four cookies and her saying, “Honey! You’re not eating!” If you left Aunt Jennie’s house with an empty stomach, it was your own fault.
Aunt Jennie died in 2008. I knew her for only seven years, but the influence she had on my life was so profound that it would take me the rest of my life to adequately describe it.
One thing she did teach me, though, was the recipe for one of the cookies she had on that very first gigantic cookie tray. Every Christmas, I make pizzelles in her memory. It’s like she’s still with me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
.
Stephanie Longo
Chief of Staff/Associate Producer
The Italian American Podcast
CHRISTMAS TREES – DECEMBER 2021
They have been saying that Christmas trees are expensive this year. I took a look at the trees at Whole Foods last week. They were $69.99 for a six or seven-foot tree. Granted Whole Foods is not a mecca for bargains. They also had small two or three-foot trees. I didn’t notice their prices. We bought one of those small trees two years ago and it was a cute little tree. But last year, we weren’t so lucky. We bought one and it shed most of its needles before Christmas arrived and we had to throw it out before the holiday. We’re not going to make that mistake again this time.
This year we would like to buy a six or seven-foot tree, but not for $70. There is a lot nearby that sells them. A few years ago, we got a tree there for around $50. I tried bargaining the price but the salesman was adamant about his price and that’s what we paid. So we are considering not having a tree this year. I think we’ve only done that once—five years ago when we moved here before Christmas—half the living room was filled with boxes waiting to be unpacked. We weren’t too sad about not having a tree.
I have always loved having a real tree in my house. I love the sweet pine scent. Maybe, when you get older, you’re supposed to have an artificial tree. I know that’s what my parents did when they aged.
I recall when I was a kid going with my father shopping for a tree. In Corona, New York where we lived, my father always went to Potash, the produce market in town. It was always freezing cold. The tree lot was across the street from their market. There was always a big fire going in a large industrial-type barrel. I would usually run over to it to keep warm while Dad perused the many trees.
He liked to shake them. I don’t know why. He would say, “You want one that is full.” He meant a lot of branches. We never forgot the one that had two points at the top so we put a pointed decoration on each point. When we found one Dad liked, he would usually negotiate a better, lower price. I guess that’s why I still try to do the same.
When Anita and I lived in Los Angeles, Christmas was a little depressing because it could be seventy degrees at Christmas time. That was comforting when we thought of our relatives back east who were suffering from the cold. Sometimes we played tennis on Christmas morning. We usually laughed at the white flocked trees that lined Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood. By the time Christmas rolled around those trees looked brownish from the heavy car exhaust on the boulevard.
Someone told us to go downtown to the railyard to get a fresh and moderately priced Christmas tree. We would go to lunch in Chinatown for Dim Sum, and then, head over to the railyard. Guys would stand inside a boxcar filled with trees. They would auction them off in the railroad car’s doorway until a buyer agreed on a price. We got some nice trees there despite the warm weather. Then, for some reason, they stopped doing that.
After that, we went to Christmas tree farms out in the San Fernando Valley. They gave you a bow saw and sent you out into the many rows of trees. The problem we always ran into was the size of the tree. For some reason, we couldn’t judge the height in that big open space. We purchased some pretty large trees over the years.
We had a very high ceiling in our living room in Laurel Canyon. But one year, we outdid ourselves. The tree we purchased was too large for our space. I came home from work one evening and our fully decorated tree just fell over. Being the only one home, I struggled to stand it upright again. When I turned around several minutes later, the tree was on its side again. After that, we had to tie it with heavy fishing tackle attached at two different places on our walls.
So with those wonderful memories, if we don’t get a real tree this year, we won’t feel too bad. Maybe we’re supposed to buy an artificial one at this age.
CHRISTMAS EVE FEAST – DECEMBER 2020
The picture above is from Elodia Rigante’s cookbook entitled, Italian Immigrant Cooking. When I was a kid that’s what our dining room table looked like on Christmas Eve. In the photo, I counted thirteen different kinds of fish. It is often called “The Feast of the Thirteen Fishes.” Some Italian folks have nine, seven, or five fishes. Interestingly, they are all odd numbers; I don’t know why. The actual amount is determined by the size of the family, their appetites, and how much cooking the cook or cooks wanted to do. The preparation often started days in advance. I’m sure there are still Italian-Americans that continue the thirteen fish tradition.
The last time I experienced a big Christmas Eve dinner like this was sometime in the 1980s or early 90s. It was at my parents’ house on Staten Island. Anita and I were living in Los Angeles and made the trip back East for the holidays. My mother invited relatives from her side of the family and my father’s side of the family. My grandmother who was my mother’s mother was the oldest, then my parents and an aunt and two uncles represented the next generation, there was me and Anita, my brother, my cousins representing our generation, my daughter and her husband representing their generation and my cousin’s little girl. There were five generations from both sides of the family.
And in the tradition of big holiday dinners, two of my uncles from opposite sides of the family got into an argument at the table over veal. Yes, one thought it was terrible to slaughter calves and to eat their meat, the other didn’t care one way or the other. The argument upset my mother who was a very sensitive person.
Despite the argument, dinner was delicious and went on sans any additional arguments. Another cousin and his wife showed up after dinner and surprised us. Sad to say, it was the last time the family got together to celebrate the holidays. Shortly after that, my grandmother, uncles, and aunts began to pass away. My parents did too in the late 90s. There were many of those dinners when I was growing up and I miss them.
Anita and I have tried to keep up the Christmas Eve fish dinner tradition over the years. Her father, Cosmo Cannarili, gave me his fish salad recipe before he passed on. Our dinners have been pared down considerably. We start with Cosmo’s fish salad as an appetizer. I prepare it several days in advance. Some of the ingredients are shrimp, clams, mussels, calamari, scungilli (conch fish), and sometimes scallops. The dressing consists of olive oil, lemon juice, red wine vinegar, capers, and Dijon mustard. There is usually enough leftover to last us until New Years’. We eat it with zeppoles (a fried ball of dough) stuffed with a small piece of anchovy and deep-fried.
We follow that with pasta in a Puttanesca sauce. That’s made with anchovies, capers, olives (I like to use the green ones) in a tomato sauce. Then, we take a break for a few hours and open some Christmas presents. When we return to the table, we eat scungillis with a spicy marinara sauce over Pepper Frisele Biscuits from Arthur Avenue in the Bronx. I get the scungillis and biscuits from an Italian Market in Long Island that ships. I just received this year’s order the other day. Half the Friseles were broken; that’s the first time that happened. I called them and they are sending a new package.
We don’t eat as much as we used to so this year we may only eat fish salad, zeppoles, and pasta with Puttanesca. We may have the scungilli and biscuits on Christmas Day and maybe followed by some fried shrimp.
Some of the things my mother would make are shown in the picture. She liked to make Bacala (dried salted codfish). You had to soak and rinse it for several days before you could use it. Sometimes she put it in a salad with olives and capers. She also made Bacala soup with potatoes and onions. Sometimes she would make an escarole soup with an anchovy base with capers and black California olives. There were also an array of fried fishes—smelts, shrimp, calamari, scallops, and eels. Stuffed calamari was another favorite dish around the table.
Most Italian’s have different variations of the dinner. I know folks who have pizza, sausage, fried broccoli, and other breaded and fried vegetables. I would love to hear from you about how you and your family celebrate the holiday.
Cookies
Mom's Christmas Cookies
Thank you for sharing. It brought back memories of my family I miss so much. The closeness we once shared. I love having Italian heritage.
Thanks to everybody who shared these wonderful Christmas memories — reminiscent of my own (even though my family came from Naples!)
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