Too bad for you. Your eponym, Saint Monica, patron saint of mothers of brilliant sons, bows her head in embarrassment.
Christmas Eve is the Feast of the Seven Fishes to all Nablidons and Sicilians, although Linda hasn't done it in a big way for years since we began our other tradition of family dinner on Christmes day. Hence, she can be excused since this year her planning includes a sit-down dinner on Christmas Day for 28 assorted relatives. (Happily for me, this year's acceptances include several cousins I haven't seen in a long while who are usually away for Christmas.) More happily for Linda, our two sons will be home and for a Sicilian mother nothing, I mean nothing, beats two sons being home for Christmas. It's a great thing too for an Irish father, but for a Sicilian mother? Fuhgettaboutit. To give an example, I can easily imagine that heavenly day when Linda and the Blessed Mother are chatting. Linda will say, "yes, your Son was pretty advanced, but I'm sure my sons walked on water well before they were 30."
See link, Edible Brooklyn, for a fun article on the feast of the seven fishes featuring one of Linda's culinary gods, Marcella Hazan, and Marcella's ignorance of the feast, attributable to a childhood spent north of Naples. And so, from the article, my suggestions for the Christmas Vigil dinner, la sette pesci: grilled calamari and octopus, rock shrimp aioli, linguini with clam sauce, branzini, corvina ravioli, Arctic char crudo with Sette Anni pepper.
Grazie, amico, grazie.
to get my wife to do the Feast of the Seven Fishes. But she's always complaining "I'm not Italian (and you aren't very Italian)," and refuses to do things like this. It wasn't something I grew up with, but it sounds awesome.
well, not Chuck84, I suppose.
...wouldn't it be "I sette pesci"? Sorry--I am like the Dr. Strangelove of editors--I can't stop myself. That stuff sounds absolutely delicioso. Good friends of mine do a big Italian feast every Christmas eve, and it's my favorite meal of the year.
with the gender of "festa" controlling the "La". If it were just seven fish it would be "Il Sette Pesci."
...Revisiting this thread is making me hungry.
"Sir, an Irishman trying his hand at Italian is like a dog's walking on his hind legs. It is not done well; but you are surprised to find it done at all."
My only hope is that all of my years eating Bruno Cataldo's cooking would rub off on me. To date, it hasn't.
Atticus, it's always a pleasure to read your posts.
When I was maybe 11, living in my old Italian-American neighborhood, the kid across the strret(maybe 24 years old) married an Irish girl from the Elmhurst neighborhood in Providence(near PC, Old Irish neighborhood back then). Anyway, I remember that they moved into his family's big 4 family apartment complex,which was just loaded with Sicilian women(his mother, 3 sisters, couple aunts and a grandma). He was the "only" boy in the family and yes he was the King. I can remember mom and dad laughing and talking about the "poor Irish girl" across the street and how much she couldn't wait until they got their own house, one not that close to his hovering Mom and female loved ones.
- Looks good as centerpiece.
- Makes great sandwiches with leftovers.
- Convenient reason to buy bourbon.