Of all the holidays, Christmas Eve was the biggest celebration of the year at the home of my grandparents, who were both from northern Italy. And, although they both spoke fluent Italian, they would not let their seven children speak the language in their home. "We are in America, now," my grandfather would say.
As is the Italian-Catholic tradition, we ate five different kinds of fish for dinner that night. I don't remember all of them, but I do remember smelts, which are very small fish that were breaded and fried. There were also some tuna meatballs, which is using tuna rather than ground beef. They were actually quite tasty when paired with homemade spaghetti.
Christmas Eve dinner also included a lot of singing. The grandchildren were required to stand up and sing Christmas carols, occasionally accompanied by a cousin on guitar. We were not big fans of the public display of talent (or lack thereof), but it made everyone feel happy and festive. My grandfather also joined in, singing in Italian.
In addition to holidays, my grandmother made homemade pasta weekly, hanging it to dry on racks in her basement in preparation for Sunday dinner. Even as her sons and daughters grew older and had children of their own, many of them returned on Sundays for spaghetti with homemade sauce.
While both Christmas Eve and Sunday dinners included polite conversations and family updates, there were always discussions about money, politics and religion, three of the topics that are supposed to be avoided. However, there were generally no hard feelings afterward, and the family returned for the next dinner right on schedule.
Although my dad was German, I grew up in an Italian household for sure. While my mom did prepare my dad's favorites like sauerkraut, filled cabbage and borscht, which is red beet soup, our general menu was definitely Italian.
There was also a sense of community in our Italian home. There was always something cooking on the stove, whether a pot of chili or meatballs or endive soup, also known as Italian wedding soup. Neighbors, family members and friends stopped frequently to enjoy whatever was cooking. There was always plenty of freshly brewed coffee available day and night.
Another tradition is that if someone in the neighborhood, a family member or a fellow church member passed away, casseroles, homemade cakes, salads and platters of cheese and lunch meat would somehow suddenly appear at the home of the grieving family members. Maybe grieving with food provided comfort when dealing with the pain of loss.
Today, I continue to try to uphold Italian traditions but with my own personal spin. Our family still celebrates Christmas Eve, not with five kinds of fish or singing, but with family togetherness. We still tend to speak our minds about money, politics and religion while sharing plates of food, and we all cannot wait for the next holiday or Sunday dinner to get together again.
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