On December 24th, 1963, Philadelphia was hit with a rip-roaring
blizzard. I’ll never forget it. By evening, the drifts were well past
knee-high. Snowflakes swirled in the halos of streetlights. Driving
anywhere was out of the question. Wrapped up in coats, boots, gloves,
hats and scarves, and loaded down with bags of presents, my girlfriend
Bonnie, my mother and I set out on foot for Aunt Tilda’s house. What would have been a 7-minute drive turned into an hour trek. I
remember laughing so hard we could hardly walk. We knew we were crazy
to be slogging through such a storm, but we were determined to reach
our destination. It was Christmas Eve, and Aunt Tilda had prepared the
traditional Italian Feast of Seven Fishes.
Tilda’s house was decorated to the rafters. Twinkling lights
outlined every window. Tiny red and green Christmas balls hung from
each curtain ruffle. Swags of tinsel garland draped the mirrors. The
huge tree was covered with hundreds of ornaments she had been
collecting for decades. At its top perched a gossamer angel. And
beneath its bedecked branches, nestled the white and gold 30-piece
Nativity set that Tilda had stayed up into the wee hours painting on
many a sweltering summer night.
Christmas
Christmas
One for the Table's Appetizer Extravaganza
Elegant Entertaining
by Holly Palance
All I want for Christmas is my caviar pie. Which is a jolly good thing, since it's the only dish I take joy in creating.
Born without the cooking gene, my talent was always for producing and managing parties, until Brent Power, my best friend from grade school served up a delectable dip Christmas Eve 1982 at my wedding shower and I was hooked. I actually broke down, copied the recipe (my first ASK ever) and have been serving it and bringing it as my pot luck contribution ever since to ooh's and ahh's.
Ina Garten’s Roasted Eggplant Spread
Leek & Saffron Broiled Oysters
Christmas Tourtiere Pie
Here in Maine we await a "super storm" that is huge and rushing across the United States, or so they say. Six to twelve inches of snow, turning to freezing rain with high winds. Sounds like Winter weather in Maine, not too unusual. It isn't the size of the storm it's what you find to make it fun that counts and I have a plan to enjoy it! In between plowing I will be making our Mother's tortiere pies and perhaps having a slice for lunch and another with a pot of hot tea in the afternoon to warm up.
What is tortiere pie? To my family it is a ground pork and beef pie flavored with chopped onions, spices and thickened with mashed Maine potatoes then put into a double butter crust. I said my family, the Gagne family, my Mother's recipe, made the same way for at least 5 generations. It isn't like the Belanger's who add no beef just pork, a totally different spice mixture and a Crisco crust or the Bourassa family that adds small chunks of pork instead of ground pork, they add no potatoes, quatre spice and a lard pastry crust.
Our Best Christmas Present
When our Mother was diagnosed with cancer many years ago, once we regained our balance, my sister and I plotted and planned how we would make that Christmas, her last, be the best Christmas of her life. That being such a bold plan where else could we spend that bittersweet holiday but in the countryside of France and where else but in the festive Champagne region? This was our present to our Mother and we wanted it to be grand. The night before we were to leave Maine we opened up a bottle of her favorite Champagne and handed her a glass with an envelope. Tears poured down her cheeks as she viewed the tickets to Paris, her favorite destination in the whole world with her two daughters. We promised her that she would drink Champagne everyday, but that is all we revealed of our surprise dream Christmas together.
The next day we headed to Boston in a thick snow storm leaving behind our hopelessness and entering into a happy, magical fantasy for the next 10 days. No doctors, no treatments, no stress or sadness gnawing at our bones – just great food, champagne, and love in copious amounts. Having made the reservations so close to our departure the four of us were forced to sit in pairs. My mother and sister were seated ten rows ahead of me and my boyfriend. The noise level on the plane grew louder with laughter in the rows ahead of us. I mentioned to the flight attendant that she sure had a wild crowd to tend to that night. She laughed briefly and rolled her eyes. After an hour I headed up the aisle to check on my mother and sister, to my delight and horror they were the source of all the loud laughter fueled by too many glasses of Champagne. The plan for her to relax and enjoy herself again was working already.
Saved by Pierogi
Though everyone thinks their family is odd, mine was definitely unique, at least in my neighborhood. Both my parents are only children, which made holiday celebrations a little somber since there were no siblings or cousins to play with or share the scrutiny of my grandparents’ expectations.
Plus, my mother is French and my father is Polish, which, in those days (the early 60s) was quite a bone of contention with both sides. It was true love (43 years and counting), so they decided to allow their “crazy” kids to get hitched, but none of them were ever truly happy about it.
The fact that my parents had four kids in 6 years alleviated a little of the enmity and focused their parents' attention on us.
Being a male-dominated world back then, we always went to my Polish grandparents house for Christmas Eve. It was all adults. My siblings and I were the only kids. Since we spent every day of our lives together, we were uninterested and incapable of entertaining each other. We were also expected to behave like little ladies and gentlemen. Not hard since there wasn’t much to play with at my grandparents house. My French grandmother bitched about it every year and often threatened not to attend – even though she couldn’t cook and had no room to host an event.
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