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Ella T. Grasso Schoalarship Essay
48
Eel on Christmas Eve:
My Italian-American Story
by Kathryn Kerr
During the first few moments of
dusk on Christmas Eve, just as the sun
dips below the horizon and the sky
fades from orange to black, the cellar
kitchen of a snow-covered house
simmers with aromas of cooking fish.
Oil crackles in a frying pan, spitting
under the influence of the stove’s heat.
Experienced Italian hands place strips
of eel into the pan, causing the oil to
scream and sizzle as it sears into the
fish’s breading. They are left to simmer
for a few moments, browning in the
spitting oil, until each strip is flipped,
allowing the opposite side to embrace
the heat. Once the hands deem the eel
to be cooked enough, they remove the
strips from the pan and layer them
on a waiting plate. The hands wipe
themselves clean on an apron, then lift
the plate, holding on securely as the
steaming eel is carried up the steps to
the main floor of the house.
At the top of the steps, the
cellar door opens, releasing the fishy
tinge into untainted air. Slowly and
quietly the scent creeps through each
room, silently engulfing the home.
The plate of eel travels past the family
room, where children squeal in
anticipation of Santa’s arrival while
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
blares from the television. Wisps of
the redolence gently glide past the
TV as Clarice consoles Rudolph about
his nose being different from everybody
else’s. “But that’s what makes
it so grand!” she exclaims, just as the
hands carry the plate through the main
kitchen, where other types of fish bake
in the oven and the finishing touches
are added to pasta dishes. Finally, the
eel arrives in the dining room, where
a long table is elegantly set with fine
china and trimmed with subtle Christmas
decor. Shrimp with cocktail sauce
adorns each place setting and the different
dishes of fish occupy the center
of the table. The hands gently place
the eel on the table, joining the baccala,
smelts, squid, and anchovy pasta.
This is the tradition of the Feast of the
Seven Fishes, and to me, it is the culmination
and embodiment of my Italian
heritage.
I was born into the epitome
of an Italian-American family, at least
on my mother’s side. However, the
numerous Italian experiences I have
had atone for the sin of my father’s
Scottish and German heritage. While
I always feel connected to my Italian
side, Christmastime is when I identify
most strongly with my roots. During
Christmas, every major aspect of Italian
culture culminates. As I see them,
these aspects are food, family, music,
and religion.
Most Italian-Americans will
agree that food lies at the heart of Italian
culture. While Italy abounds with
astounding architecture, artwork, and
history, the country’s immigrants could
not bring these pieces of their culture
with them to their new lands. Instead,
they brought recipes as reminders of
their homeland, and it is these recipes
which have flourished in America.
For every city boasts countless Italian
restaurants, and every home looks
forward to ‘pasta nights’ for dinner.
Through food, Italian traditions
have become incredibly interwoven
into American culture, all because of
Italian-Americans’ incorporation of
their culture and their food into their
new lives. My family provides a great
example of this. We have retained our
Southern Italian heritage by celebrating
Christmas with the Feast of the Seven
Fishes. Yet fish is only one aspect of
the Italian food offered during the
Christmas season: traditional Italian
cookies, rice pudding, and coffee are
always eaten for dessert. While Christmastime
especially exhibits traditional
Italian meals, such dishes are also featured
at all other holidays and throughout
the year. In fact, the majority of our
family dinners have always included
some sort of Italian dish. Even when
my mother did not have time to cook,
she would never drive down the street
to McDonald’s for Happy Meals. Instead,
she would quickly boil water for
rigatoni or penne and heat the homemade
red sauce she would store in the
September 2015
refrigerator, allowing for a quick yet
delicious meal. I grew up spoiled on
the finest recipes Italy has to offer,
which made my transition to bland,
greasy college food all the more difficult.
Family dinners such as these
have always been emphasized. At
least once a month, my extended family
would gather around my grandmother’s
table on Sunday afternoons,
eating some form of pasta with her
famous sauce, which was passed down
from her Italian ancestors. After we
children finished, we would play with
one another while the adults shared
updates about relatives and friends,
reminisced upon old family memories,
or argued about recent topics in the
news. Oftentimes friendly and loving
arguments would occur no matter
what the topic of discussion was; for
what sort of Italians would we be if we
did not engage in impassioned debates
over pasta and wine? After all, arguing,
even in a friendly manner, appears
to be engrained within our nature. We
are born with a gene for hot blood that
will boil at the slightest provocation,
and there is no better time to argue
than around the dinner table with
those we love the most. Arguments,
it seems, are expressions of affection
for Italians, and no meal or holiday
is complete without them. Holidays,
especially Christmas, are when the entire
family gathers together, laughing
and arguing, embodying another pillar
of the Italian-American lifestyle.
Christmastime also incorporates
another staple of this experience:
music. Throughout the Christmas season,
holiday music of Italian artists,
especially that of Frank Sinatra, floats
throughout the house, encouraging
Christmas spirit. I vividly remember
decorating my grandparents’ home
while Sinatra’s smooth, rich vocals
bellowed from the stereo system.
Music such as this is important because
it connects us to our heritage
even more. We celebrate our roots by
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