Sicilian Tuna Salad

I always wanted one of those themed lunch boxes I saw my classmates have while in elementary school. Some were adorned with The Lone Ranger, Superman, Yogi Bear. They would open them up on the lunch room table and take out their neatly packaged sandwiches wrapped in wax paper or foil. The thermos fit right next to the package of Ring Dings or pieces of fruit their mother's packed.
And their sandwiches were so simple and neat. Two slices of white bread, some with the crust cut off, holding a couple of slices of luncheon meat or peanut butter and jelly.
When I arrived at the lunch room table my friends were always eager to see what gargantuan mass of a sandwich my mother packed in my oil stained brown paper bag. I would pull out what looked like a half loaf of Italian bread wrapped in foil. As I unwrapped the super sub it was usually overloaded with last nights leftovers. Meatballs and tomato sauce, sausage and peppers, peppers and eggs, eggplant or veal Parmigiano, you know, the usual stuff us Italian kids ate for lunch. And when I took a bite into my massive sandwich the filling would land with a plop on the foil underneath. As I was eating I would glance over to my friend sitting next to me and he had his sandwich in one hand while poking his buddy with the other, just to annoy him. I needed both my hands to eat my sandwich, and usually a roll of paper towels to clean up afterwards.
One time while shopping with my mother I had asked her to buy me spiced ham for lunch because I saw my friend Junior eating that the other day. My mother ignored me and went on ordering a pound of salami and mortadella. If I did get a cold cut sandwich it was usually loaded with Italian cold cuts and adorned with marinated eggplant or olive salad or roasted peppers. Hence the oil stain. I'm not complaining, mind you, I just was like every other kid and wanted something I couldn't have.
But, what goes around comes around. When my son Joseph was around 6 years old and we were food shopping he asked me to buy a can of Chef Boyardee Spaghettios. I ignored him.
This is a dish I remember my Grandfather actually making himself. He used to have it for lunch on a fresh Italian Roll. My mom packed this for my lunch plenty of times.


1 can Albacore tuna packed in water
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1/8 lemon peel
1/8 inch slice of red onion, chopped
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
fresh ground black pepper, about 3 turns



Drain the tuna and flake in a bowl.

Squeeze the juice of half a lemon on the tuna. Cut off about 1/8 of the lemon peel and slice the peel into thin strips, then cut the strips crosswise into tiny bits. Add the peel to the tuna. (You don't just want lemon zest, you want the entire peel) Add chopped onion. Drizzle with about 1 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil. Add pepper. Mix well.

This is a nice change from tuna and mayo. The little bits of lemon peel add a burst of lemony flavor to the sandwich.

Baked Smoked Ham

My experience with Chinese food was extremely limited growing up. For a number of reasons. First being, we rarely would go out to eat. It either had to be a very special occasion, even then my mother and Grandmother would be the caterer, or we were out after dinner hour and it really didn't pay to go home and cook. On the rare occasion that we would go out to eat it would usually be for Chinese food. My friends today would say, "boy, you must have eaten in some good Italian restaurants growing up in Brooklyn". Yea, right. Mom and Grandma were the Italian restaurants. Why would we pay someone else twice the money to eat food of half the quality?? It just wasn't done.

So it was a rare treat when my parents would take us out for Chinese Food. I could remember that we would bypass the Chinese restaurant down the block from us and go about 10 miles away to another one. In my parents wisdom, just because it was close it didn't make it any good. As a matter of fact, the further away a place was, the better it had to be. We had a doctor who's practice was right on our corner, Dr Generelli. As often as I was sick as a child my mother never took me to him. I went to Dr. Brown on Bay Parkway, about 15 miles away. He had to be better!

Until the age of high school, the only thing I thought was on a Chinese menu was Chicken Chow Mein. As a matter of fact, I never realized they had menus in Chinese restaurants. I don't remember the name of the restaurant on 86th Street but I knew we had to walk up a flight of steps to get to its second floor location. We would sit down at the table and after the waiter brought us the tea and duck sauce, Chinese mustard and fried noodles my mother would order a round of Won Ton soup for everyone and for the second course, Chicken Cow Mein. I wasn't allowed to drink the tea until I got older. Water was it. I didn't know they served soda at Chinese restaurants either. Till this day, I still don't order soda at a Chinese restaurant, but I'll drink the tea and water. When the food came my mother would plate my dish....rice on the bottom, a few scoops of Chicken Chow Mein, crushed noodles on top, a sprinkle of soy sauce and when I was older, a few dabs of Chinese mustard. If desert was part of the "Family Dinner" we would have ice cream, and of course the fortune cookie.

When I was older and started dating I remember taking my date to the Chinese Restaurant on the corner. I didn't have a car yet. I was all ready to order Chicken Chow Mein, until the waiter handed me a menu. I was sort of taken back a little and opened the menu to see maybe they had different versions of Chicken Chow Mein. You could have imagined my surprise when I saw all the different dishes they offered. I asked my date if she ever had Chicken Chow Mein. She never did. So I introduced her to something different.

Now, you might ask what does Chinese food have to do with baked ham? Or with Italian Comfort food. Actually, nothing. Other then the recipe was given to me by my neighbors wife, who happens to be Chinese. I know, it's a stretch. But nothing else I cook has to do with Chinese food and I thought this was the only chance I had to fit in this story. So bear with me. Besides, to me, Chicken Chow Mein is Comfort food.

I tried this baked smoked ham at their house one evening and had to have the recipe. This has been added to my list of comfort foods and I have been making it this way for the last 20 years.

Here is what's actually going on with this dish. You're as much cooking it as you are drying the ham. Smoked hams we buy in today's supermarkets are mostly water. This cooking process drys out the ham so it taste as good as a true Virginia baked ham. There is a difference in what we buy here and what they sell down south. Another little lesson in hams, I always buy the Butt HALF or Shank HALF. Never the Butt PORTION or Shank PORTION. The reason is on the PORTION cut they slice away the center portion of the ham and sell it as ham steaks. And the center of the ham is the best cut. I know, you are getting a smaller ham with the PORTION cut, but believe me, ham never goes to waste. You can dice it and scramble it with eggs in the morning, ham sandwich paradise, let's not forget Ham Salad. And ham freezes well, just pack the left over in a zip lock bag and it stores for months. I always leave a bag in the fridge and snack on it right out of the refrigerator. Ham never lasts long in my house. And let's not forget Pea Soup! Yummm.

Baked Ham

1 smoked ham, Butt Half or Shank Half

1 8 oz jar Dijon Mustard

1 Cup honey

1 bottle of beer, any beer except light

Set oven to 200 degrees

Unwrap ham and rinse under cold water. Pat dry. Place ham in deep roasting pan.

Score the skin of the ham to form diamond shapes. First one direction then the next.

Spread mustard all over ham.

Drizzle honey over entire ham until it's coated.

Pour bottle of beer into roasting pan, not on top of ham

Place uncovered in 200 degree oven for at least 11 - 12 hours. It will be worth the time.

The last hour , baste with juices . If you have to, add some water to the pan if it starts to dry out, but you usually don't have to.

Once you slice the ham and dip it in this juice...it's amazing!

The Way To A Man's Heart Is Through His Stomach

It's been said that "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach". Through my personal experience dating, as of lately that quote has been severly neglected, or totally ignored. But back in the day when my sister Annette was trolling for a husband, my mother could have been the author of that proverb.

The year was around 1962 and my sister Annette was in the long and complicated process of finding her soul mate. Back then, at least in my family, this was not a simple task. Or one to be taken alone. It took proper planning and execution that only my mother and "the council" were qualified to pull off. Members of "the council" ,including my mother, were my Grandmother, my Aunt Mary and my Aunt Angie. They typically held a meeting when matters of great importance were to be decided, consensus to be reached and the commanding officer, my mother, was to be assured of exactly what to do. The objective: get my sister married.

Operation #38 had been carefully laid out and planned. Operation #37 was a failure so a totally new tactic was in place. My sister's boyfriend Arthur was invited to an early supper that my sister was supposedly preparing for him. It was the old "let's feed him till he's numb and could not think straight" ploy.

But this was not an easy plan to execute. My sister was severely challenged when it came to pouring milk on cereal, let alone prepare a meal that would pull on Arthur's heart strings and quicken his pace to propose. So the "Council" was preparing to work overtime.

The plan: 1. Have my mother and Grandmother prepare a meal that would make Henry the 8th gasp. 2. Get my 15 year old brother Richard out of the house. 3. leave detailed instructions on warming and serving that even my sister could follow on her own. 4. Leave them alone, which meant my Grandmother would be listening from the upstairs door and if it got too quiet she could make an entrance.

The day had come. My mother and Grandmother spent the entire previous day cooking and preparing "the meal". My brother Richard was on a two day camping trip with my father's cousin Eric and the Boy Scouts. So he was out of the house and his time of arrival back would not be until well into the evening. My Mother and Father packed me in the car and went over my Aunt Mary's house, which was only blocks away in case immediate intervention was needed.

The dining room was all prepared. The lights were dim. The table was set with the good China. My mother's fine crystal glasses were glistening under the candle light. The Victrola was playing tunes of Nat King Cole. And the tomato sauce was simmering.

When Arthur arrived everything was ready. The trap had been set. It was the beginning of a perfect evening. My sister led Arthur to the dining room table and as he sat down she offered him a drink. They glared into each other's eyes while sipping their Ginger Ale. Arthur commented on how my sister should not have gone through all this for him. My sister gloated back and assured him that he was well worth the hours she slaved over the stove to prepare this special meal, just for him.

My sister had just plated the manicotti and carefully spread the thick marinara sauce over the top. She danced towards the dining room table holding the two dishes and carefully placed one in front of Arthur. He commented on how wonderful it looked and smelled and how many hours she must have spent in preparing such an amazing dish. My sister exclaimed, "it was nothing. Just something I enjoy doing! Would you like me to sprinkle some cheese over your manicotti, Arthur?"

My sister sat down and placed her linen napkin over her lap and looked into Arthur's eyes and said "I hope you enjoy it". Just as Arthur picked up his fork and began to cut into the pasta my brother Richard entered the room, threw down his sleeping bag and said, "BOY, AM I STARVING! WHY IS IT SO DARK IN HERE?"

It was as if the needle on the Nat King Cole album had screeched across the record and time had just stood still. My sister looked over to my brother Richard and her eyes widened with anger. Words wanted to come out of her mouth but couldn't. Her hand clenched around her fork and tightened in a position that was ready to stab him if he came any closer. Arthur turned to Richard and said "Hi Richard!, would you like to join us?"

After two days of camping in the woods of the Adirondacks, un-showered and smelling like the inside of a Texas smoke house, Richard took his place at the table on the opposite end from where my sister was sitting and prepared himself for a meal of a lifetime.

The chaos factor was in full swing at my sisters dinner. But the stars and planets must have been perfectly aligned that afternoon because two years later my sister Annette and Arthur were married. Hail the "council"!!!

Arthur's Manicotti

For the Pasta:

1 cup flour

1 cup water

1/4 teaspoon salt

4 large eggs

For the filling:

3 large eggs

2 pounds Ricotta

1/4 cup Parmesan Cheese

1/4 teaspoon nutmeg

3 Tablespoons fresh Parsley, Chopped

1/4 teaspoon black pepper

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 pound Mozzarella, shredded

For the Tomato Sauce:

1- 28 oz can Crushed Tomatoes

1- 28 oz can Tomato Puree

1 small onion, chopped

3 cloves garlic, chopped

1/4 cup red wine

1 teaspoon dried basil

1 teaspoon sugar

4 tablespoons olive oil

Salt & pepper to taste

To make the tomato sauce place olive oil in heavy pot and sauté onions till soft and translucent. Add garlic and sauté for 2 minutes. Add both cans of tomato sauce and rinse each can halfway with water and pour into the sauce. Add red wine, basil, sugar, salt and pepper. Cook uncovered on medium heat for 1/2 hour, stirring occasionally, till thick.

To make the pasta, combine flour, water, salt and beat in electric mixer till smooth. Beat in eggs one at a time until blended. It should look like a thin crepe batter when done.

In a medium non stick skillet, lightly oil the pan. Place over a medium flame. When the pan is hot pour about a quarter cup of batter into the pan and swirl the pan until the batter covers the bottom of the pan in an even pancake. Cook until the pancake edges are dry and flip over. Cook the other side for 45 seconds. Repeat the process until all the batter is used, lightly oiling when needed. This should make about 12 crepes.

Prepare the filling by beating the 3 eggs in a large bowl. To the eggs add the ricotta, parsley, nutmeg, Parmesan cheese, 1/2 teaspoon salt, pepper and mozzarella. Blend well.

To put together the Manicotti, Take one crepe, place about 2=3 tablespoons of ricotta mixture along the center of the crepe to about an inch and a half from the end. The row of ricotta should be about 2 inches wide by about 6 inches long. Fold the two sides along the long end of the crepe over and fold the two opposite ends over each other.

Place each manicotti, seam side down, into a baking pan covered in tomato sauce. Do this till all the crepes and ricotta are used up. Laddle more tomato sauce over the manicotti till it is covered. Sprinkle with Parmesan cheese and cover the pan with foil. Place in a 350 degree oven for about 1 hour or until bubbly. Take off the foil and continue to bake for another 10 minutes.

Allow the manicotti to rest for about 15 minutes before you plate.

Stuffed Artichokes

"Hello Peeta.....this is your mother". This is the way my mother starts her conversation when she calls me on the telephone and leaves a message on my answering machine. How many children are out there that would not recognize their own mother's voice that she would have to identify herself in that manner? Even a lost baby caribou recognizes its mother’s call among a herd of thousands. I don't get it. My sister has the same habit. But she goes a step further. She'll say, "hello Peeta....this is your sister....Annette". I ONLY HAVE ONE SISTER! When I call them and get their answering machine I just say "hi, it's me" If they don't know who "me" is after 55 years of hearing my voice, well, they should take a lesson from the caribou.

Now, I know my mother recognizes my voice because the one time I downloaded a canned message on my answering machine from the internet I almost had the cops show up at my door. I was living in Hackensack at the time and I downloaded a "Rocky" sound alike on my answering message. It went something like.."Yo....there is no one in right now. ERR...when you hear the bell just talk in the phone....ya know." I thought it was cool to have that on my answering machine. I never thought in a million years that it would almost cause an Amber Alert!

My mother called me that day and got "Rocky" on the answering machine. She hung up! She called back a second time, and again hears "yo, there is no one in....". She hung up again. Now she got worried. Did she dial the right number? Maybe she used the wrong area code. Did someone break into my apartment and kill me and changed my answering machine message??? Because there was a rash of that going on in the country at the time....especially in Hackensack. I kid you not. This is what was going on in her mind. She finally calls the operator and tells her that "every time I dial my son's number a stranger answers the phone! Can you please try this number and let me know if everything is ok?" I'm sure Ma Bell operators get these requests every day and are specially trained to deal with these dire situations.

The operator dials and gets "Rocky". The operator explains to my mother that it's an answering machine that sounds a little slow, like it's winding down, but it's the correct number. At that point my mother's thoughts resemble that of an insane woman. I don't know what was going on in her head but she thought that something had happened to me. And that someone broke into my home and took over my answering machine. It upset her the whole day.

THANK GOD I called her that afternoon or the cops would have shown up. She answered the phone and I said "hi, it's me", not knowing what just occurred.

"ARE YOU ALRIGHT" ?!?1? .she screamed. "Sure mom, why, what's wrong?"

"I TRIED CALLING YOU ALL DAY AND SOME STRANGER KEPT ANSWERING THE PHONE. I THOUGHT SOMETHING HAPPENED TO YOU! I CALLED THE OPERATOR AND SHE GOT THE SAME THING!"

I tried to calm my mother down and explain to her that I recorded a Rocky answering message. She screamed "WHO'S ROCKY? WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH YOU?? WHY CAN'T YOU HAVE A MESSAGE LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE?"

I once heard that actions have unintended consequences. And when you least expect it, something very innocent can occur that turns your mother into a lunatic. Maybe it comes out of love.

Oh, by the way, the reason my mother called me that afternoon was to let me know her and my father were coming up to visit me over the weekend…..and bringing me stuffed artichokes.... It was worth the aggravation.

My Mother's Stuffed Artichokes

3-4 artichokes

2 Heaping cups plain bread crumbs

3/4 cup grated cheese (Locatelli Romano)

1 clove garlic finely chopped

4 Tablespoons fresh flat leaf parsley, chopped

1/2 teaspoon salt

black pepper to taste

Extra Virgin Olive Oil

Take off the bottom small leaves of the artichoke and cut the stem off so the artichoke sits flat.

I save the stem and cook with the artichoke. Just cut off the "woody" outside layer of the stem. Rinse the artichoke in cold water. Shake off any excess water.

Cut off about 1/3 of the top. A serrated bread knife works well here.

Now open the leaves by spreading with your fingers or turn upside down with the top of the artichoke on top of the counter and with your palms press down hard to open the leaves. Now the artichokes are ready to stuff.

To the bread crumbs add the grated cheese, chopped garlic, chopped parsley, salt and black pepper. Mix well.

With a teaspoon, stuff each leaf of the artichoke with the bread crumb mixture. Holding the artichoke in one hand, pull the leaves back with your thumb and spoon in the bread crumbs and shake till they settle to the bottom. Go all around the artichoke and make sure each leaf is stuffed from bottom to top with the mixture.

When every leaf is filled place the artichokes in a large enough pot to fit.

There is no measurement here, slowly drizzle the extra virgin olive oil over each artichoke until absorbed by the bread crumbs. For 4 artichokes you can easily use 3/4 cup of olive oil. Fill the pot with water about a quarter of the way up the artichoke. Do not pour water over the artichoke. Turn the heat to medium and bring to a boil. Turn down heat to low and simmer with the lid partially covering the pot.

Check the pot from time to time and add more water as needed. Pour the water into the pot, but not over the artichokes. They should cook about 50 minutes or until you are able to pull a leaf from the center easily.

For those of you that have never eaten an artichoke before here is how it is done. Pull off a leaf. With the bottom inside of the leaf against your front bottom teeth, bite down gently and as you pull the leaf out of your mouth, scrape the fleshy part from the leaf. As you get closer to the center of the "choke", the leafs will be more tender and you will be able to eat the softer bottom parts of the leaf. When you get to the center scrape off the "hairy" portion till you get to the heart of the artichoke. This can be eaten whole. That is my favorite part! Including the stems you cooked with the artichokes.

These are best eaten at room temperature or slightly cooled. They also travel well.

THE FRUIT BOWL INCIDENT

(man does not live by bread alone)

Did you ever have an event happen in your life, specifically during childhood, that stuck with you your entire life? I'm not talking about a life altering experience. Just something you did as a child that no one ever let you forget. As a matter of fact, each time the story gets told it seems to take on a life of its own. Like it's being told for the very first time, by brothers and sisters and cousins. And the reaction is always the same. You get red in the face when you hear it and you have to fill in the left out parts because they never get it the same twice. I have such a story. It's become an "urban legend" in my family and never gets old. It became known as "The Fruit Bowl Incident".

For the record, this is what happened.

I must have been 3 or 4 years old at the time. It was 1957 or 58. I remember being very young. I was in the basement with my mother and remember she was ironing some cloths. We had the TV on. It was one of those giant 12" TV's, you know, the one that didn't have a station changer that clicked , but you tuned in the TV programs like a radio. I always had an active imagination and like many children of the day, would utilize every day household items for play things. This was a time when all you needed to keep busy was a little pink ball and a stick. I used to love to play "soldier". Running around the house and diving in and out of corners using the entire basement as my "battlefield". Like any good soldier I had a cut off 2x4 as my rifle and for my helmet I would use an aluminum fruit bowl that my mother kept on the kitchen table, minus the fruit.

Let me give you a description of the culprit that etched this story into my family's history books. This fruit bowl was made of a flat aluminum and had scalloped edges. It almost looked like a flower basket. And it had a handle attached to it. A very strong handle. When I put it on it looked like a pretty cool World War 1 helmet. Now, I had been playing with this equipment for some time and this particular day was no different than any other....so I thought.

As far as my mother knew, this was like any other day in the Bocchieri household. Or so she thought. My brother and sister were at school for the day, my father was at work, my Grandparents were busy working in the butcher shop and my mother was taking care of the usual household chores as I played and kept myself busy. At one point she felt a tug on her dress and when she looked down she saw that I was very upset. "What's wrong?", she asked. I told her " I can't take my helmet off". She gave me a look of disbelief and quipped, "you alway play with that silly fruit bowl, just slide it off". I looked up at her with my panic in my eyes and told her that I couldn't.

She put down the iron and knelled down beside me on one knee and in her calm maternal voice she said, "here sweetheart, let me try".

I stood there with my head bobbing back and fourth as she tried to slip the handle in one direction, then the other from under my chin. It wasn't coming off! At that point my mother became more animated. She sat me down in a chair and told me not to move as she ran in the kitchen for some olive oil. She came running back to me with a dish towel soaked in the oil and rubbed it all around the handle and my chin. After I was totally lubricated she made another attempt to remove the fruit bowl from my head. IT WASN'T COMING OFF!!!!!

Now, my mother has had a lot of experience dealing with emergences between me and my brother and sister over the years. And you would think that a simple problem like taking a fruit bowl off your child's head would have been a cake walk for her. But she panicked! She lifted me up into her arms and placed a coat over me and the fruit bowl, it was cold outside. As she held me in one arm she ran outside and started to bang on my neighbor's door for help. My neighbor Julia opened the door, seeing me in my mother's arms with a coat draped over my head with what looked like my mother's fruit bowl under the cover. "Please, Julia, you have to help me", my mother shouted, " Peter has my fruit bowl stuck on his head. And I need someone to hold him in the car so he doesn't choke to death on the way to the police station". At this point I started crying. Julia was in tears as well.....with laughter. Unfortunately my mother did not see any humor in this situation.

The three of us climbed into my father's 54 Mercury and Julia held me on her lap as my mother took off for help. All the while, Julia was trying to slip off the fruit bowl from my head and my mother kept yelling at her to "stop, you'll choke him!!"

When we arrived at the police station my mother ran around the car and lifted me off of Julia's lap and ran up to the desk Sargent inside the police station. As she whisked the coat off of my head, like a magician that just produced a bouquet of flowers out of thin air, she pleaded with him to " please help help me get this fruit bowl off of my son's head." I think the desk Sargent needed a break like this today. I'm sure with all the crime and problems he's seen come through that door over the years this was one of those moments that probably made him glad he graduated from the police academy.

As my mother sat me on the front desk of the police station the Sargent leaned over and and grabbed the fruit bowl from the top with one hand and with his other hand under my chin tried to slip the handle forward. He began pressing down on top of the bowl trying to get more space under my chin so the handle would slip off. IT WASN'T COMING OFF!!!

The Sargent kept struggling with this stubborn helmet but wasn't making any progress. He was lifting and tugging and pulling and twisting but the darn thing would not come off. A well dressed detective was coming into the precinct and walked over to see what all the commotion was about. At this point the Sargent suggested we call the Daily News because he saw a photo opportunity in this moment. My mother would have nothing to do with that. The detective very calmly walked over to me and said, "if the damn thing went onto his head, it's gotta come off!" Sound logic. I believe he pressed my ears against my head, first one side, then the other as he slowly slipped the handle past the center point of my head. He might have made a comment about who dumbed this salad bowl on my head because he felt a good load of oil around my face. Ever slowly and methodically he inched the handle around my ears and pulled the skin tight under my chin and before I knew it, it came off.

I think my mother started crying at that point, once the adrenalin left her body. She thanked the Sargent and the Detective and he handed her back the fruit bowl and we walked out the precinct with me in my mother's arms and Julia carrying the fruit bowl.

After the "fruit bowl incident" we kept the fruit bowl on the kitchen table, filled with fruit. My mother went to Toy Town the next day and bought me an army helmet.

Italian Cook Out

From time to time my family would break away from the hustle and bustle of Brooklyn city life and would pack up us kids into the car to take a drive to the "wilds" of Long Island. Back then the Belt Parkway was still drivable when you can go 50 miles without any traffic jams. My Grandfather's 53 Hudson Wasp barely made it up to 50 MPH so it was also a very slow and pleasant drive. I could remember back then the light posts on the Belt Parkway were wooden and they still had a toll booth that collected a 5 cent toll.

We had family in Long Island, my Aunt Rose and Uncle Aldo Corso and their children, my cousins Gail, Gary, Glenn and Greg (how's that for creative name giving!) and my Grandmother's first cousin Zia Eve, or as we called her "TeVeVe". She made a great Chicken Cacciatore. My Uncle Frank and Aunt Rose St. George (Rose was another popular name in my family) and their children Joseph & Phylis.

Along that same family line but still living in Brooklyn was my Aunt Francis and Uncle Sal St. George (I think we had at least a dozen relatives named Sal) and their children, my cousins Cammy, Joseph & Phylis (Phylis and Joseph seems to be another popular name) We never got together with this side of the family for the major holidays, but would often visit them a number of times during the year,for the Fourth of July, visits to Jones Beach and for BBQ's at Valley Stream State Park.

We would get to Valley Stream Park early in the morning. The caravan of cars would pull into the parking lot and every able body would lug the trays of food and coolers to the picnic tables. I could remember my grandfather would wear his special sporty summer cool Fedora straw hat. He was the most important attendee at this cook out because, being the butcher of the family, he was in charge of the meats and sausage. And oh the sausage! He made a delicious sausage with cheese and parsley and sun dried tomatoes. They came wrapped in brown butcher paper and when opened were one continuous 6 foot link of heavenly salsiccia! My aunts would start the pot of coffee and within minutes you would start to smell the bacon and eggs frying on the BBQ pit. This was an all day affair. They would have the lawn chairs all set up in a circle and the picnic tables were covered in linen table cloths.

After breakfast all the cousins would have a game of football in the nearby clearing and my cousin Joseph, being the oldest male cousin, would always end up at the bottom of the tackle pile-up with my brother Richard jumping on him a few extra times just for good measure. My cousin Gail and I were about the same age, 4 or 5 years old at the time, and we would put on a show for everyone dancing on top of the picnic tables.

And then came the serious grilling. My Uncle Frank would lift up the sausage and it looked like he was decorating a tree with garland. He would hold it up to show everyone, as he bowed his head towards my Grandfater in appreciation, and then placed it as it sizzled on top of the fire pit. The smell of the olive oil and vinegar that marinated the chicken with the garlic and basilico would hit you as they cooked on the coal fire when the wind turned in your direction. You can never get that smell out of your head ever again. Till this day when I grill chicken in the back yard in that marinade it brings me back to the cook outs we had at Valley Stream State Park.

The loafs of Italian bread came out as the bowls of cold string bean, red onion and potato salad got passed around with the broccoli rabe, roasted peppers, cheeses, olives,salami and salad. My Grandfather would take out the jug of wine that he carefully hid under the picnic table and filled all the glasses. He would give me a thimble full of wine and filled the rest of the glass with ginger ale. Till this day I still enjoy that drink!

After the feast my Grandfather would take his lounge chair and find a shady spot under a tree to take a nap. He would tilt his straw hat over his eyes and drift off. Now, my Grandfather was the "patriarch" of the family. He earned that title because he was the first one in this family to come to this country from Sicily. His "nephew" my Uncle Frank was the prankster of the group and sooner or later Uncle Frank would do something to get my Grandfather rilled up. One time while he was sleeping my Uncle Frank exploded a cherry bomb under my Grandfathers hammock. All hell broke loose after that!!!! We all knew it was coming, we just never knew when. My cousin Johnny, who was also my Grandparent's nephew, had a knack of upsetting my Grandfather also from time to time. That's putting it mildly. Johnny had family pranks down to a science. If there was a college of pranks, Johnny was the Dean. But I'll save his stories for another time.

Let's get cooking.

Marinated BBQ Chicken

1 whole fryer chicken cut into quarters

1/4 cup olive oil

1/2 cup red wine vinegar

1 teaspoon of dried oregano

3 tablespoons of fresh basil,chopped

1 teaspoon of sugar

2 cloves of garlic, finely chopped

2 teaspoons of salt

1 teaspoon of black pepper

Mix all of the marinate ingredients together in a small bowl. Wash and dry the chicken well and place the chicken in a zip lock bag. Pour the marinate into the bag, press out the air and seal. Allow the chicken to marinate in the refrigerator for at least 3 hours.

In the mean time light the coals in your BBQ and allow them to get white hot. If you have a damper on your grill make sure it is at the lowest setting so the chicken does not burn. For those with gas grills, cook the chicken on low.

Place the chicken on the grill and discard the remainder of the marinate. Chicken should be done in about 45 minutes.

Scacia

Scacia (Scaciatta)

Too bad Christmas comes only once a year. Unfortunately, I don't feel that way now as an adult, but as a child it was a magical time.

On Christmas Eve I could remember anticipating the arrival of all my Aunts, Uncles and cousins. The house was full of different aromas, dishes covered in foil on the kitchen table, pots boiling on the stove. My mother and grandmother joining forces to feed the hordes of relatives scheduled to arrive. And they pulled out all the stops. They even had my sister, who was challenged boiling water, join in the preparation.(in her defence, she was young then and only had boys on her mind) The fact that the cooking was done on two floors, my Grandparents lived on the second floor of our two family brick row house, my brother Richard and I were kept busy jockeying finished dishes and needed ingredients from one floor to the other. And if you count the basement, where we had a table big enough to sit everyone, my brother and I would run marathons delivering chairs, dishes and antipasto platters. And those were long flights of stairs! No wonder everything tasted so good when we finally sat down to eat. After a good cardio workout who needs Cynar to open your appetite!

For some reason, my mother only used the oven in the basement when she baked or roasted something. Of course we had a full kitchen in the basement, complete with refrigerator. The oven in the main kitchen was never used in my lifetime, ever. She stored her pots and pans in that oven. The stove top was fine. Yes we did have plastic slip covers on our living room sofas, but that's another story. The only oven she used was the oven in the basement. I remember the reason my mother gave for such a set up...she didn't want to heat up the kitchen. One would think that my brother and I would be spared from carrying hot roasted chicken or roast beef up from the basement from October through February. Never happened! She had too many pots and pans stored away in the main oven for her to empty it and ever use it again.

And then they arrived. The door bell started ringing and my mother became even more animated. Grandma calling from the top of the steps to open the door, as if I couldn't hear the bell. My cousins were the first to barge into the house, Johnny and Ralph, Georgina. Then came Aunt Mary and Uncle Sal, Aunt Angie and Uncle Benny. This was the first wave. All carrying gifts and packages in shopping bags. But the real prizes were coming in under the cover of dish towels and pot holders. I could smell the fragrance of fish and lemon as they walked past me. All my aunts made something special that we would always have on Christmas Eve.

My understanding is this dish was a specialty from my Father's town of Ragusa, Sicily. My Mother Rose was a master at making this along with my Aunt Mary, my Grandmother's sister. This was usually a staple we had on Christmas Eve along with a dozen other dishes at a time when you could not eat meat on Christmas Eve. Scacia or Scaciatta essentially is a pizza dough filled with with all sorts of savory things and rolled up like a "jelly roll". This is how my family made it.

1 pound Pizza Dough, recipe follows

2 cups of Pizza/Marinara Sauce, recipe follows

2 medium onions, thinly sliced, sauteed in olive oil

1/4 pound sliced pepperoni, except on Christmas Eve

1/4 pound of sharp imported Provolone Cheese, diced into small cubes.

2 tablespoons of grated Romano Cheese

Fresh flat leaf parsley

Olive oil

Preheat oven to 350 degrees

Roll out pizza dough on a floured surface into a 12-15" oval.

Spread the pizza sauce over the dough, spreading it around with the back of a spoon, go to within an inch of the end.

Spread the sauteed onions over the sauce, distributing evenly.

Put the pepperoni all around the pie

and sprinkle on provolone and Romano cheese.

Pull off the leaf ends of the parsley and spread around the pie.

Now comes the tricky part. Starting from the end closer to you, roll up the pie like a jelly roll.

When it's completely rolled up, pinch the ends to your left and right of the roll. Pinch the seam closed and

place the "roll" seam side down on a lightly oiled cookie sheet. It might be difficult to lift the roll but if you slide one hand under each end you can lift it onto the cookie sheet.

Poke holes on the top with a fork to allow steam to escape. Place the Scacia in a 350 degree oven for 25-30 minutes or until golden brown. After about 10 minutes of cooking time, poke a few slits in the top with a knife to be sure the steam escapes. Rotate the pan half way through so it browns evenly.

Let the Scacia cool slightly before slicing it into three inch slices. Use a spatula to loosen the scacia from the bottom.

If you have any sauce left over you can always use it for a dipping sauce with the scacia.

BASIC PIZZA DOUGH

Makes about 15 oz. of dough, enough for one Scacia.

Dissolve 1 teaspoon of dry yeast in 1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon of warm water. Set aside for 5 minutes. Combine 1 1/2 cups all purpose flour, 1 teaspoon sugar, 1 teaspoon salt, and 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil. Blend with yeast mixture. Mix with electric mixer on low speed for 2 to 3 minutes or until dough rides up dough hook. Add a teaspoon of water at a time if dough is too dry. Hand knead the dough for an additional 5 minutes.Dough should be smooth and elastic. If mixing by hand, first stir with wooden spoon, then knead with hands for 10 minutes. Dough should be slightly tacky. Lightly oil a 1 quart bowl with 1 tsp of olive oil. Place dough in bowl then flip dough over to grease other side. Seal with plastic wrap and let rise at room temperature for 1 hour or until double in size. Keep covered until ready to use. If you are not using it right away you can keep the dough covered in refrigerator and take out two hours before you use it.

PIZZA SAUCE

1 28oz can of peeled tomatoes

3 cloves garlic, chopped

3 tablespoons olive oil

2 tablespoons fresh chopped basil or 1/2 teaspoon of dried basil

1/2 teaspoon dried oregano

1 teaspoon of sugar

1/4 teaspoon of red pepper flakes (optional)

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon black pepper

Puree tomatoes in blender. Heat olive oil in pan and cook garlic for 1 minute. Add pureed tomatoes, basil, oregano, sugar and salt and pepper. Cook uncovered on medium low flame stirring occasionally for about 25 minutes or until thickened.