Kneading a Tradition - Italian Easter Bread
Easter always stirs in me warm memories. My earliest memories are of picking out the annual Easter bonnet at Rhoda's Hat Shop then proudly parading down the isle of St. Francis de Sales Church with my family dressed up in it on Easter morning. I can taste the pleasures of gnawing into a big, hollow, milk chocolate bunny, trying to trade away my marshmallow eggs to my brother for black jelly beans, then sitting down to an extended family meal, complete with Nanny's Italian Cheese Cake and my own individual Easter Bread. My experiences of the holiday as a young mother were a bit different, but no less bucolic. I remember the joy of dressing Michael in that first little size 2T Easter suit with the plaid vest and fussing over Katie in her first of many adorable Jessica McClintock dresses, topped off with a sweet Easter bonnet selected to complement the dress. We would drag out Baba's Ukrainian Easter Eggs from the basement to display on the coffee table after sending them to school for Show and Tell. One of my favorite recollections was preparing for our Annual Easter Morning Plastic Easter Egg Hunt, which took place throughout the house, or in the back yard, weather permitting. After filling each plastic egg with either candy, a treat, or a coin, I would be out there the night before orchestrating the hunt, charting a careful balance between hiding 50 or so colorful plastic eggs deceptively enough to challenge the older one and yet obviously enough to allow the younger one to find some as well. I remember a rule that went something like Michael had to take twenty giant steps before he was allowed to pick up any eggs, thereby giving his little sister a ghost of a chance, or something like that. Oh the fun they had later, opening them up all covered with chocolate (or carob if I were on a health kick) then counting up their dimes and nickels.
Spiritual, but by conscious choice, not religious, my little nuclear family did not go to church regularly, but on the holidays, we did attend a service. I joined the rest of the church-goers, strutting my little, well-dressed brood down the isle of the church, but I preferred to point out the message of spiritual renewal inherent in the season through the signs of the budding Spring all around us. Dinner was four generations sitting down to some kind of pork, with my mom's long awaited Easter Soup (really Italian Wedding Soup renamed for the occasion) topping the bill, and the cheese cake for dessert accompanied by the Easter Bread decorating the table. For those readers who are not Italian, Easter Bread, by definition, is a mass of risen, candied dough, braided and shaped like a basket, with colored, hard boiled eggs woven into it before it is baked. My nanny's version was either shaped into a little boy or girl holding the woven basket of colored eggs, but with the added ingredients of her love, energy, patience and unique culinary skill of making everything taste delicious. I remember with sadness the Easter that she decided it was too much for her to make the fancy breads, after all, she was well into her 80's and her fingers were gnarled into arthritic twists. Although she lived on to a vibrant 98, her bread braiding days were over and the lovely tradition would vanish from our family dinner for a while. It is funny that although I had never really eaten much of the bread over the years, I was sad to see it go. The next Easter, I naively decided to make it myself, but with all the other Easter duties, I was unable to maintain the commitment. That's when I started to realize how important grandparents were to keeping family traditions and customs alive. They're the ones with the time to knead the dough of family history to produce the bread of family life...roots. And that is why, this year, I will be making Italian Easter Bread.
As incredible as it is to me, I am now the Nona, and if my grandaugther is to experience the delight of poking her finger into her own Italian Easter Bread, it will be up to me to provide the experience. I know I will have to make it for many years for her to remember it like I do, but in memory of Nanny, I am willing to take on the challenge. Perhaps like me, Sarah will decide not to eat much of it ,but its presence at the Easter table will be cute, ethnic and constant and I hope it will become for her a pleasant memory of Easter and family. If nothing else, it will afford me the opportunity to complete yet another circle.
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Dear Nona,
Your blog about Easter was especially touching. My mother was the maker of special memories and foods during the holidays. Now that she is no longer with us, it is up to the "younger generation" to fill the gap. Continuity of traditions is important for all of us.
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Great Blog! Nona Nita's Grandparenting Blog: Kneading a Tradition - Italian Easter Bread I just love it.
I saw some great stuff here There's also a recipe for this on www.momrecipebook.com
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Very helpful and interesting information. I found what I have been searching for years. Thank you so much. And keep writing!
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