Today Mama got us all up early. "Alevantate, hoy todos van a venier para aser todo por meuth" (Wake up! Everyone is coming to bake today for the holidays). It seemed that no sooner had we gotten up, when there was a knock on our door. We were being invaded by females! They were Mama's childhood friends from Salonika, Greece. Sephardic women, when called upon to assist in any endeavor, attack their jobs like a military operation -- but never forget the love and devotion to the job at hand or why they are doing it. They had an important job to do today, so they got down to business.
All was a labor of
love. So, the dough was rolled out
and formed and set aside to rise by some, while the mixtures of spinach and
cheese, or eggplant and cheese, etc., were handled by others. Diligently, without complaint, each one
knew what she had to do--a team spirit anyone could envy! They had no cookbooks or recipes to
guide them. As they worked, you
could see their years of practice at it.
Each one using their
individual method of feeling, smelling, tasting, and touching the dough, filla
or fillings. Instincts and eye
measurements used, yet precise as a chemist at his trade. Alegre would roll out the fila into a
very fine sheet, and my sister Bella would coat them with just the right amount
of oil. Aunt Rachel and Jentil
would put in the right amount of filling.
Creating the most delicious Boyos, Borekas, and Scaleras (in some
countries, Scaleras are called Folares, made from a sweet yeast dough, formed
around a hard boiled egg with the shell on for the eater to peel and eat with
the sweet bread.
If Scaleras (dough in
the shape of a ladder or a Jewish Star) are being made on this occasion, along
with all the other delights, the holiday we were about to celebrate is
Purim.) My Nona (grandmother) would
slide each filled baking sheet into our small kitchen stove. Nona was the patient one, so she was
chosen to do this job. She would
not be rushed. Everything had to
come from the oven a glorious gold.
Overseeing all this activity was Mama, giving orders left and right,
"Mete mas! Que se coma" (Put
more filling, so people can eat it!), or "la filla esta shavda" (the fila
dough was just not exactly to her liking), etc. And so it went.
All children were banned from the kitchen
on this day. It was so easy to
distract the ladies from their project.
Also, as usual, the ladies would never keep track of time. This made others who were not involved
'intruders' if they came in to eat or do anything in the kitchen that was a
necessity of life. On this occasion
my father and uncle David, forgetting themselves, made the mistake of coming
into the kitchen, asking for lunch. Mama
would say, "El Dios mio, que me de pacencia. No vez que ahora estamos como locos y
bovos, y tu vienes para comer?
No va ver nada aqui fina
escapamos!" (God give me patience. Can't you see as we are now, going about
our business like crazies, not knowing what to do next, and you want us to stop
so you can eat? There will be
nothing for anyone here until we finish!)
Without another word, my father and uncle David left. Upsetting the ladies was something just
not done.
Left alone, the
ladies continued working feverishly for hours until, at long last, everything
was done. Then they would all sit
down, faces still flushed from the exercise, with tiny demi-tasse cups of
Turkish coffee, which Mama made 'para descansar' (to take a small respite). Each one was offered one
'pastilelico' (spinach and cheese filled fillos) baked that day, to
taste. They savored each bite with
approval. They were satisfied that
they had done a good job. When they
finished this brief rest period, they filled up their shopping bags with their
share of the day's baking and left for their homes to finish for the
holidays.
Mama sure taught us
lots of self control. Everything
was kept for celebrating the holiday.
There would be no picking or tasting until then, no matter how the smells
drove us crazy or we begged for a crumb!
It was at these times I loved my Mother the most. There always seemed to be enough of
these delights that were specially placed into separate bags to be given away at
a holiday time. I can still
remember Mama giving me special instructions as to where each bag was to
go. I never realized how precious
were the loads I carried. I carried
caring and happiness in these small mementos of home cooking to lonely or
wanting people. Delights, reminding
them of their homelands at holiday
time, it is at festival time when one misses their place of birth most. It made
me feel good and important that Mama entrusted this mission to
me.
After all my
deliveries, I came home to find Mama still giving orders to my five sisters, to
clean the mess made earlier in the day and to prepare our home for the
holidays. Holidays meant wonderful
food, but also a wonderful place to celebrate them
in.
Of all the memories
we cherish most, the holidays bring back the very best of them. Sharing ourselves with others. Sometimes I wonder why and where did all
the old customs and traditions go?
Aronico Chico
Retour au sommaire