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Ed Writes - Dr. Ed Iannuccilli

A St. Joseph Altar Celebration Joseph L. Cacibauda

The legend of the St. Joseph Altar comes from Sicily in a period of drought and famine. The people prayed to St. Joseph to help them come out of this crisis, and when the rains did come, the crops grew, producing abundant yields. In gratitude, the Sicilians offered praise to St. Joseph on a three tiered altar surrounded by their most prideful creations—their foods.

The large altar was built, three levels in honor of the Holy Trinity, and shrouded in the best whitest linens. Placed on these three tiers were the finest breads, fruits, vegetables, and Sicilian seafood dishes the community had to offer. It was especially important that the poorer citizens were invited to partake of this multi-storied banquet, along with wine, but only after Father Anselone had ceremoniously blessed the offerings.

          Salvatore Miceli’s house was not fancy and the large St. Joseph’s altar, bedecked with the fanciest cross-shaped breads, cookies, colorfully prepared dishes of vegetables and pasta, and many brightly colored flowers, seemed ludicrously misplaced. It took up most of the room, so that visitors needed to stand in the doorway, albeit only a few at a time, to admire its magnificence. Giovanni, Pellegrino, and their families had been invited, and while visiting Fordoche Village, Giovanni had planned to inspect the January Plantation land he was prepared to buy. Raimondo, Pina, Giovanni’s children; and Ritta and Antonia, Pellegrino’s two girls were part of the enactment of the Holy Family, along with Salvatore’s children. They sat around a specially set table acting as Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and the Angels. Salvatore was sure to include San Pellegrino and Santa Rosalia in the pageant. They were served first with small portions from the altar, taking care to offer them foods they would be willing to eat, like stuffed artichokes, olives, hard cheeses, rice pudding, pasta, fig and sesame seed cookies.

          The men walked out toward the back of Salvatore’s acreage. Large pecan and oak tree groves spread out in clusters over the property. Salvatore reached down to the ground to pick up a couple of fallen pecans. He cracked one against the other in between his palms, and began picking at the meat while he talked, “Talia, Giuvanni. Over that direction is the land for sale. You see the next farm is Paolo Cacciabaudo’s farm, and the one next to it is the January land. It’s as much property as mine, a hundred acres and he’s asking $4,400.00. You don’t have to pay it all at once. You can pay what i Miricani chiamanu, “down payment”. Then you pay the rest every year.” He handed Giovanni a roasted fava bean, blessed by Father Anselone. “This is your lucky bean, Giuvanni. You will never go broke because San Giuseppi is watchingover you.”

          A neighbor, Saverio Allieo, a Sicilian from Sciacca, joined them. Saverio, called Sam in English, had been in America for over thirty years, and was fond of letting everyone know it. He was a successful truck farmer, doing well by keeping local grocers stocked with fresh meats, eggs, and vegetables. He spoke in English most of the time, taking pride in his command of the language, even though his speech was thick with mispronunciations and spotted with Sicilian words. He was what i Miricani called a “black Sicilian,” tracing his heritage back to the Arab occupations. He spoke in rapid bursts and wild hand gestures that caused his wavy black hair to dance up and down atop his large head. He had arrived in time to overhear the part of the conversation about “down payments”. Saverio was as the Sicilian poet Giovanni Meli describes, un omu ca non sapia cunzari na nsalata e pritinnia di cunzari lu munnu ( a man who could not fix a salad but pretended he could fix the world). He had an opinion about everything, and offered advice based on hearsay knowledge from English and Italian conversations, from which, in either language, his general understanding was sketchy at best.

          “You see in la Merica de high-ya-callem owners sella tutti de plantacia to de immagranta ‘causa de high-ya-callems a no wanta to farma de high-yacallems. So dey take-ah picca munita for ta sella. You signa de paypa itsa calla de high-ya-callems a morgheggiu. You paya de morgheggiu for de landa high-ya-callem til you paya offa tutti munita. Whenah you finisheh to paya the high-ya-callems, tutti morgheggiu isa finisheh.” Sam, overworked by the concentration required to speak in English, finished the “lesson” in Sicilian. “Chistu è nu bonu affari, Giuvanni. Nta Sicilia nun putevi mai accattari na terra comu a chista! (It’s a good deal Giuvanni. You would never have been able to buy this kind of land in the old country.)”

          The feast of San Giuseppi streamed into the night. While the altar was primarily built to honor Sicily’s patron saint, it had a second purpose: It was built to ask the saint for blessings and intercession in the health problems of Salvatore’s wife’s nephew, Giuseppe. Giuseppe, only 12 years old, was driving a wagon pulled by a team of mules back into the field with a load of tree stumps. Whether it was an animal, or crack of lightning, no one ever knew, but the mules were spooked and started running. The young boy, while big for his age, was unfortunately, not big enough, or strong enough to gain control of the team. Standing up to pull with the full weight of his body, he fell and was dragged until his left leg wedged between an oak tree and the wagon. He now lay in a hospital in Baton Rouge with the prospect of losing the limb. Many rosaries were said, and votive candles lit in prayers for his recovery by everyone; but, no one’s prayers were more fervent or masses more numerous than Giuseppe’s grandmother and Salvatore’s mother-in-law, Josephina Scarpinado.

In this early evening leading to the end of the day, everyone had come inside to pick at leftovers and to begin to drink wine in earnest. Two neighbors sat off to the side playing a spirited melody from the old country on mandolin and button accordion. La nonna Josephina, temporarily laying aside the day’s worry and prayerful thoughts, quickly stepped into the middle of the floor, raising her dress just above her shoe tops, and began dancing to the music. The children all laughed and giggled at this old lady, awkwardly skippingand prancing around the floor. Some laughed a frightened laugh when she stopped in front, leaned in toward them, and flashed a smile revealing missing front teeth. The younger children ran and hid behind their mother’s skirts, peering out from this stand. Few young people had ever seen Nonna Josephina in this mood before. When the music began to get louder and faster, she was joined by Saverio Allieo, who held a full glass of wine that splashed over the top every time he twirled her about. His wife shouted out to him from the side, “Chi babbu, Saveriu. You are getting wine all over Francesca’s floors.” He danced toward her and grabbed her hand to lead her onto the floor. She was quickly transformed into a dancer herself, allowing him to spina nd lead her around the floor. Hers was a smile of self-consciousness, but she knew her husband, with wine, would not be denied.

          This celebration went well into the early morning. The men never seemed to tire of telling stories, or predicting their futures; and, the women never seemed to finish picking up and cleaning after them and their unending remnants of cigars, wine, coffee, cookies, cheeses; while the children lay asleep in bedrooms in the rear of the house, most to one bed, squeezed tightly in rows, like cords of firewood. On this night, the celebration and camaraderie felt like Sicily to these friends in this distant land, except for the space. In the old country, they would not have been able to fit such an altar into their small casuzza. The altar would have been built in the town’s meeting hall, or the church’s social room. These visitors would have had to sit outside, in front ofthe casa, on the street most of the night, going in only for more wine and food, and the chamber pot. But, most significant and most heartening was the expansiveness of the rich lands, full of potential for planting and harvesting; and, the hospitable climate that would allow men to work without fear of drought one month and snow the next.

          Giovanni was beginning to fall asleep now, his head intermittently dropped onto his chest. In these brief moments, he saw the large farms he was shown during the day and, envisioned his family on them. It felt good to him. It felt like home.

An excerpt from After Laughing Comes Crying: Sicilian Immigrants on Louisiana Plantations, Legas Press, New York./

Zeppole di SanGiuseppe! Dorina’s Kitchen

Pastry dough

200 ml water

200 g flour

4 g salt

160 g butter

6 eggs ( approx. 300g)

For the pastry…

*In a pot -bring water butter and salt to a boil.

*Turn the heat to low and add flour stirring until it all comes together then

Continue over the heat for a minute or two.

*Take off the heat and let cool for a few minutes-but while still warm

*Add the eggs one at a time. Mix fully before adding next egg. The mixture

should slowly fall from the spoon and yet still hold “shape” when in the bowl.

Put dough into a pastry bag with a giant star tip.

Pipe into a circle on parchment paper on a baking sheet if you want to bake them.

180C or 350F for 15-20 min…until they have puffed up and are golden.

OR

Pipe onto cut parchment squares if you want to fry them.

Then you place the dough on the parchment directly into the oil. In about a minute you can pull out the paper and then continue to cook them turning them over until golden on both sides.

You can make minis(about a 2 inch circle) or full size large ones (about

3-4 inch circle)

Creme

250ml whole milk

100g sugar

50g flour

3 egg yolks

Peel of a lemon

1 pod of vanilla bean seeds or 1 tsp vanilla extract

Pinch salt

(this is a base recipe—but I usually double it because I love the creme!

Mix flour, sugar, and eggs together. Add milk a little at a time until mostly mixed. Add the lemon peel. Cook over medium heat until it thickens. When mostly thick add pinch salt and vanilla.

If it looks lumpy… keep stirring… it will break up! (if for some crazy reason it doesn’t … use a stick blender to smooth it out)

Take off the heat remove the lemon peels (it helps if they are big and you count how many you put in so you take the same number out! Haha!) and let cool in the refrigerator. Put it in a different bowl or baking dish where you can spread it out to cool faster if you are in a hurry!

Some people lay plastic over the whole thing to where it is touching the custard to keep if from forming a “skin”… BUT I don’t…. I LOVE the skin. So, I just let it cool and before using it I peel off the “skin” and eat it!!! **there have to be some benefits to being the cook!

Put crème into a pastry bag with a star tip. (not as big as the one for the pastry!)

To Assemble…

You can do this any way you like…

You can poke a hole in the top if the circle closed in cooking and pipe some creme inside and then pipe some in a circle on top of the pastry and top it with a cherry.

You can just put the creme on top with the cherry and leave the inside empty.

OR you can cut them in half… fill with the creme and finish the top as above.

It’s fully up to you. It’s YOUR kitchen.Subscribe

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