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| Mom's Arrival in Nice |
Mom's been here since October 22nd and we've had a great time so far. We shopped in Sanremo on the 23rd and attended the Chestnut Festival on the 24th. We drove in the scioneri to La Spezia on Monday to pick up our car which just arrived after a four month transatlantic crossing; the crossing didn't take four months, it's just that the shipper's estimate of 45 days, door to door, was a bit optimistic (a subject I'll blog about when I calm down enough to be objective). She had her hair done at a local parruchiere on Thursday and shopped for a jacket at the only clothing store in Ceriana.
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| Hot Stuff! |
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| Salute! |
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| Festa di Castagna |
Early in the week she mentioned how nice it would be to plan a few dinner parties, most especially one for the Zappia family, our home's previous owners. The Zappia's threw a bash for us three years ago and mom wished to thank them with a dinner at our/their old home; not just any dinner but a traditional "American Thanksgiving Feast!"
Since Italians don't celebrate Thanksgiving; in fact Pino had never heard of the holiday, it didn't matter that we'd planned the event for Saturday October 30th. Mom and I decided to keep the menu as traditional as possible with the exception of her stuffed zucchini and onions she learned to make from my Ligurian grandmother and which are, arguably, as good if not better than the one's Giovanna makes right here in Ceriana. The verdure ripieni were our only antipasto and the only Italian dish of the evening. The Zappia's gobbled them up with gusto; a sign that they were authentically Ligurian! I announced that there'd be no primo and that the rest of the meal was, "an authentic 'American Thanksgiving Feast!'"
Creating this "american tradition" was anything but easy out here in West Italy! First step: tracking down the star attraction!
I've never seen a whole turkey displayed in a butcher case here. Turkey breasts and legs are always available and I've seen ground turkey but I wanted to present a whole roasted bird with stuffing pouring from its cavity. . . "cavity" is such a polite term isn't it? Long before mom's arrival I had planned to have a little turkey dinner before she departed on November 22nd so I asked the macellaio at Ekom if he could obtain a whole turkey (tacchino intero), "volentieri," was his reply, "come vuole" . . . basically "no problem," "whenever," "order today we'll have it tomorrow," etc., etc., etc! He then asked, "quanti chili, otto. . . nove?" After a quick calculation, eight or nine kilos would be a perfect size with plenty leftover!
When the day came to actually order the bird, the friendly enthusiastic butcher had been replaced by a less encouraging gentleman who suddenly imposed a minimum 13 kilo size to place an order. My mind went immediately to turkey-hash, turkey-soup, turkey-Tetrazzini and who knows what else to do with leftovers! Worried, but it didn't show, I replied with a cheery, "va bene!" That was Wednesday. We arrived at 10 a.m. that Saturday to pick up the bird, our bird; the only whole turkey on the entire Riviera, it weighed-in at a whopping 16+ kilos; almost 36 pounds! We were instant celebrities as we wheeled the body through the crowded Ekom shop and out into the parking lot towards our elegant Panda/Scioneri; I, worrying all the way, "is this gonna fit in the trunk?"
Mom laughed all the way up the scorciatoia as I attempted to discuss the task of cooking this monster. I fixated on the presentation while Mom, between chortles, was being practical and suggested cooking half the bird or maybe just the breast. When we reached Ceriana I dropped Mom and "Tom" at the square and drove off to find parking. As I approached Mom and her "companion" sitting patiently on a stoop, I broke out in a cold sweat. Surprisingly, we managed to carry the corpse down all the carrugi without being noticed. I mentioned the cold sweat because I fully expected to be stopped by curious Cerianaschi along the way and I wasn't prepared to explain the absurdity of our plan.
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| Bob and Tom |
In the kitchen, finally, I heaved the behemoth onto the cutting board and immediately started massaging and manipulating its huge rigamortised legs hoping that I could set them into the "position" we all know and love. This was a stubborn bird; a very naughty, stiff, and stubborn bird. The damn legs wouldn't budge from their sprawled pose no matter how forcefully I pushed his missing head against the backsplash!
And then, an epiphany. Even if I could achieve a fully dressed and trussed turkey, this particular specimen would never, ever, under any circumstance, fit into an Italian, Nardi oven. I collapsed under the pressure and reluctantly grabbed my steel and sharpened my boning knife.
Sometimes being a son-of-a-butcher is handy. I boned-out the whole breast and butterflied out some thicker portions into flaps to flatten the thing. Next, I placed the stuffing onto the center of the breast and rolled the breast meat around the dressing. I then excised the skin from the turkey's back and used it to help close the stuffed breast as I tied it with butcher's twine. Fresh herbs from the terrace, salt, pepper, olive oil and butter and channeling Jacques Pepin and Julia Childs the whole time, my capolavoro was ready for the Nardi!
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| Mom, Bob and Frankenbird |
I could have blogged about the pumpkin pies I baked (try to find canned pumpkin in Italy) but, in fact, turkey is the main attraction on our most American holiday--Happy Thanksgiving!
