My Godparents and Easter Food Memories

Holiday celebrations often spark culinary memories from our past. For some it's the smell of stuffing and roast turkey on Thanksgiving. Others respond to the Glazed Ham or crown Roast that dominates the Christmas table. And then there are those who long for the Burgers, Dogs, Beans, and Potato Salad that signify the Beginning (Memorial Day), Middle (July Fourth), and End (Labor Day) of each Glorious Summer Season.

But for me, it's Easter that holds some of my fondest memories, food or otherwise. I'm hardly what you'd call a practicing Catholic, but that somber season holds some of my fondest memories-food and otherwise. Part of this can definitely be attributed to my mother's Lenten meals. A staunch follower of the "no-meat-on-Friday" rule, our end of the week dinners were often a creative, culinary hodgepodge.

Fish sticks were a common favorite, cropping up more often then they had any right to. Unfortunately, they didn't hold the same mystique as attending the all-you-can-eat Fish Fry at Howard Johnson's (see THG #2), and they inevitably made me think of the "hot" lunches served by Mrs. Sarlo in our grade school cafeteria. A more welcome site was the appearance of the deep-dish tomato pie, usually reserved for those Fridays when friends came over for dinner. And, I'd be remiss if I failed to mention my personal fave on the Lenten menu-scrambled eggs, canned peas, and Kraft Mac & Cheese.

Whenever I mention this meal to friends, they incorrectly jump to the conclusion that it's some bizarre casserole. "Perhaps it's from a newspapers food column, or the back of a box during those 'meals in a minute' 70s," they suggest. But no, I'm forced to explain, it's just one of those memorable meals that brings back a far simpler time.

But beyond creating a roll call of my favorite Friday night dishes, Easter always brings to mind two of my favorite people in the entire world...Aunt Jo and Uncle Emil.

Jo was my mother's older sister, and they were separated early on when the kids were placed in foster homes. As one of the youngest of 13 (!), Mom lost track of many of her older siblings, never making contact with them until later in life, if ever. After connecting with a sister who lived in the next town from us, Mom learned that her older sister Josie lived just over the bridge in Bridesburg, a blue-collar, ethnic suburb of Philadelphia near the Armory. Upon meeting and exchanging details of their lives, they discovered that they were married on the same day, and had purchased their dresses in the exact same Philly bridal shop!

I'd be hard-pressed to accurately depict Josie's cool essence on the printed page. She lived in an era I never knew, and that was definitely part of the charm. She smoked, wore her hair in a beehive far into the 1980s, gambled, owned racehorses, had velvet paintings of conquistadors in her living room, and wore heels and Capri pants throughout the year. I'd never met anyone like Aunt Jo, and still haven't. She was beyond one of a kind, and I was lucky enough to have her in my life until I was in my early 20s.

On the other hand, I only got ten years of exposure to Uncle Emil, but those years spoke volumes about this inimitable character. Short and balding, Emil loved gambling, AP coffee, and Spanish Bar (which you'll only know about if you're from the Philly area, I presume). His coffee-drinking antics remain legendary in our family, and anyone who fills their cup to the brim is said to be "pulling an Emil." When this happened to him, though, he'd spread his out arms out, lower his head to cup level, and slurp mouthfuls until he could carry his cup to the table.

What does all this have to do with Easter? A couple things actually. First, some of the earliest photos of yours truly show me with Josie and Emil, decked out in my ridiculous "bunny suit." The ears and tail were detachable because my Scottish grandmother wouldn't have seen the comic value in this sort of mental abuse. Second, Josie was a killer cook, and impressed upon me an important entertaining concept: always cook far more than people can possibly eat. We'd often visit Josie and Emil on Easter Sunday, and the spread she'd whip up would be, um, immense. Fresh ham, fresh pork, kielbasa, pierogies, golumpkies, sauerkraut, and the list would go on and on, filling her Bridesburg home with sights and smells that had to be experienced to be believed.

I often think about these two people and what they meant in my life. Sure, they were my godparents and aunt and uncle. But more than that, they impressed upon me an appreciation of things in life and the people around me. And how the gestures you make and acts you perform leave a mark that never fades with time or absence.

Happy Easter Aunt Jo & Uncle Em...

In the Next Origins: The Frugal Gourmet Was My Culinary Savior!

[This article originally appeared in THG #3]