December 17, 2006
SundayÂ
Here we are as in olden days,
Happy golden days of yore.
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more.
                    — Ralph Blane. 1914-1995
                        American composer, lyricist, and performer
                        “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” (the “happier” version)
The party’s over. One more Gaudete Sunday Open House Extravaganza has been planned, prepared for, presented, and put away. As usual, people who came frequently in other years had to send regrets, people who had been invited often but had never been able to come showed up and were warmly welcomed. People I was about to introduce already knew each other from some other association. All of the ham balls disappeared, along with the sand tarts and the chocolate-dipped strawberries, but there is enough lasagna to sustain us for the rest of the week, along with a few fajita wrap sandwiches, some cut fruit and vegetables, and Swedish cardamom buns.
Also as usual, I didn’t have a chance to talk enough to most people, especially one of my dearest friends, whose hostess gift was about two hours of holiday piano music as a soft background, played beautifully. I forgot to light most of the candles, and I didn’t even open the Whitman’s Sampler and the second box of cordial cherries (both of which are served along with a little bit of family history).
Only two of Lynn’s classmates and a girl from another class were able to come. They’re all living in different worlds now, with complicated schedules and new lives away from central Pennsylvania. Some of my friends and classmates from Bishop McDevitt High School discussed the possibility that the school might close its city location and build a new suburban campus, an issue that engages emotions as well as reason and can become contentious, although last night voices on both sides were able to speak with love and respect for each other.
The most controversial question centered on the national origin of the potica or povitica, a sweet cake I made for the first time. In the invitation I said “This year also promises Margaret’s first attempt at sfratti, an Italian confection of honey and walnuts wrapped in a glossy pastry, and povitica, a Croatian nutroll that no one in either of our families ever made but that Margaret especially likes.”
I did make the sfratti last week, but none of it survived Ron’s extensive taste tests. In searching for a recipe (since his mother’s, via her mother, can’t be found), I discovered that this is traditionally a treat served by Italian Jews to celebrate Rosh Hashana, the new year. None of my Jewish friends were familiar with it, but none of them has any Italian in their heritage. Most of the information I got about povitica identified it as Croatian or Polish or stemming from some other eastern European culture. I used a recipe in my favorite bread book, Mary Gubser’s Mary’s Bread Basket and Soup Kettle. This version called for two rolls to be placed one on top of the other in a Bundt pan.
Some of my guests, including my sister, insisted that this is an Italian item, and to tell you the truth, I do know it from visiting in the homes of Italian friends when I was in high school. But I had a number of friends of eastern European extraction. Steelton, the company town along the river south of the city, still had ethnic parishes in those days, and none of us could exactly remember which church ladies made the nut rolls or whose grandmother made the best.
And no one had ever seen it in a Bundt pan before.
Nevertheless, not one crumb remains.
See you next year.
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