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TRANSCRIPT
An eel, some tongue and a little Irish Soda Bread.
George F. McNamara, III, and his cousins sat on the bank of the cove, watching. It was Friday fish night, a typical tradition in most Irish Roman Catholic families in the early 1950s. They were waiting in anticipation for George’s brother to pull the catch of day out of the water. Finally, the old line and sinker emerged from the water with dinner dangling.
An eel. There was an eel hanging from that line! It was promptly taken to the nearest tree stump and decapitated. Everyone seemed to be pleased that night with a dinner of fresh eel. Everyone except George, his brothers, and his cousins.
Many fish were caught, and eaten, during the summers spent in Sag Harbor,
New York, but none was as memorable as the eel. The bay was usually where those fish dinners came from – mostly porgies, and flounder, and sometimes blowfish.
The McNamara household was a typical Irish family. Living in northern New Jersey the remainder of the year, George’s mom, Charlotte, did her best with their limited resources.
Having lived through the Depression and World War II, she was skilled at
rationing. She purchased foods that could be made into basic meals, often using
inexpensive cuts of meat. Liver and bacon was a favorite, as long as it was smothered in ketchup. And many nights tongue was on the table, then served again the next day in sandwiches.
The typical fare, except on Friday fish night, was always meat, vegetable,
usually peas, carrots or green beans, and potatoes – sometimes mashed, sometimes boiled. There was no pizza, no pasta, no Chinese or any ethnic food served. Ever.
Holidays were big family gatherings, with Irish linen tablecloths and fancy
Baroque patterned silverware. There was always a ham for Christmas and Easter was a leg of lamb with mint jelly and potatoes. St. Patrick’s Day was always corned beef and cabbage -‐ and Irish Soda Bread, served warm right out of oven, with a little butter melted on top. Irish Soda Bread was such a big hit with the family, it often made its way to the table throughout the year. Irish Soda Bread (Charlotte’s recipe) 2 cups flour 4 teaspoons baking powder ½ teaspoon salt 5 tablespoons sugar 1 teaspoon caraway seeds ¼ cup seedless raisins, optional 1 cup milk Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a small loaf pan. Mix flour, baking powder, salt and sugar together in a bowl with a wooden spoon. Add the caraway seeds and seedless raisins, if using. Then to the dry ingredients, add the milk and mix thoroughly with wooden spoon. The mixture will be very thick. It may be necessary to add a few drops of milk to incorporate all the dry mixture. Evenly spread mixture into loaf pan. Bake for 1 hour or until an inserted toothpick comes out clean. Note: Bread should be served warm with butter. Weekends are for the Italians
It was Sunday afternoon in northern New Jersey. Nanny Marinello stood at the stove watching over a big pot of gravy. Joan Marinello and the rest of the Marinello clan gathered around the table. Here they would sit all afternoon, waiting for their Sunday feast. Soon enough, the food would begin to leave the kitchen.
First there was chicken parmesan, then veal cutlets, then spaghetti and that big pot of gravy. On occasion, the spread would grow to include meatballs and stuffed artichokes. And then after the pasta, the table was cleared to make room for a simple dessert of fruit and nuts.
A daughter of an Italian father, Vincent, and an Irish mother, Mildred, Joan learned early in life that food was the essence of family. While Sundays were spent with Nanny Marinello, Saturdays were soup day. Her father loved to make soup-‐ thick and savory soup. And always served with fresh bread and butter. An Irish Girl in the Kitchen
Cooking for an Italian husband. This may have seemed like a daunting task to Mildred, a little Irish lady, but if it was, it never showed. While the weekends were reserved for the Italians, Irish meals of meat, vegetable and potatoes seemed to prevail during the week.
Most meals were served at home and always made from scratch. No cake mixes, no packaged anything. Foods like pizza was never eaten at home and reserved for special times.
Winters brought on comforting favorites like slow cooked pot roast and big bowls of chicken and rice. Simmering for hours on the stove – the aromas of that roast would linger for days. On occasion, spaghetti was made by Mildred and enjoyed by all. Her food was simple and made with love. She was always considered a good cook -‐ for an Irish girl. Pot Roast & Pan Gravy (Mildred’s Recipe) For roast: 3-‐5 pound bottom round roast Salt and freshly ground pepper 1 tablespoon olive oil 1 ½ -‐ 2 cups of water 1 medium size yellow onion, chopped 1 pound button mushroom, halved For gravy: 2 tablespoon fat, from meat drippings 2 tablespoon flour Cooking liquid from pot roast Salt and freshly ground pepper
Pat dry roast and season all sides with salt and pepper. Heat oil in the bottom of the cast iron pot. When oil is hot, brown the meat on all sides. Add onions. Add the water so that the roast is almost completely covered. Cover and simmer 4-‐5 hours. When the roast is almost done simmering, add the button mushrooms. Roux for pan gravy: Remove fat from meat drippings in pot. In separate pan, add the fat and flour. Mix thoroughly together, mixture will dry. Remove roast and vegetables from pot, leaving the liquid. Add the roux to the liquid in the pot. Season with salt and pepper. Heat over low heat, stirring constantly until thick. Note: Serve pan gravy on top of pot roast. A Matter of Convenience
Similar to the generations before her, a young Erin McNamara stands at the stove watching over a pot. But, this time, it’s not gravy she’s watching over. She’s making instant mashed potatoes from a box.
Life is very different nowadays. When the McNamaras and the Marinellos became a family, traditions were meant to carry on. Some did. Many didn’t. Mostly life got in the way.
Becoming a world of convenience, cooking from scratch became a distant memory. Instead, the shelves were filled with boxes of this and cans of that. The pot of slowly simmering gravy became a jar of sauce quickly heated on the stove. Friday fish night became Friday pizza night.
A few traditions peeked their head in every once in a while. Occasionally, a pot roast or a meatloaf would find its way to the table. Missing were the homemade soups, stews and veal cutlets. And there were certainly never any tongue sandwiches.
The young girl grows into a woman and, without realizing it, returns to tradition. Dismissing the cans and boxes of food that filled the cupboards of her youth, she seeks to create foods with true soul. Growing up in a world of convenience allowed this girl to find her food traditions that she never realized she lost.