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Food: Lady eats the blues
Who says the doldrums shouldn't be delicious?

by Pat Fusco

To twist a phrase, there ain't no cure for the wintertime blues. That's the way it has been around my house, anyway, with too many troubles and sorrows coming at once. The sudden death of my only sibling in November was the beginning of weeks of calamities happening in the lives of people I cherish. Right now I can identify with the title of Richard Farina's book from the '60s: Been Down So Long It Looks Like Up to Me.

Even the generous pleasures of holiday foods failed to work their usual magic. They were too rich and complicated to soothe body and soul. The other morning as I sat by the kitchen window with a mug of hot coffee warming my hands I realized that what I needed was old-fashioned funeral food.

This is not some macabre joke. I grew up with cultural food traditions and there was hardly a better example than homemade offerings brought to families coping with grief. Friends and relatives took great care in choosing things that would be comforting and easy to keep on hand for when the mood was right. This was the South, so there was always fried chicken. In the summer cooks made casseroles of vegetables from their gardens and toted them in Pyrex dishes (with names taped to the bottom to ensure proper return), peach pies filled to bursting, a basket of cool figs. In winter the gifts were in keeping with the season: macaroni and cheese, jars of spiced tea to be heated (perfuming the kitchen and lifting the spirits), buttery coffeecakes. At any time of year there were little yeast rolls to be filled with slivers of country ham, poundcake, gelatin "salads," black-eyed peas with corn muffins. Sometimes there was too much of a good thing. My father died in the month of July and my mother was never again able to tolerate squash casserole.

When I married into an Italian family I experienced the same caring generosity during the time around funerals. A traditional wake meant that sustenance had to be supplied over a three-day period for the relatives and friends who gathered. Food seemed to appear from everywhere. The neighborhood baker sent over loaves of fresh bread and trays of his focaccia pizza, cousins brought pans of lasagna, aunts made their lightest spongecakes and dozens of cookies (waffle-like pizzelle, biscotti). At times a flavorful soup with tiny meatballs was delivered, the specialty of my father-in-law's friend, a spry old man with bright dark eyes whose name in Italian means "crow." The kitchen table was covered with food, day or night: dishes of olives and lupini (pickled yellow lima beans), bottles of homemade wine, plates with cheese and cold meats—mortadella, Genoa salame, spicy capicola, mild sweet ham. At mealtimes women from the neighborhood came in to serve pasta with sausages or meatballs. The table was a way station for consoling nourishment.

So: funeral food. Not at all a bad idea for times when one feels buffeted by bad news or just the winter doldrums. And while I'm on the subject, let me recommend a very funny book with recipes, Being Dead Is No Excuse: The Official Southern Ladies Guide to Hosting the Perfect Funeral, by Charlotte Hays and Gayden Metcalfe. Its take on competitive cooking and etiquette is quite over the top, guaranteed to provide moments of (gallows) humor.

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Please note: This soup recipe is mostly written in narrative form. This is how it was passed on to me when I was charmed by its flavors in snowy Massachusetts. It's similar to stracciatella, a familiar item on Italian restaurant menus, except that this one has raisin-studded meatballs and is served with the chicken used in making the stock.

CARMINE CORNACCHIA'S CHICKEN SOUP

Meatballs:

Olive oil

Add crumbs and egg to meat; mix well (can use your hands). Season with salt and pepper.

Pick up about 1-1/2 tablespoons of mixture for each meatball and place one raisin and a strip of orange zest in the center; form fairly firm, marble-sized meatballs. Brown in a bit of olive oil in a skillet over medium-high heat (about 10 minutes). Set aside. (These may be made ahead and refrigerated, but they should be warm when added to soup.)

Soup

Make chicken stock by simmering a whole plump chicken in 10 cups of water in a deep stockpot (add celery leaves, an onion stuck with four cloves, 2 peeled cloves of garlic). This should take about 1-1/2 hours. Skim surface often as broth simmers.

Remove chicken from stockpot. Strip meat from bones (reserve meat, keeping it warm). Discard bones. Strain broth through cheesecloth.

Measure out 8 cups of chicken broth. Skim fat from surface. Place in a large pot. Add several thin slices of lemon and half an onion, sliced paper-thin. Bring to a quick boil over high heat, then add several handfuls of winter greens, torn into shreds (frisee, curly endive or chard), lower the heat and simmer until greens are tender (timing will depend on the kind of greens you use).

In a small bowl, lightly beat 2 eggs. Add 2 tablespoons grated Pecorino Romano cheese, 2 tablespoons semolina flour and 1 teaspoon minced Italian parsley. Mix well.

Bring broth back up to a fast boil and pour egg mixture very slowly into the broth stirring constantly with a whisk. Immediately reduce heat and continue to stir to keep eggs from solidifying (they should look like shreds), while simmering for another 3 minutes.

Ladle broth over chicken pieces and meatballs placed in individual soup plates. Sprinkle with minced Italian parsley.

Note: Extra flavoring ingredients may be added while making stock—carrots, parsnips, herbs of choice.

Nobody ever explained why this was called "Russian" tea. One of the first adult beverages I consumed (at my Sunday school teacher's house on a cold afternoon), its scent always comforts me. The amount of sugar may be adjusted to taste, remembering that it should be sweet enough to feel indulgent.

RUSSIAN TEA

Makes about 12 servings

2 lemons

2 quarts brewed strong tea

Wash the fruit well, since you will be using the rinds. Extract juices from lemons and oranges. Boil rinds with cloves in the quart of water for 5 minutes. Strain, add fruit juices and tea. This should be served piping hot. (May be made ahead and kept refrigerated, tightly covered.)

The following recipe was one of my mother's specialties, a loaf cake that kept well, not overwhelmingly rich. It can be sliced to enjoy with coffee, tea or a glass of milk, and makes a nice breakfast treat lightly toasted and spread with cream cheese. It was her offering to the bereaved in winter because fresh Brazil nuts were available to us only in that season.

CARLOTTA'S BRAZIL NUT-DATE CAKE

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Grease a 9-inch loaf pan, covering the bottom with greased parchment or brown paper cut to fit. (These steps are unnecessary if you are using a nonstick pan.)

1 cup boiling water

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Pour water over dates. Add soda, let cool.

Cream sugar and butter. Beat in egg and incorporate well.

Dredge nuts with one tablespoon of the flour. Set aside. Mix remaining flour with salt.

Add flour and dates alternately to butter/sugar mixture. Beat well to mix. Stir in nuts and vanilla.

Pour into prepared pan and bake for one hour. (Test after 45 minutes to check for doneness.)

Guy Prince is an East Bay food blogger whose post usually focuses on the carnivorous (www.meathenge.com/). Recently he stepped into a Web-wide challenge for macaroni and cheese recipes and came up with a spicier version of the familiar great American casserole. This is his creation, slightly adapted.

TRADITIONAL MACARONI AND CHEESE

1/2 pound elbow macaroni

1 cup breadcrumbs, preferably Panko

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Cook pasta in boiling water to al dente stage. Drain and reserve.

While that's happening, in a decent-sized pot melt the butter. Stir in flour, mustard and onion and move that around for maybe two minutes. No lumps.

Stir in milk, bay leaf and paprika/cayenne. Simmer for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove the bay leaf. It should be getting nice and thick.

Crack egg into a small bowl. Beat lightly with a spoon of the milk mixture to temper, then add to the pot, blending well.

Stir in three-fourths of the cheese; add salt and pepper. Add drained macaroni and stir to mix well. Pour mixture into a buttered rectangular baking dish, top with remaining cheese.

Melt the 3 tablespoons of butter for the topping and stir in breadcrumbs, then spread over the top of your masterpiece.

Place casserole on center rack of oven. Bake for 30 minutes or until top is golden brown and crispy. Let it stand a few minutes before serving.