by Rosie Genova
Author’s Note
The Tradition of the Seven Fishes
In this story, Nonna Rienzi—who hails from Naples, as my own relatives did—observes the tradition of the seven fishes as she prepares the Christmas Eve menu for the Casa Lido’s charity dinner. And in the real world as we near the holidays, you will often hear Italians ask each other: Are you serving the seven fishes on Christmas Eve?
The dominant memory of Christmas Eve dinner at my maternal grandmother’s house is being greeted with the smell of fried fish when the door opened (which may sound appealing or not, depending upon your point of view!). My grandmother and great-aunts would spend most of the day preparing seven fishes in the southern Italian tradition—one that often includes such delicacies as eel and baccala (dried, salted cod). Personally, I still have a weakness for fried shrimp and flounder, and as an adult I have come to appreciate the culinary charms of squid and octopus—neither of which would have passed my lips as a child or teenager.
These days, my family gives a nod to the old tradition by starting the evening with shrimp cocktail or a cold seafood salad, though many of my Italian friends and colleagues wouldn’t think of serving fewer than seven kinds of fish. It’s a Catholic tradition, tied to the practice of abstaining from meat on Fridays or on the evening before holy days. But why seven? There seem to be a number of theories. For example, seven is a mystical number, appearing in the Bible hundreds of times. In the Catholic religion, there are seven sacraments. Some have even suggested the fish represent the seven hills outside Rome. In my story, seven is significant for yet another reason—seven suspects with seven dark motives!
But food writer Arthur Bovino, on The Daily Meal Blog, provides my favorite interpretation: “The annual Christmas Feast of the Seven Fishes dinner . . . means we give up the dining room and hang out in the kitchen around food and drink. Mom, Dad, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, parents, extended family together until we’re full, loud and ready for presents.” Yup, that’s us, all right—full, loud, and ready for presents.
So thank you for reading, and whatever holiday you celebrate this season, may it be a joyous one!
Love,
Rosie
Recipes from the Italian Kitchen
Shrimp Scampi
This popular dish appears on many Christmas Eve menus in Italian households. Served on its own or over pasta, shrimp scampi is a great seafood alternative for those who don’t see the appeal of squid or octopus. Once the shrimp are cleaned, it can be quickly prepared, and served with pasta, it makes a full meal. (This recipe was adapted from La Cucina Casalinga: Italian Home Cooking, compiled by the Italian American Association of the Township of Ocean, New Jersey.)
3 tablespoons olive oil
3 tablespoons sweet butter
3 cloves garlic, sliced and trimmed of green sprout
1 pound shrimp, peeled and deveined
Salt and pepper to taste
½ cup dry vermouth or dry white wine
½ cup fresh Italian parsley, chopped
1. Over medium heat, heat oil and butter in large frying pan until butter is frothy, but not browned. Sauté garlic until translucent, about two minutes. Avoid browning. Remove the garlic from the pan and set aside.
2. Season cleaned shrimp with salt and pepper and add to the pan; cook the shrimp until pink, about 2 to 3 minutes.
3. Add wine and fresh parsley; return garlic to the pan and toss with shrimp. Serve over pasta or rice.
Nonna Rienzi’s Famous Wedding Soup
Italian families often begin their Christmas Day meal with soup. There are many variations on Italian Wedding Soup, but the one element they all share is polpettini, or tiny, flavorful meatballs. The meatball recipe here is based on my mom’s, and one I have been using my whole adult life—the secret is the blend of ground meats. (If you can’t find the meat blend prepackaged at your grocery store, ask the butcher to prepare it for you.) While many self-respecting Italians wouldn’t dream of mixing meatballs with anything but their own two hands, I prefer the food processor for this messy job. If you don’t have homemade chicken stock on hand, a good quality prepared stock is fine for the soup. If escarole is not to your taste, use spinach, Swiss chard, or any other green you like. This recipe makes a large batch. I generally freeze half the meatballs and cut the soup recipe in half.
For the meatballs:
1 to 2 small garlic cloves, to taste
1/3 cup chopped fresh parsley leaves
½ pound ground beef
½ pound ground pork
½ pound ground veal
½ cup flavored Italian bread crumbs
½ cup freshly grated Pecorino Romano
¼ cup milk
1 extra-large egg, lightly beaten
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
For the soup:
2 tablespoons good olive oil
1 cup finely chopped yellow onion
1 cup diced carrots (3 carrots), cut into ¼-inch pieces
3/4 cup diced celery (2 stalks), cut into ¼-inch pieces
½ cup dry white wine
16 cups homemade chicken stock or four 32-ounce containers of good-quality prepared broth
2 cups small pasta, such as orzo or ditalini
12 ounces escarole, washed well and torn into bite-sized pieces
Parmesan cheese for topping
1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.
2. With the food processor running, drop the peeled garlic cloves and parsley through the feed tube and process until parsley and garlic are finely minced. Scrape down the processor. To the parsley and garlic mixture add the ground meats, bread crumbs, Pecorino cheese, milk, egg, salt, and pepper. Pulse processor until all ingredients are well-combined, scraping down the bowl once. With a melon baller or small cookie scoop, drop meatballs of about one inch in size onto a sheet pan lined with parchment paper. (You should have about 60 meatballs. Roll them in your palms to smooth them if you wish, but they don’t have to be perfect.) Bake for 15 to 20 minutes, until cooked through and lightly browned. Set aside.
3. In the meantime, for the soup, heat the olive oil over medium-low heat in a large heavy-bottomed soup pot. Add the onion, carrots, and celery and sauté until softened, 5 to 6 minutes, stirring occasionally. Stir the wine into the vegetables; add the chicken stock and bring to a boil. Add the pasta to the simmering broth and cook for 6 to 8 minutes, until the pasta is tender. Add the meatballs to the soup and simmer for 1 minute. Taste for salt and pepper. Stir in the fresh escarole and cook for 1 to 2 minutes, until it is just wilted. Ladle into soup bowls and sprinkle each serving with grated Parmesan.
Rosie’s Easy Beef Ragu
Everyone knows that no holiday meal is complete without its pasta course, topped by a rich red sauce. The secret to a good ragu (tomato sauce with meat) is a long, slow simmer, either on top of the stove or slow-cooked in the oven. This recipe makes a deeply flavored sauce, even with the cheapest cuts of beef. It freezes well, and is best served over sturdy pastas such as rigatoni.
1 to 1½ pounds beef chuck, cut into large cubes (or precut beef for stew)
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 to 3 large garlic cloves, roughly chopped
2 tablespoons tomato paste
¼ cup full-bodied red wine
1 28-ounce can imported chopped tomatoes
1 28-ounce can imported strained tomatoes or tomato puree
2 to 3 teaspoons salt
Pepper to taste
6 to 8 large basil leaves, snipped into small pieces
2 tablespoons fresh parsley, roughly chopped (frozen herbs may be substituted for fresh)
1. Press cubed beef dry with paper towels, then put into a large bowl with olive oil and mix until all the meat is coated. Lightly season with salt and pepper.
2. Coat a heavy-bottomed 4-quart pan with cooking spray. Brown beef in batches over medium-high heat and set aside. Pour off excess fat if you wish.
&
nbsp; 3. Lower heat to medium, and cook garlic quickly in beef fat. Add tomato paste and red wine, cooking over medium heat to deglaze pan. Stir thoroughly to pick up all browned bits. When the mixture reaches a high simmer, add tomatoes, salt and pepper, and fresh herbs.
4. Put the meat and any juices back into the pot. Bring sauce to a slow boil, about 10 minutes.
5. Bring heat to low, cover, and simmer sauce on lowest heat for 2½ to 3 hours, or until beef is fork tender. Stir intermittently. (For oven cooking, set temperature to 275. Make sure you use an oven-proof pot and let sauce come to a boil on top of the stove first. Set in middle rack in oven for 2½ to 3 hours. Check sauce once per hour during cooking to stir and add liquid as needed.)
Mema Genova’s Ricotta Cookies
Are you ready for dessert? In our house, this cookie is a Christmas staple. (The smell when they are cooking is heavenly!) My own grandmother, Maria Genova, made these regularly, and my aunt, Marie Genova Abate, provided the recipe here. For some, anise is an acquired taste, so if you don’t like that licorice flavor, vanilla or almond extract may be substituted. This recipe makes about three dozen cookies.
2 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup sugar
½ cup butter (no substitutions)
2 eggs
1 to 2 teaspoons of anise extract
1 cup of fresh ricotta cheese
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Sift flour, baking powder, and salt into bowl and set aside.
2. In a larger bowl or stand mixer, cream butter and sugar until fluffy. Add eggs and anise extract.
3. Add dry ingredients and ricotta alternately to butter mixture until well blended.
4. Drop by rounded teaspoonfuls, two inches apart, on parchment-covered cookie sheets and bake for 10 to 12 minutes. Do not over bake: The bottoms should be a light golden brown.
5. Let cool and top with confectioner’s sugar glaze. Decorate with sprinkles or colored sugars while glaze is still wet.
Keep reading for an excerpt from
Murder and Marinara,
Book 1 in the Italian Kitchen Mysteries,
available now!
Hit whodunit writer Victoria Rienzi is getting back to her roots by working at her family’s Italian restaurant. But now in between plating pasta and pouring vino, she’ll have to find the secret ingredient in a murder . . .
When Victoria takes a break from penning her popular mystery series and moves back to the Jersey shore, she imagines sun, sand, and scents of fresh basil and simmering marinara sauce at the family restaurant, the Casa Lido. But her nonna’s recipes aren’t the only things getting stirred up in this Italian kitchen.
Their small town is up in arms over plans to film a new reality TV show, and when Victoria serves the show’s pushy producer his last meal, the Casa Lido staff finds itself embroiled in a murder investigation. Victoria wants to find the real killer, but there are as many suspects as tomatoes in her nonna’s garden. Now she’ll have to heat up her sleuthing skills quickly . . . before someone else gets a plateful of murder.
Chapter One
“Vic,” Josh said, “I don’t think you have any choice. You have to get rid of him.”
I stared at the phone in disbelief. “Absolutely not,” I said. “It’s too drastic. I won’t even consider it.”
“Why not? You complain about him enough. And think about what you could do with him out of the way. You could start over—a new name, a new guy. Maybe even a younger guy.”
“Look, I know what you’re suggesting. You’re asking me to”—I dropped my voice to a whisper—“to kill Bernardo.”
“Don’t you get it, Vic? It’s the easiest way out. The only question is how.” He paused. “I mean, a bullet’s kind of mundane, don’t you think? And a knife’s out of the question. I do hate a messy crime scene,” he said, more to himself than to me.
“Do you hear yourself?” I gasped. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Ooh, I know.” His volume got louder with each word. “You could do a Rear Window kind of thing and really send him out with a bang. It has a nice retro appeal, too.”
“Why don’t I just shove him over a waterfall and be done with it?”
“Too obvious.” Apparently my sarcasm was lost on him.
“Listen, Josh,” I said. “You can just forget this, okay? Because I don’t intend to harm one slicked-down hair on Bernardo’s head.”
“But, Vic, aren’t you tired of him? His annoying little gestures and that stupid accent—”
“Hang on a minute,” I interrupted. “This is Bernardo you’re talking about. He and I—” Have been together for almost eight years. We have a routine, a formula for our relationship. And truth be told, wasn’t I getting a little tired of him? Of his constant pronouncements? His shiny shoes and perfectly pressed pants? And yes, the accent was kind of silly.
“And he’s right all the time,” Josh continued. “He’s never been tripped up, not once.”
“He’s not supposed to be tripped up,” I said. “That’s the way I made him. And I’m not killing him off; that’s final. Anyway, what would Sylvie say? She loves Bernardo.” Sylvie Banks was my editor, my hero, and had come to be a dear friend. She’d fished me out of the slush pile, and I owed my career to her.
“Vic,” Josh said quietly, “it was Sylvie’s idea that you consider a new series.”
“It was?” My heart tightened in my chest. “But my sales have been steady.”
“Steady, yes, but nothing special. And the last one didn’t hit any of the lists.”
“So the new one will.” But even as I said it, I could feel the uncertainty creeping over me like a chill.
“We hope.” I could imagine him shaking his head, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses. “Listen, maybe we don’t have to kill him,” he said. “Maybe he can go on a long trip. Like the time you sent him to Venice, remember?” I could hear the sound of Josh’s agent wheels grinding away.
“I guess I could do that. But what about that guy you were talking to at HBO? We can’t end the series now.”
“Okay, yes, if HBO picks it up, Bernardo can have a nice long life. But that’s a big if. At the very least, I think you should take a break, maybe try something else.”
Try something else. As Josh talked, a memory stirred. Fresh out of college with a business degree, I’d dreamed of writing a novel. Not a mystery, but a historical work based on my family. I’d jotted down a few notes and even had a name for my main character—Isabella—but that was as far as I’d gotten. Maybe the time had come to tell her story.
I looked out the window to the park below, watching the kids jump from monkey bars to swings while their parents chatted on benches. Across the street, the wine bar was getting ready to open as the café next to it was closing its doors. As I took in the bustle of the East Village, I thought about how much I loved this neighborhood. Yet a part of me knew it would never be home.
“You know what, Josh?” I said slowly. “You might be right. Maybe a hiatus for the series is not such a bad idea.”
“That’s my girl! So listen, maybe you go with a woman detective this time. I’ve got an idea—”
“So do I. I know the story I want to tell.” And suddenly, it all came back to me. The young Italian couple arriving on these shores with nothing but their few possessions and a dream. The first wooden stand on a nineteenth-century boardwalk. An old-fashioned Ferris wheel. It was all there—the smell of the food, the sounds of the ocean, a perfect backdrop for the book I’d dreamed about all those years ago . . . “Josh,” I said, “I want to write a historical based on my family.”
The silence that followed was so complete that I couldn’t even hear breathing. “Hel-lo!” I called. “Paging Josh Silverman.”
“I’m here, Vic. I just can’t believe what I’m hearing.”
“You just told me you wanted me to try something new.”
“But not this! This is crazy. Y
ou’re a great mystery writer—why mess with that?”
“I’ve been Vick Reed for seven years. We’ve released one Vitali mystery every year, and number eight’s ready to go. But maybe the series is losing steam. You said it yourself.”
He groaned. “I should have kept my big mouth shut. So instead of playing to your strengths and coming up with a new series—for which you have a built-in audience, I might add—you’re gonna write the Great Immigration Novel.”
“I know how it sounds. But why not?”
“I’ll tell you why not: Vick Reed is a known quantity.”
“Yes, but Victoria Rienzi has a different story to tell. This project has always been in the back of my mind: the setting, the characters, all of it.” As I spoke, I could feel the excitement that comes with a new story. And every instinct was telling me this was a good one. “Don’t you see, Josh?” I said. “This could be such a cool book. And it will give me a chance to learn about my roots.”
“You hate your roots! You yanked them out of the ground when you left Jersey.”
“Maybe that was a mistake.” I hesitated, taking a deep breath. “Listen, to do this right, I need to go back to Oceanside Park. Back to the Casa Lido.”
“Back to the restaurant?” He spoke in a whisper, as though I had shared some terrible secret with him. “To get bossed around by the granny in the black dress?”
