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On Christmas Eve I was again invited to celebrate with friends and what a feast we had, reader: many people do not eat meat on 24th December so the pasta was seved with
scampi. [I cannot eat fish so had plain pasta.] Also on offer were Linda's famous
aita [chard] pies, olive bread fresh from the oven and ricotta baked in pastry [the latter not shown]. Next there was
dentice fish which had been baked in salt and I took along a chicken dish which I have shown you before,
pollo alla Irma. After this, a fresh fruit salad in the biggest container I have ever seen arrived, followed by a Christmas tree cake baked by Linda and Chiara and traditional biscuits: the honey biscuits at the back are called
nucatoli and the S-shaped ones, which are filled with fig jam, are
mustazzole. There was also
cobaita or
giuggiulena in dialect, made with sesame seeds and then came the
panettone and liqueurs.
We finally opened our presents at 2 am and, just to show you that I really am alive and kicking, here I am, draped in my finery!
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My Christmas Day was rather different this year as I was delighted to be invited to Christmas lunch with Rosa and her family. They are, originally, from Albania so the food mixed the two cultures: you can just see
bollito on the left, behind the salad, and there was the tenderest veal cooked with garlic and herbs [on the right of the table]. There were
focacce filled with broccoli, tomato and onion and cheese plus a wonderful ham and salame pizza made by Rosa's daughter. Then the freshest mandarins to finish along with more
panettone!
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As we were chatting, I learnt more of the family's story and, as it it is a heartwarming one, I will share it with you now: some years ago, Rosa's husband came to Sicily, perfectly legally, in search of work, which he found. He learnt Italian quickly and, once he was settled, wanted to send for Rosa and his three children. However, he could not quite fulfill the financial requirements for bringing the whole family into Italy at that time, so found himself having to make an agonising decision: which child would have to wait? Finally he decided to send for Rosa and his eldest child, a girl at a vulnerable age, plus the youngest child, a boy. The middle child, a girl, was left with a relative but when this relative became ill, she was taken in by a family she didn't know well. Rosa and her husband of course grieved for their second daughter and after a few months Rosa was so upset that she ended up in hospital. Eventually officialdom heard of the family's plight and for once officialdom showed that it had a heart: the
Comune, realising that this was a hard-working family who wanted only a chance to give their children a better life, made up the financial shortfall and, after a separation of nine months the middle child was able to join her parents. I watched a video of a welcome ceremony for her held by her school and there the whole family are, crying for joy at being reunited and surrounded by friends and those who had helped them.
Everyone who emigrates leaves something behind: a house full of memories, a place with which you are familiar or even your aspirations but sometimes it is necessary to leave a loved one behind and I cannot imagine what this feels like. In Britain I taught many women from war-torn countries who did not even know whether their loved one at home was alive or dead. So it was heartening, especially at Christmas, to learn of this immigration story which has a happy ending.