A Very Special Holiday Edition of Being Frank

dates so you have some context and relevance. It is the twenty third of December. On this eve of Christmas Eve, I thought I'd try something a little different for this podcast. Instead of our usual intelligent Conversation with a guest, I'd like to share a Christmas Eve memory that I hope you can all relate to and enjoy. Here it is when I was a kid growing up in Fort Lee,

New Jersey, we kept an Italian Sicilian American household. By that, I mean we were thoroughly Americanized, but we also observed many of the Old World traditions and of these none were more treasured and eagerly anticipated by my sister brother and I than Christmas Eve. It was an evening filled with food, laughter, light and love. I'd like to focus on the food, because through it the others will be revealed.

It has become widely known that many Italians, particularly those Southern Italian servant meal consisting solely of seafood on Christmas Eve. The tradition of the feast of the Seven Fishes, as it came to be known here, was popularized during the time the so called Mediterranean diet also became a thing in American pop culture. At our place, we simply called

it eating. But the seven fishes as a prescribed number and type of seafood served is really an American adaptation of Southern Italian families simply consuming a fish dinner that is sand's meat on the eve. In Sicily, it is known as la vigilia, or keeping a vigil for the impenting birth of Jesus, and as an extension of the Paschal tradition of staining from eating meat at certain times.

The seven fishes label came with American consumerism. At our home, there was no fixed number associated with what we would eat that evening. However, one thing was certain, it would be a real feast. My mother would shop for days to get only the freshest seafood. Then she would spend the entire day preparing the meal. We may have had seven dishes, or it may have been a little less, but it was always delicious. No matter what the actual

number it turned out to be. The meal always contained these classics calamari, fried and sauted mussels fra diavolo, usually shrimp either raw, scampy or breaded, filet of soul, Franchase's style, clams or regonato or with lingueni, and of course my mother's favorite bacala, also known as salted cod. The house smelled like heaven for hours. As I got older, our place was also the hottest ticket in town for friends

lucky enough to get an invite. One who took particular pleasure in that invitation is a dear friend from my college days. I'll protect his privacy and only use his first name. Jed and I were teammates on our particularly bad football team. However, he was an exceptionally good player on that otherwise terrible squad, and he was big defensive lineman big about six foot three and two hundred and sixty five pounds, and boy could eat like it too. Jed was also Jewish, so eating at our place was

a new, delightful cultural experience for him. Plus the food was always great. I remember him dropping subtle hints weeks before the eves just to see if there might be any room for him at our table. Of course there always was. Even forty plus years later and living thousands of miles apart, we still speak of it. This is really the true spirit of the season. The food just pulled it all together. After dallying over our fabulous meal, it was time to retire to the fake silver Christmas

dream that graced our living room. Despite our protestations for a real tree, my mother refused, saying that they were too messy. They left pine needles all over the place. So at Christmas we took it out of the box and the cellar and assembled it in the same corner every year. Underneath the neatly wrapped packages would soon be ravaged by my sister, brother and I. You see, we simply couldn't contain our excitement until Christmas Day. That was

not possible, especially for my sister Joanne. I think my brother Joseph and I we might have impossibly convinced to wait until the morning, but our sister proved in irresistible force, and what the heck why not? Our parents were certainly not going to protest. It was a rare night for our version of indulgence. It didn't take long to open our presence, as gift giving was always very modest at

our place. We received one gift each from our parents, one from our grandmothers that was usually the socks and underwear that we needed, and often one from our mother's sister, my aunt Adam Maria. When we were old and able enough, we also exchanged some simple gifts. As siblings, I often marveled at how extravagant other families were at their holidays, but that was not our way. For us, the greatest

gift was always our togetherness. After the frenzy, most of our energy was spent, and more often than not, we simply went off to bed to dream of our new bounty waiting for us in the morning. Those memories hopefully can never be away. This year, we'll be having dinner with my aunt and a few cousins at a find a restaurant in Brooklyn, and I'm sure we'll have plenty of fresh fish. Now, we let the others do the cooking.

We just make the memories. Happy Holidays everyone, no matter which one you choose to celebrate, I sincerely hope that has spent in the warm glow of family and friends and help eat lots of fish on Christmas Eve too. Well that's my story, but I want to add just a little bit more after a brief commercial break, so please don't go anywhere. We'll be right back with the Being Frank Holiday Podcast.

us with so much intelligent conversation throughout the year. I'd also like to thank Hudson River Radio's owner Brian Horowitz for giving me the opportunity and freedom to do my thing. And of course the mailman, mister Neil Richter, deserves a special shout out for keeping us on the rails. And perhaps most of all, I want to give a great, big thanks to all of you who have taken the time and made the effort to listen being Frank and

validating our intelligent conversation. Also, if you happen to enjoy my writing, I contribute into opinion column every Friday at Nyaknewsanviews dot com and my personal blog is www dot talk dash Frank dot blogspot dot com. You can also catch me at medium dot com. Here's a reminder from Ray and Dave Davies of the Kinks and their Christmas song. Remember Christmas spirit is not what you drink. Let's close with a real fun tune from nyak's own Peter Danish.

If you know Peter at all, you will totally understand. Look for more intelligent conversation in twenty twenty six with being Frank, because it's the only way to be Thanks for listening, everyone, have a great holiday.