prepare this pizza, and all these traditional foods, and share them here with you in hopes to bring us all into a sensory experience, together.

A remembrance of what the hands before us lovingly created, re-making memory and creating new ones. Honoring our ancestral gifts by nourishing ourselves, each other (and in turn, feeding our holy dead). And doing so out of pure joy (with a side of grief as well). To honor those who came before us, those who are still here and those no longer with us— and to feed our bodies and those of our communities in gratitude and belly understanding of the entire spectrum of the ancestral (and immigration + non-consensual assimilation) experience. This food, when made with attention to detail and magic -- it is a spell to invoke our ancestors and the wellness within us. It brings us around the kitchen counter AND dining table, together. So we can tell the stories to each other. Cast prayers into the dough. Dance a bit with the taranta music playing in the background as we stir the sauce. Without a little story, without a little relationship — food is just something to eat. With the story and connection — it becomes something about life, the good life, the hard life, all of life. It becomes about who we are and who we have been and who we are remembering we can be. It becomes true and beautiful medicine for the soul in these trying times.

“Mary, did you have the cuccidati yet? I made them just for you. My mother taught me how. Her mother taught her. They have sprinkles… you like da sprinkles???”

He reached across the table and pulled a cookie tray closer to us. “Mangia,” he said.

“The figs and oranges come from Sicily.” He took one off the tray, looked at me - winked- and dunked it in his drink (which was scotch) and took a big bite.

In my family, these cookies are the biggest Christmas (and wedding!) hit. It’s not the holy days without them. My mama and my aunties always made by the MULTIPLE dozens (literally our basement freezer was always stuffed with them because, you know, there was no room in the OTHER two freezers they had).

My mother, who turns NINETY this year, is finally slowing down on the biscotti making this season, so I’m going to have to up my game! My mama usually flavors these with almond and anise — but wouldn’t you know that NOWHERE I looked in my area of Portland, OR had anise flavoring? WHAT? And I had no time to make my own. So instead of anise, I did an almond version, a rosewater pistachio version as well as orange, orange blossom, and orange zest version.

They’re easy to make and delicious

Lucy is a mysterious wonder of winter. What do her eyes really mean? In a culture where the evil eye is so prominent and wearing small eye amulets are common for protection, could she be a symbol of protection, a seer that predicts and wards away the evil? Or as the Goddess of Light, is she the one who enables us to “see” through the underworld of winter? To help us carry on with a new kind of “sight”? Or are her eyes a message to us to “stay awake, eyes open, watching” even in this season of hibernation? Or is she the bringer of  hope and the promise of grain? When we are starved of light, of fresh food, is she the carrier of sacred seeds that can be stored during the winter months? Is she the reminder to be grateful for abundance, that we have seed to soak and cook over the winter fire, slowly, filling our bellies until the season shifts and the soil is soft again, and the sun is re-born?