Floating Islands & Pease Pudding

Being of Italian descent, I can't think of holidays--any holidays--without thinking of food. My protagonist, Pat Montella, has a similar background. In her opening scene in POISON TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, she's stuck in traffic on her way to Williamsburg on Christmas eve, pondering how she'd normally be at one of her aunt's houses eating seven fishes or sausage, with cannolis, pizzelles, and ricotta pie for dessert. Other times in the book she mentions Sicilian advent biscottis and a family reunion with a big pork roast and tomato pie on New Year's Eve.

Pat's experiences were all taken from my experiences. So you can imagine the culture shock to both of us when I plopped her into a Christmas setting where dinner would be in the American colonial style.

In the 18th century, assuming you had the money to afford it and your religion didn’t forbid the extravagance, big dinners were enormously important to the celebration of the Yuletide. The poor ate whatever was usual for them—most likely somewhere between gruel and a pottage (a stew). Middling folk, like Mrs. Carson in the historic part of POISON, may have tried to add a few special items to the menu that time of year: mince pies (made with apples and currants unless you could afford a bit of meat too), pease pudding (peas—the last saved from the harvest --boiled, mashed and whipped with butter), a punch of some sort (probably with hard cider or wine gotten locally or made yourself). Perhaps a pheasant or wild turkey brought back from a hunt if you were lucky. Or like Mrs. Carson, you made a bit of bacon and a few squabs go as far as you could.

But much of what we know of early American meals comes from the diaries and letters of the more wealthy—men like John Adams, who once wrote in great detail about a dinner party he attended while he was a delegate to the Continental Congress in Philadelphia. These lavish parties (at any time of year) were usually 4 courses, and not the courses (soup, salad, etc.) that we think of today. Imagine a long table set with 30, 40, 50 platters of food, arranged in perfect symmetry, each one presented with artistry. No whole turkeys in the center, no sir—the slicing would have been done in the kitchen and all sorts of edible garnishments added. And no one entree. You might have roast beef at one end, baked ham at the other, boiled beef to one side, turkey to the other, oysters, eggs, venison pie, pheasant, plus a variety of fancy vegetables (imagine beets cuts into the shapes of fishes), breads, relishes...well, you get the idea.

And that’s only the 1st course. Then came the “remove”—when guests would follow their host to another room for some sort of entertainment (a short concert or play perhaps). The servants, meantime, would remove the 1st course and reset the table for the 2nd. A different symmetry of platters, but just as many. Perhaps some of the same foods (the ham this time might be cooked with cabbage, the turkey stewed with a rich gravy) or, depending what was available, different offerings—turtle, veal, lamb, shad roe.

Another “remove” and then the first dessert course. Yes, I said the FIRST.

One cake? A couple of pies? Don’t be silly. Like the opening courses, you’d have variety. Desserts using alcohol and whipped cream were popular. Syllabubs were sort of a parfait made with cider or wine. A floating island was rounds of crusty bread, layered with jellies, floating in a bowl of liquored whipped cream. You might also have sweet omelettes (Pat helps to make one—an apple tansy, one of my favorite desserts—a link for the recipe is below), cookies and small cakes, ices (like sherbet), fresh and dried fruit (depending on the season or if you had enough money to import in wintertime), candied flowers and fruits, nuts. And naturally, dessert wines. George Washington, for instance, was very fond of Madeira.

A 3rd “remove” and another dessert course (my kind of dinner!). These parties, alternating dinner and entertainment, usually began in the afternoon and went on for many, many hours.

Even my Italian holiday feasts couldn't top them.

For the Apple Tansy recipe, go to:
http://www.elenasantangelo.com/Recipes3.htm

Buon appetito,
Elena

The Holly Bears a Berry

Since so many of us are putting up trees, wreaths and lights this week, let's talk decorations.

In POISON TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, which takes place in Wiliamsburg, Pat is appalled to find that the house where she'll be spending the holidays doesn't have a Christmas tree. The house is decorated in the 18th century Virginia tradition. Trees are part of the 19th century tradition. (In fact, nearly all the trappings of Christmas that we now take for granted were begun by the Victorians.)

The first American tree was supposedly raised by German immigrant Charles Minnigerode who moved to Williamsburg in the 1840s, though his may have been simply the first publicized tree. The Pennsylvania Deutsch and Hessian soldiers might very well have set up trees in the 18th century, but the tradition was mostly confined to German-Americans and not popular otherwise.

The original tree legend says that in the 8th century, St. Boniface found German natives worshiping a giant oak tree. The saint cut the oak down (cutting down a thriving monument to God's creation doesn't seem very "saintly" to me, but I didn't write the story). From the stump of the fallen oak, a small fir tree grew. Were I those German pagans, I'd have thought this was a sign that the tree gods were showing their immortality, but Boniface's publicist managed to put a Christian spin on it. Somehow, through the years, the tree migrated from everyday Sunday school lesson over to an association with Christ's birth.

The Celtics had similar pre-Christian traditions concerning evergreens and other plant decorations, which is mostly the source of the British customs of the hanging of boughs and "greening" of the house. In an era not at all hygienic by our standards, when everyone was stuck behind closed doors and huddled around the fire for the cold months, some nice-aromatic pine on the mantel must have been as welcome as Febreze is today.

Remember, Christmas wasn't a major holiday in colonial America. Many people wouldn't have decorated at all. Those who did (mainly richer folk, for their dinner parties) probably used natural items like berries, pine cones, or even osage oranges. Contrary to modern Williamsburg decorations, nothing edible would have been used. No one would have wasted food. Very few people could afford to import pineapples, let alone, having gone to that expense, nailed one over the front door. A poor man would have stolen the fruit before the night was out, to feed his family.

Wreaths may have graced a few doors. The wreath dates back to ancient Persia and Rome, where crowns of leaves were made and either given as prizes or worn by high ranking members of society. Later, crowns of leaves and flowers were worn for holiday celebrations like May Day. The supposition is that, after having won a wreath or whatever, people hung them on their doors and windows to show them off. But, again, today's larger wreaths were more from Victorian traditions than earlier.

In Williamsburg in December today you'll see candles in windows and cressets (baskets of burning wood or oil or pitch) along the streets. Probably you would have seen neither in the 1700s. Candles burn faster when placed in a draft and 18th century double hungs weren't at all energy efficient. You'd place candles in the middle of the room, or next to a white wall, to get the maximum light from them. You might have placed a protected lantern in your window, if you wanted to help a stranger find your house easily in the dark. If outdoor fires were lit at all, they'd likely be close to the ground and not in raised baskets. Heat rises, and so, to certain extent, does light. And the wind is more likely to burn fuel faster if the fire is up high.

One Yule decoration that IS mentioned in colonial letters and diaries is mistletoe. They had their priorities straight.

Peace,
Elena

'Tis the Season

I was a proud cast member of The Philadelphia Revels from 1997 until our local company disbanded a few years ago. Each year in December, Revels groups all over the U.S. present wonderful shows filled with music, dance, poetry, and plays within the play, celebrating the solstice, year-end, and Yuletide traditions of different cultures and historical eras. Our local productions ranged from ancient Celtic to Medieval to Middle Eastern to Victorian, but my favorite was our Christmas in Colonial Philadelphia show. I helped to research and write bits of that script, and what I learned led me to set my 3rd novel, POISON TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, in post-Revolutionary War Williamsburg during the Christmas season.

This month (and up through Twelfth Night) here on my blog, I figured I'd talk about some of the older, lesser-known Yuletide customs. Wouldn't hurt to remind us all that the season existed, and was just as magical, before electric lights and the Chipmunks. And even, to a small extent, before Christianity.

In the historical half of POISON TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, readers will note that most of the Yuletide trappings are secular, revolving around food, drinking, superstitions, and giving money to those below you in station. By the latter, I mean that servants and workers were given coins by their employers and patrons. Working and poorer classes went door-to-door, wassailing and asking for money. Rich folk threw elaborate dinner parties. No one else much bothered with the season.

Before the 19th century, Christmas was a minor religious holiday. Many Christian sects didn't celebrate it at all, partly because the actual day wasn't specified in the Bible, and also, as the Puritans put it, the season promoted drinking and debauchery. (The Puritans, in fact, outlawed Christmas.) Many stores and markets were open on the 25th. At first, only Catholics held services. Protestant churches joined in after many of their congregants began attending the Catholic masses to hear the special music of the day.

One other thing is the difference in the way we define SEASON. Most Americans now think of Thanksgiving through December 25th as the Christmas season, but that's a recent development. Traditionally, the Yuletide season is December 25th through January 6th (Epiphany--the day the Magi visited Christ). Many cultures still celebrate Christmas on Epiphany, which came to be called "Old Christmas." This is also the 12th day of the Christmas season (you know, 12 drummers drumming?) and both its eve and the night of the 6th have been called Twelfth Night. I'll cover Twelfth Night customs in another blog.

Time for an eggnog break.

Peace,
Elena

WRITERS: HAVE YOU THANKED YOUR ERASER TODAY?

We gather together this week to be thankful for many things. You writers out there, tear yourselves away from the angst you're experiencing trying to make chapter 3 make sense and join me a moment. If you have trouble coming up with your own objects of thanksgiving, here are a few suggestions:

1. THE HUMBLE ERASER - Whether an old-fashioned pencil eraser or the delete key on your laptop, writers ought to be thankful for the ability we have for do-overs. Not all professions get a break like this. If you're rabidly unpublished, salivating at the thought of being in print, realize that this advanced state ruins your chances for do-overs. Once you charge money for your work, everyone gains the right to ridicule you over bad research and awkward sentences. So appreciate your eraser while ye may.

2. THE PERSONAL COMPUTER - If not for this wonder of the modern world, I doubt I'd have written more than a few silly poems and the occasional letter from Santa to a young friend. I'm in complete awe of Charles Dickens, Mark Twain and the like, working with nothing but pen and paper, and Agatha Christie, with a typewriter. I'd have been culled from the herd long ago.

3. THE RIGHT SIDE OF YOUR BRAIN - Without the fantasy centers of your brain, you'd be reduced to writing grocery lists. Even how-to manuals need a little imagination. The majority of Americans, however, only use the brain's right side for things like online dating, road rage, and overreacting to political fear mongers.

4. EMAIL SUBMISSIONS - Used to be, just a few short years ago, writers would say they were thankful for all-night office supply stores that had their printer cartridges in stock and plenty of extra reams of paper because, inevitably, you'd find yourself in need as you printed off that 400-page manuscript that was already 2 days behind deadline. Publishers who take email submissions are, in their small way, saving the planet and deserve sainthood.

5. FLEXIBLE DAY JOBS - Enough said.

6. YOUR MUSE - Whoever inspires you, whether human or divine, somehow find a way to thank that being and often. Bling, chocolates, sacrificial offerings. Whatever it takes.

7. TURBO TAX - Why is it that the less we make, the more tax schedules we have to fill out? Most writers forget they're also business people. Give thanks for your tools--AAA discounts, website hosts, appointment books, etc.

8. GOOD EDITORS - They make us look better than we are. God bless 'em.

9. JOHANNES GUTENBERG - If not for this gentleman, we'd all still be dependant on monks making copies of our books by hand, and nobles and clergy being our only readers. Before JG, selling 10 copies gave you bestseller status. His printing press contributed to the development of the free library system, bringing literacy within reach of everyone. So, why exactly ARE we cutting library budgets and electing politicians who seem proud of the fact that they rarely read?

10. READERS - Without them, we're nothing.

That's it for 2009. Next year I'm hoping I can give thanks for a healthcare reform package that will allow American artists to give up the wan Bohemian stereotype. None of us want to be Mimi in the final act.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Peace,
Elena

Words, Words, Words

Dear friends,

I was thinking this week how cheap words can be. A total bargain. You don't even need coupons. We spend words every day, but how many of us really get their meaning's worth out of them?

IT, for instance. This pronoun is nothing more than empty calories added to an otherwise healthy sentence, and can be downright misleading. I'm convinced that the word IT was invented by an ancient evil empire who sent this wee germ into the Forces of Good camp to spread misinformation. The evil empire died out because they weren't careful in their deployment and use of IT spread around their own cities like H1N1. But, to this day, people sprinkle their sentences with IT like a bad chef uses too much salt. People get confused as to which noun that little troublemaker is supposed to modify. The last non-living thing in the sentence? The object of the paragraph? Writers, do us all a favor and lay off IT.

The paragraph above also applies to the word THERE. Unless THERE is being used to describe a specific place, don't go THERE.

Then we have words that are kidnaped and their true meaning locked away in a dark dungeon. The words themselves are made to mean other things, usually to the point where the word is completely devalued. The perps of this particular crime tend to be people in power--politicians, corporate executives, car mechanics. Take the word LIBERAL, for instance. By the dictionary definition, I think most of us might want to describe ourselves as liberals. Either that or admit we're close-minded stick-in-the-muds. We all want our spouses to have a liberal point of view when we come in at 4 am. We want our traffic judges to be liberal when deciding that little DUI charge. We most certainly want St. Peter to be as liberal as possible when we stroll up to the Pearly Gates.

The Oxford English Dictionary Word of the Year for 2009? UNFRIEND. Rumor has it this is actually an old word, at least 17th century, that had pretty much gone extinct until Facebook sent the spark of life into its DNA and brought it back to life. I'm not sure I'm in favor of resurrecting archaic words. Did anyone think to find out why "unfriend" fell into disuse in the first place? Why not do CPR on a more positive word like "twixt" or "skybosh" instead?

Still, in honor of the rebirth, I felt a nice 17th century-ish sonnet to UNFRIEND was due:

Wouldst thou unfriend me who shares all thy posts
And always tags thy face on other's pics?
I so live for thy idle status boasts;
Each day this is the way I get my kicks.
Send not I to thee my Farmville requests,
And push my views political on thee?
Along with all the Harry Potter tests,
As well "Which Twilight character are ye?"
Thy causes I espouse as if mine own;
Sending my bucks to most unworthy folks.
Thy fan clubs all I join from my cell phone,
And clicketh I on "Like" for all thy jokes.
Wouldst thou explain? I haven't got a clue,
O friend who wouldst unfriend a friend so true.

Your friend,
Elena

THE INVISIBLE MAN

In my Possessed series, I have one character who is never seen and never speaks, and yet he's been mentioned in every book and plays a more important role than I ever imagined him playing. Is he some evil mastermind, controlling dark forces from afar? Or the opposite? Like the guy who makes the recordings for Mr. Phelps in Mission Impossible?

No, my character is a mental health patient, Miss Maggie's son, Frank. When he came home from World War II, his demons followed. He's been living with chronic Post Traumatic Stress Disorder since 1945. His family has, too, because that's the nature of the condition. Miss Maggie's a strong, forthright woman, but if you asked her about having a son like Frank, I'm guessing she wouldn't tell you her feelings straight out. Watching PTSD destroy a loved one's life isn't something most folks can talk about--one of the reasons it's taken this long in history to even give the disorder a proper name and submit it to serious medical study.

People say "write what you know" and in this case, I did. Frank is based on my Uncle Joe Chicco. I dedicated BY BLOOD POSSESSED to his memory. He died not long before the novel was published, after suffering fifty-five years with chronic PTSD. My grandmother took care of him most of those years and yes, part of Miss Maggie is Jennie Chicco, her strength not the least of all. After my grandmother died, my mom and her other brother took over. My mom sent Uncle Joe meals and groceries, kept after him to take his meds, and got him to his doctor and mental clinic appointments. She called him every night to make sure he was okay. When he didn't take the meds--usually when some change came to his life, like when my grandmother died--he'd have relapses. So for 19 years, quite a bit of each week for my mom and by extension, our family, was spent trying to keep Uncle Joe's life as predictable as possible.

In my book, Miss Maggie has the same sort of burden, though she at least has the aid of the VA Hospital in Richmond, which is how she's got time to solve mysteries. But Frank is still a huge part of her life and she plans her schedule around her regular visits to see him. Because her son can't deal with change any easier than my uncle could, she knows she's better off keeping that part of Frank's existence stable.

I've realized lately that characters like Frank are what keep me writing. No matter how bad the market is, no matter whether mysteries aren't selling, I keep writing because people like my Uncle Joe need their stories told.

What got me thinking about both Uncle Joe and Frank Shelby was a special Veterans' Day presentation of Bill Moyers' Journal on PBS this past week, in which he aired a documentary called THE GOOD SOLDIER. You can watch a portion of this at

http://www.pbs.org/moyers/journal/11062009/profile.html

and if you'd like to learn more about PTSD (which can hit not only soldiers but all kinds of victims of traumatic events and long-term stress), the absolute best website is the National Center for PTSD:

http://www.ptsd.va.gov/

We're fond of saying that death is the ultimate sacrifice of war. I won't argue that it's a great sacrifice, but at least there's rest for the fallen and closure for the family. Military personnel like my uncle, and their families, continue to sacrifice for their country long after the war is over, sometimes for the rest of their lives. On top of that, all too often, society and fellow vets treat them poorly.

If we're going to keep sending people to war, we need to get a clue.

Happy Veteran's Day,
and above all
Peace,
Elena

Survival of the Fittest

For those of you looking for a writing blog this week, go read Nancy Pickard's about writing being like free-falling. I can't say it any better.

As for my week, well, standing in a long line to get a seasonal flu shot--and being told they're close to running out, an hour early, and that the rest of us might not get it--this kind of stuff leads to morose thoughts about our society and how we Americans really aren't great at caring for each other.

I did get my shot, but I think I was in the last dozen or so. Many more than that in the line behind me. You might wonder why all these people wouldn't just go to their doctors for shots, but my town of 30,000 has a big percentage of low income, out of work, under- or uninsured families, so I say God bless our county health system. At least they get it that not only the rich ought to be protected from infectious diseases.

I asked about the H1N1 vaccine, because I have a whole slew of 20-something friends who've had flu symptoms the last month so we all know swine flu has arrived (reported cases in 48 states actually). The county people say they can't get the vaccine yet. I'm less worried for myself than all the kids and young people. Supposedly if you were born before 1957, you've got a good chance of having already encountered similar flus and having antibodies that will work as well on H1N1. Then again, they say the overweight and obese are at a higher risk, and doesn't that include quite a lot of Americans right now?

But here's the thing. I have a friend in Australia. About 6 months ago, she got an H1N1 shot. In fact, everyone in Australia who wanted one got one. FREE. Now, granted, Australia has a smaller population than the US, but in this country, we had a half year more lead time. You mean we couldn't at least have developed enough vaccine in that time for, say, all of our school age kids?

One of the reasons the Roman Empire declined was the plague. I wonder if, a few millenia from now, people will say the "American civilization" died out because of infectious diseases? Or because, as a country, we didn't make the health and fitness of our citizens any kind of priority? That we, essentially, committed a kind of national suicide by not seeing that Americans had the tools to survive.

And by the way, those people in the future? They'll likely be French. They have the best healthcare system in the world.

Bonne sante!
Elena