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Authors: Adriana Trigiani
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barbershop on Garibaldi in hopes of running into him. And since I started coming to church regularly with Elena, I’ve looked for him every Sunday, but I’ve never seen him. Maybe God is punishing me for not having a true spiritual reason for coming to Mass. After all, the priest says God knows everything we’re thinking, not just what we do, and coming to Mass with the sole desire of seeing Renato would probably not sit well with the Creator.
Renato is as I remembered him, but as he sings, he takes on a grand stature. Maybe it’s the golden midmorning light that pours through the belfry and fills the choir loft, or maybe it’s the timbre of his voice as he sings, but I cannot take my eyes off him. Elena nudges me, reminding me to turn back around. Before I do, Chettie winks at me from her pew.
It seems like hours later that Assunta and Alessandro recess down the aisle to the back of the church. When they reach the top of the steps, they turn to each other and kiss. The most exciting part of weddings at Our Lady of Mount Carmel is the parade led by the bride and groom to Pinto’s Hall. It’s spectacular to see the Rosetans in their finery, the women in their pastel dresses and plumed hats, and the men in their elegant suits, as they process to the reception.
Chettie, dressed in a white eyelet shift with a smart straw hat, meets up with me as I follow the wedding party down the street. “That was a beautiful wedding. One of the best I’ve seen.”
“Think so?” I am hoping everyone in town agrees since we worked so hard on the details.
“The flowers, Assunta’s dress, everything was perfect,” Chettie says. “Now the fun begins. Have you ever been to Pinto’s Hall for a football reception?”
I shake my head that I haven’t.
“When you walk in, you tell them if you want ham or roast beef at the door, and they throw you a wrapped sandwich. It’s tradition. Watch.”
There are two boys with baskets by the door. Chettie says, “Ham, please.” A boy tosses her the ham sandwich.
“I’ll have ham too,” I tell the boy. He tosses me a sandwich wrapped in waxy white paper.
Alessandro leads his new bride onto the dance floor as the band plays “Oh Marie,” and they begin to dance. There is a keg of beer for the grown-ups at the end of a long table on the far side of the room, and a keg of soda for the kids on another. The church sodality ladies have crisscrossed white streamers over the low ceiling and hung silver bells in the center. Round tables with white tablecloths anchor either side of the dance floor. The centerpiece for each table is a pyramid of Mama’s wedding cookies. Delicate crustelli dusted with powdered sugar, coconut balls, and fig squares are piled high on silver trays. Mama snapped the stems off fresh daisies and dotted them among the cookies.
MAMA’S WEDDING COOKIES
¼ pound unsalted butter
¼ pound unsalted margarine
1 cup sugar
3 large eggs
1 teaspoon almond extract
½ cup milk
3 ¼–3½ cups flour
pinch of salt
5 teaspoons baking powder
Cream together the butter, margarine, sugar, and eggs. Add the almond extract and milk. Then add the flour, salt, and baking powder and mix well. Keep hands wet and shape the mixture into 1-inch rounds, high in the center. Bake at 350 degrees for 13 minutes or until lightly browned.
FROSTING
½ box powdered sugar
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
milk—just enough to wet the powdered sugar
1 teaspoon almond flavoring
shredded coconut for dusting
Mix well and ice the cookies. Dip the iced cookies in coconut.
As the crowd filters in, they catch their sandwiches from the boys with the baskets and place them on tables, marking their seats for after the dance. Papa takes Mama’s hand and leads her onto the dance floor, where he embraces her in his arms and twirls her under the bells. They look happy, but maybe they’re just relieved. Assunta has married a good man, and even though it was arranged, you get the feeling they might have
Renato is as I remembered him, but as he sings, he takes on a grand stature. Maybe it’s the golden midmorning light that pours through the belfry and fills the choir loft, or maybe it’s the timbre of his voice as he sings, but I cannot take my eyes off him. Elena nudges me, reminding me to turn back around. Before I do, Chettie winks at me from her pew.
It seems like hours later that Assunta and Alessandro recess down the aisle to the back of the church. When they reach the top of the steps, they turn to each other and kiss. The most exciting part of weddings at Our Lady of Mount Carmel is the parade led by the bride and groom to Pinto’s Hall. It’s spectacular to see the Rosetans in their finery, the women in their pastel dresses and plumed hats, and the men in their elegant suits, as they process to the reception.
Chettie, dressed in a white eyelet shift with a smart straw hat, meets up with me as I follow the wedding party down the street. “That was a beautiful wedding. One of the best I’ve seen.”
“Think so?” I am hoping everyone in town agrees since we worked so hard on the details.
“The flowers, Assunta’s dress, everything was perfect,” Chettie says. “Now the fun begins. Have you ever been to Pinto’s Hall for a football reception?”
I shake my head that I haven’t.
“When you walk in, you tell them if you want ham or roast beef at the door, and they throw you a wrapped sandwich. It’s tradition. Watch.”
There are two boys with baskets by the door. Chettie says, “Ham, please.” A boy tosses her the ham sandwich.
“I’ll have ham too,” I tell the boy. He tosses me a sandwich wrapped in waxy white paper.
Alessandro leads his new bride onto the dance floor as the band plays “Oh Marie,” and they begin to dance. There is a keg of beer for the grown-ups at the end of a long table on the far side of the room, and a keg of soda for the kids on another. The church sodality ladies have crisscrossed white streamers over the low ceiling and hung silver bells in the center. Round tables with white tablecloths anchor either side of the dance floor. The centerpiece for each table is a pyramid of Mama’s wedding cookies. Delicate crustelli dusted with powdered sugar, coconut balls, and fig squares are piled high on silver trays. Mama snapped the stems off fresh daisies and dotted them among the cookies.
MAMA’S WEDDING COOKIES
¼ pound unsalted butter
¼ pound unsalted margarine
1 cup sugar
3 large eggs
1 teaspoon almond extract
½ cup milk
3 ¼–3½ cups flour
pinch of salt
5 teaspoons baking powder
Cream together the butter, margarine, sugar, and eggs. Add the almond extract and milk. Then add the flour, salt, and baking powder and mix well. Keep hands wet and shape the mixture into 1-inch rounds, high in the center. Bake at 350 degrees for 13 minutes or until lightly browned.
FROSTING
½ box powdered sugar
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
milk—just enough to wet the powdered sugar
1 teaspoon almond flavoring
shredded coconut for dusting
Mix well and ice the cookies. Dip the iced cookies in coconut.
As the crowd filters in, they catch their sandwiches from the boys with the baskets and place them on tables, marking their seats for after the dance. Papa takes Mama’s hand and leads her onto the dance floor, where he embraces her in his arms and twirls her under the bells. They look happy, but maybe they’re just relieved. Assunta has married a good man, and even though it was arranged, you get the feeling they might have
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