"Now The Goose Is On The Table."

Not in our house it's not.

#4 of 31 Things I Love About Christmas: The Centanni Family Christmas Eve Dinner.

Some have turkey with all the fixings (whatever those are). Some have...well, I don't know what other people have, but what we have...it only makes sense to us.

The headlining item of all Christmas eve...and New Year's eve...and 4th of July...and Memorial Day...Labor Day...or any occasion would be Grandpa's homemade Italian sausage. There is not a meat packing company on earth that can compete. Though there are a few little trusted shops back home that will do, it just isn't the same. This is a long and labor-intense process that has become less frequent in recent years but I do remember a few Christmases, once school was done, heading over to Grandma's to help Grandpa with the process in their completely furnished kitchen, in their fully finished, heated and plywood paneled basement, Sinatra and Tony Bennett cassettes in hand.

Told ya I was Italian.

Yes I have the recipe and no I won't give it here. I look forward to trying my hardest to make it just like he does. Yea I know I can get an attachment for our KitchenAid mixer, I want the standard sausage maker like he uses. If you're gonna do it, do it right. Those times of making and helping in the process will last a lifetime, I only wish I had the chance to do it more often.

The sausage thing seems weird to most people. It is not the most glamorous food on the planet, but it dates back to long before I was born. Tales of Christmas past come up often. Stories of everyone gathered at Grandma's upstairs and eventually downstairs, nibbling at snacks and treats all night, playing cards, playing music and waiting until midnight to fire up the sausage and eat "dinner" at a time when normal people are asleep or intoxicated. Only to come back in less than 12 hours and do it all again. These feasts included sausage then, they include them now and I will personally make sure they include them in the future. It's just an Italian thing, I guess. What we eat isn't always as important as why we eat them. Italians are known for a lot of things and among them is their natural knack of cooking and desire to do as much of it homemade as possible. It's part of our identity.

Then the next headlining item is the baccala. Oh sweet baby Jesus. I really don't think anyone can do it like he does. Yea I got the recipe and look forward to trying it and hoping for the best, but it may not measure up. For one, the fish is on the pricey side. Secondly, it takes days to soak and the water must be changed. Once it's fried up with just lemon juice to flavor only, heaven. This is an acquired taste and some find this fish appalling. Not me.

Other items usually include salt potatoes or seasoned potato wedges, side vegetables change from year to year, followed by salad with all the fun things that turn a salad from a healthy side dish to bad news (cheese, bacon bits, croutons...bad ideas). Plenty of genuine high-carb tasty Italian bread, including the fresh Italian sub rolls for the sausage. The antipasto....uffa! Pepperoni, sopressata, salami, 3-5 varieties of olives, provolone, and pickles (can't have a holiday without pickles). I would usually volunteer to cut and plate the pepperoni, sopressata and provolone, operating under the "3 for the plate, 1 for me" system of counting until I was found out and I was then usually relieved of my job.

Dinner itself was pretty much the same every year and that was fine with me. While certain items and side dishes changed from year to year, it was the entire act of Christmas dinner that I remember and treasure. Waiting like puppies at the front picture window for Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt Julie, Uncle Harry & Giavanna to get to our house, watching the snow out the windows (messing up the drapes and fogging up the windows in the process), the blast of the frigid air when we opened the door, taking their coats and fetching our Grandparents' slippers, finishing up dinner, forming the line in the kitchen and finally settling in. Christmas had finally come. Here we were, Christmas had come again and we were all here to enjoy it. Dinner was just the first step in a two-day festival. Christmas Dinner was and is a time for stories and talking, loudly. What seems to me to be a normal talking voice seems like yelling to others.

Told ya I was Italian.

"Decorations Of Red, On A Green Christmas Tree."

#29 on the list of the 31 Things I Love About Christmas is: Grandma’s House

There is something that is beyond explanation that is comfortable, warm and cozy about my grandma’s house at Christmas time. I know, this is gonna seem like a stretch, but run with me on this one.

Italians eat. Italians are all about family. Italians are all about eating with family. From as long as I can remember up until Mid November ’96, we ate at Grandma’s every Sunday. 1pm. Never before. I can still her bellowing “C’MON!” from the kitchen, though it would take another 20 minutes before everyone was seated with their plate. Everyone in their spot. If you were to look at the table from the kitchen/hall doorway, starting clockwise would be Rosalia, Mom, Dad, me, Grandpa, Grandma, Aunt Julie. Later room would be made and a card table would be necessary to accommodate my Uncle Harry, their daughter Giavanna and my brother Michael. Eating and conversation would often continue for 2 or 3 hours. If you think I’m kidding, you must not have any relatives from “The Boot.” Easter, Christmas Day, New Year’s Day, Memorial Day, Labor Day, father’s day, mother’s day…all spent on Whitlock Road.

But Christmas time, again, I remember the most bizarre things. This musical wind up Christmas tree with three snowmen skating would be placed on the kitchen TV (sometimes on top of the fridge with the mini light up Christmas tree, or on the counter). There would be a little plastic wreath safety-pinned to the drapes, while full window cling sheets would be taped to the kitchen and bedroom doors (Grandma mess up her windows? Good luck) the living room would be rearranged to accommodate the Christmas tree (formerly stored in the attic, which after all these years, I still have never seen nor been in).

I can still see this old blue and yellow Molson Export box which the Christmas ornaments were kept. From the hallway, to the left was the end table and grandpa’s chair, directly across from the Christmas tree and grandmas chair. That rather old cheap but charming plastic angel, atop the tree sealed the deal. This altered the look of the entire room and something about the new position of the lights, plus the sparkling Christmas tree and the lights from neighboring houses, plus the Christmas lights on their house, which shone through the three mini windows in the front door in a frosted haze of colors….I can still close my eyes and picture it. Why this affects me after all this time, I don’t know, but it was one of the most comfortable things in the world.

In the kitchen would be the same Christmas-y paper cups, plastic table cloths, paper plates and foam coffee cups that we had used for years. No, don’t worry, they weren’t reused each year or anything, but I think she stumbled across the deal of a lifetime some years prior and bought up Christmas and Halloween party supplies by the gross. Anise (most people really have no idea what I'm talking about...this amazing licorice tasting vegetable type thing...delich, apparently it's proper name is Florence fennel) could always be found on the table. Egg nog would be close by, as would a basket of mixed nuts, “Once you start with these things, that’s it," Grandma would say, in between cracking another walnut or hazelnut, plus enough Christmas cookies to last til Easter. Sometimes, when we were younger we would have helped make them the previous week or earlier that week….but enough about Christmas cookies, more on them later.

Basically, this vision and these memories represent a simple and prized time in my life. Christmas was the best day of the year and it seemed Christmas vacation would last forever. Of course Christmas vacation cant last forever, but the memories sure can.