Mangia! Mangia!
Godparents give and receive blessings
ANTOINETTE JACKSON

My father worked six days a week throughout the year so there were not too many days we were able to spend together. The Saturday before Christmas was one of the days I had him almost all to myself. By that day, most of the jobs at the upholstery shop where Daddy worked were completed and delivered.

As a special treat the boss gave his employees Saturday off. That became our traditional day to deliver Christmas presents to my Godparents.

Putting aside what Mario Puzo popularized, Godparents are special in the Italian family and not necessarily chosen because of the influence they have. It is an honor as well as a responsibility to be asked to be a Godparent.

In accepting, the person agrees that he or she will look after the child’s spiritual growth and will rear the child should anything happen to the birth parents.

At the Christening, the Godmother and Godfather are given special titles of respect.

They are now known as "Comare" and "Compare" by the parents and "Padrina" and "Pardino" by the child and are accepted into the family just as if they had been blood relatives.

My baptismal Godparents were Daddy’s close friend Mario Tornatore and his wife Bertha. It was always a special Christmas tradition for Daddy and me to get in to our 1937 Plymouth and drive five miles in the Chicago snow to their home.

They lived in a majestic single-story maroon brick bungalow and had a new Buick parked in their driveway. To my eight-yearold eyes, I thought they were rich.

They were always glad to see us. Padrino Mario was a kind and gentle man. Padrina Bertha was a petite woman with dark wavy hair, dancing eyes and a contagious smile.

As they opened the door to invite us into their home, the aroma of fresh baked Italian cookies mingled with the pine scent from their tree to greet us.

With hugs exchanged and coats removed, we all went in to the living room. As I handed Parina my gift, she put it under the brightly decorated long-needle pine stationed in front of the bay window. Then she passed me a small box with a big bow to be opened on Christmas Day.

I anticipated it would be an especially nice gift like the initialed baby ring, engraved locket and gold bracelet they had given me in years past.

While Padrino Mario and Daddy stayed in the parlor, Padina Bertha and I went in to the kitchen to brew a pot of tea.

My godmother let me help by putting the fresh baked Biscotti on a tray that she carried to the men.

The living room was furnished with elegant Italian Provincial furniture Daddy had made for them. Their colorful porcelain lamps fascinated me. I knew could look but could not touch the doll-like figurines and sat in my chair like a little lady just like Mom and Dad taught me.

My Godparents were married more than ten years longer than my parents. Sadly, they had no children for me to play with. But things were to change before the end of next year.

With World War II over and European travel safe again, Mario and Bertha took a trip to France and Italy. When they returned, they visited our home.

Godmother gave me a souvenir green handkerchief from Paris with the Eiffel Tower on it and a colorful cut mosaic bracelet from Florence.

While Daddy and Padrino sat outside under the grape arbor, Padrina and Mom talked excitedly in the kitchen. Padrina showed Mom a picture of a little boy they were adopting from an orphanage in Italy. Back then, not many people adopted children and it came as a welcome surprise to my mother.

After what seemed like forever to my Godparents, Giuseppi arrived just before Christmas.

He was shy, younger than me, had black curly locks of hair, dancing brown eyes with long lashes, a warm smile just like Padrina and spoke the most beautiful Italian.

My Godparents beamed with joy as their new son made their family and home complete.

Giuseppi was enrolled in Catholic school, learned English, and became known as Joseph. Uncannily, he grew to look just like my godmother. Ladies would stop them in the aisle of the grocery store to remark they had never seen such a strong resemblance between mother and son.

The next year on the Saturday before Christmas as Daddy and I prepared for our traditional visit to my Godparents’ home, Mom gave me a gift to exchange with Joseph.

Mom said Parina Bertha already had her best gift. Like the woman centuries before her, she was blessed to be the mother of a special son who was given to her by God.

Barbara’s Biscotti

I didn’t think to ask my Godmother Bertha for any of her recipes at the time. This recipe is from my former coworker at the Athens Review and friend of sixteen years, Barbara McKee. While I like to cook, I don’t like to bake.

Barbara loves to bake and learned how to make biscotti like a real Italian. On holidays and special occasions, she blesses us with her "twice baked cookies" which Jack and I love to dunk in wine or coffee.
4 cup unsifted flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
3 sticks of butter at room temperature
2 cups sugar
4 eggs
4 egg yolks
2 teaspoons anise extract
3 cups sliced almonds or pecans

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Lightly grease large cookie sheet.

Stir together flour, baking powder and salt and set aside.

In a separate bowl, beat butter and sugar until creamy. Beat in eggs, yolks and anise. Gradually add the flour mixture into the butter mixture and beat until smooth. Stir in nuts.

On a floured board or cloth, with floured hands, roll dough into a cylinder about 2 inches in diameter. Transfer on to cookie sheet.

Bake at 350 degrees for 25 to 30 minutes or until a wooden toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Remove to a wire rack and cook for 20 minutes.

Using a thin serrated knife, cut the roll diagonally into 1 / 2-inch-wide pieces.

Bake at 350 degrees for 10 to 15 minutes until golden brown. Cool on wire rack. Makes 4 dozen biscotti.

!

Antoinette Jackson is a Bullard-area resident. You may reach her at Antojxn@aol.com.