Reno’s Raviolis, Easter, and Ex Lax

My Dad was a great cook.  One of his specialties was his homemade raviolis for very special occasions using his mother’s recipe.

The kitchen was set up with a metal grinder that had to be fastened to the counter when it was needed. A trip to the butcher got ground beef, pork, and veal which Dad would grind together along with the swiss chard, and all the rest of the filling ingredients.  You could make a meal just out of the delicious filling.

A pasta machine was also fastened to the counter. After making a volcano of flour, water, and egg, Dad kneaded it all and portioned off pieces to put through the pasta machine to get it to the right thickness.

I was always Dad’s helper; I don’t think he ever made them without me. The dough would come out like ace bandages that I had to grab as it came out of the machine and I would hold up my arms and he would place the dough hanging on my arms and re-insert the dough into the machine until the finished thickness was achieved and then he cut them into lengths and put them on a large floured board which was placed on the kitchen counter. 

One time Mom tried to help. I think she thought the dough would just appear in her arms without her knowing you had to grab it as it came out of the machine.  Dad yelled. She was fired. But if you knew my dear Mom, you would know that whenever she wanted to get out of something, she would play dumb, just like she did all those years when Dad was making his raviolis. Then she would giggle about it. 

The dough was ready for filling and Dad put spoonfuls of it along the “ace bandage” looking dough.  He folded over the dough, pushed on it along the outer edges to seal them, and then zig zag cut the raviolis with a cutter. From there they went onto another huge cloth covered floured board.  They would “dry” there in the spare bedroom overnight, turning once.  No one worried about not refrigerating the raviolis and no one ever got sick.

One Easter when he was three, before one of the huge family parties, my baby brother, Dino, went into that spare bedroom, and temptation came over him. He proceeded to push his little chubby finger through quite a few little ravioli pillows.  Thankfully, someone realized the bedroom door was open and went to investigate. Dino was in big trouble.  I guess it did look tempting for a little kid. When I arrived at my parents’ house with my family, the deed was discovered and all was rectified. The rest of the ravs were salvaged and the side dish was its usual hit with the family.

Dinner was always wonderful.  We usually had cardoni as an hors d'oeuvres.  This is vegetable not always sold in the supermarkets.  Cardoon (in English) is a leafy stalk that looks like a large celery stalk which has an artichoke-like flavor. Dad par boiled them, cut them into two inch long pieces, dipped the pieces into an egg and salt and pepper mixture, dipped them into cracker meal and then they were fried. They were yummy.

Along with the ravs, we had ham and prime rib, Italian green salad, some homemade antipasto, and some nice sourdough bread. Our Italian Auntie Lil would bring the Saint Honore cake and our Greek Auntie Babe would bring the Baklava that went nicely with my favorite Martini and Rossi Asti Spumante. Ever since I can remember, when we were kids, we always got a little shotglass full of that delicious bubbly.  It is still my favorite to this day.

After dinner there was usually a pinochle game for the men. When I was younger, the parish priest would join my Dad and the uncles. He always came over wearing a Hawaiian shirt. No one would know this handsome man was a priest.  And he liked to have a few toddies with the men too. 

Easter meant a new dress for me and I looked forward to it.  It was the end of a long lent. I always gave up candy. That was a huge sacrifice since we had a grocery store at the corner of my block and I was a sweet addict. My poor parents spent lots of money at the dentist for us kids. 

Dad’s dentist was Dr. Cerriti, the old Italian dentist in our neighborhood in SF. Dr. Cerruti did not use Novocain.  We begged Dad not to take us there.  Fortunately, we got Dr. Lee who always hugged me when I came for an appointment.  He was glad to see me because I always needed some work which meant moolah in his pocket.  He was much younger than Dad’s dentist and he used Novocain. 

When I was a teen it was a trend that we made these chains out of chewing gum wrappers which were supposed to be so many times taller than our boyfriends.  My boyfriend was very tall so I chewed lots of gum for my chain.  That coupled with the candy from Del Carlo’s grocery helped me get lots of cavities.  Good thing the dentist was nice and through the union Dad belonged to, we had good dental benefits.

Easter also meant a huge Easter basket from our pharmacist friend who owned the neighborhood pharmacy. He brought one for each of us kids and it was a real treat.  Certainly, we could not afford something this extravagant for all of us kids. But Mr. Tonelli was very generous to our family.

Dad would wrap up quarters, dimes, and dollars in aluminum foil and hide them. Sometimes they would go into plastic eggs in our little Easter baskets. We didn’t care; we just wanted the money to buy candy at Del Carlo’s store after Easter.

We all miss the Sunday dinner at my parents’ house. Dad would always fix something wonderful be it the mock abalone, the best fried chicken in the world, the best minestrone soup in the world, polenta, farinata, veal stew, crab cioppino, zabaglione, risotto, pasta con pesto, and frittata to name a few favorites.  Funny though that my Croatian Mom’s specialties were gnocchi (an Italian dish) and apple strudel which were both fabulous in their own way.  Mom did not cook because Dad was pretty critical. She just looked pretty and cleaned up the mess Dad made in the kitchen. And believe me, it was always a big mess.  Dad must have used every pot and pan in the kitchen. It was pretty sad when Dad lost most of his eyesight and could not do what he loved to do any more.

When we were kids, my oldest of the brothers got into my Baba’s (our grandmother’s) dresser drawer and got a hold of her ExLax on a Sunday before Easter.  He thought it was candy and ate quite a bit of it.  Neither of us knew what ExLax was, but the only reason I didn’t want that cute little “chocolate candy” was that I knew stealing was a sin.  It was a Sunday, and we usually had a reprieve from our fasting and could eat candy or whatever it was that was given up for lent on Sundays.

I was sure happy when my brother could not seem to get out of the bathroom. I figured God was really punishing him for stealing.  He deserved it.  I just polished my halo and loved that he got in trouble, just like big sisters do.