The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same

Living my entire life in Carroll Gardens has come with one constant: change. Ever since the neighborhood I grew up in was first dubbed “Carroll Gardens,” things have been consistently changing. Rents and property values have gone through the roof (and that roof seems to have blown off), family and neighbors have moved away, stores have closed and new ones have opened, and many people have sadly passed on. But that’s not to say that tradition no longer exists in Carroll Gardens. And there is no better time to find tradition than Christmastime.

The Christmas tree is back hanging on the side of the building above Mazzola’s as it has been every single year that I can remember. And the tree is lit in Carroll Park. My neighbors have their wreaths up. The man who lives in the middle of my block has his house decorated from top to bottom like a mini-Disneyland while I’m praying that the modest strands of lights on my railings won’t go dead before the end of the season. The star is on the steeple of Sacred Hearts-St. Stephen’s Church, shining brightly like a beacon high above the neighborhood, the expressway, and beyond.

The Italian Christmas cookies and torrone were available early enough this year at Court Pastry so you could have bought some for Thanksgiving, and the panettone have been stacked up in Monteleone’s since late October.

I’ve placed my order for clams, baccala, and smelts at the same fish store on Court and President Streets that we’ve been going to forever, even if it’s changed hands over the years and I’m no longer sure of its name. The proprietors always stock what we need for the Feast of the Seven Fishes, the biggest holiday of the year for Italian-Americans. I can remember my dad hunched over the double sink in my parents’ tiny kitchen, shucking dozens of clams. One great improvement on that tradition compared to years ago is that they actually shuck the clams now for a small fee. And you can even buy the baccala pre-soaked!

I picked up some freshly ground coffee from D’Amico’s, which very sadly suffered the loss of both Frank Sr. and his son Francis this past year but is nonetheless all decorated and still a neighborhood gem as it has been since 1948. God bless Joanny and her staff for carrying on so beautifully.

I ordered the antipasto from Caputo Fine Foods, going over my list carefully with Franco. I’ve bought my chestnuts, finnochio, and Ferrara torrone in the blue box from Key Food; I’ve been shopping there since I was a kid when it was called G&G and run by the Gallaro brothers. And we’ll still pick up our bread order from Caputo’s Bread Store early on Christmas Eve.

We may not have Frank’s Department Store or Marietta’s to buy housecoats anymore but I have plenty of my mom’s housecoats to wear while I make struffoli this week. And we’ll roll out the dough on the countertop from my mom’s kitchen cabinet which I keep in my basement and use only twice a year—for making struffoli and pizza rustica. The struffoli recipe is a tradition all its own, carried down from my grandmother to my mother to me and to my children. And I know plenty of people all over the neighborhood who have their very own struffoli recipes, all a little different from each other, along with their own Christmas cookie recipes.

The other night I went to a fantastic Christmas concert featuring Christian Lee Branch at St. Paul’s on Court Street. My husband and I have been attending this concert for the past five years or so and we have established a new tradition in doing so. Christian is a super talented young man with a voice that just soars. The crowd was diverse, as was Christian’s repertoire. He sang a medley of songs in Spanish, French, Italian, and English. His rendition of "Tu scendi dalle stelle" brought tears to my eyes. It took me right back to midnight Mass at the Cabrini Chapel and memories of my Nonny, who came to this country from Sicily as an infant in 1913. He was as jolly as old St. Nick; and he held fast to the traditions from the other side and made new ones in his adopted home of Red Hook, that's what the entire neighborhood was called back then. I am so thankful to be still living in the very neighborhood where my grandfather grew up.

I know when we arrive home from my sister’s in Manalapan, NJ on Christmas Eve, the midnight Mass at SHSS will be letting out and when we unload the car, there will be a special peacefulness in the cold night air on the streets of Carroll Gardens, that Christmas Eve kind of stillness.

Every year my kids ask me what I want for Christmas and I answer “world peace.” Then they say, “no, really” and I tell them again, that’s what I really want. But peace is more elusive than ever; war and unrest are also constants. As soon as I get home on Christmas Eve, I will carry out another tradition; I will put Baby Jesus in the manger and say a little prayer as I do each year. My prayer is that people everywhere will feel what I feel on Christmas Eve, a kind of quiet peace; a connection and gratitude to my parents, grandparents, and all my ancestors; and a hopefulness, even for just a little while. I wish you and yours a Merry Christmas and all the very best in the new year.