My mother still makes zeppole today in a small black frying pan that she inherited from her mother. She uses this priceless, battle-scarred relic solely for zeppole and another favorite finger food, pitti fritti. Though not part of the Christmas Eve feast, the latter are worth mentioning here.
Pitti fritti are palm-size fritters made from leftover pizza dough. They are fried in olive oil like zeppole, left to cool for a moment, dipped in sugar, and eaten by everyone and anyone who is nearby, especially children. When making pizza, I often reserve some of the dough and keep it in the fridge overnight so I can make them for breakfast. As I said, they can be served with sugar, but they’re also a perfect partner to a fried egg.I
But let’s return to the zeppole. Another way of making them is to place a couple of anchovies in the dough as you are shaping it. I remember the first time I tried these as a very young boy and was completely repelled by the potency of the anchovies. But once I was in my teens and my palate had become more accepting of stronger flavors, I would patiently wait for those zeppole that my mother or grandmother had filled with anchovies. But, honestly, both versions are incredibly moreish.
Last summer I suddenly had a craving for zeppole, so I tried making them a couple of times, but they were not turning out properly. They weren’t puffing up enough, or at all, and basically were just sort of leaden. After a second failed attempt, I was loath to throw away the dough that I had worked so hard to make, so I decided to shape it into a small round pizza of sorts and bake it in the outdoor oven. To my amazement, it puffed up beautifully and, even though I prefer my pizza thin, was absolutely delicious. The potato gave it an added depth and a billowy softness. （I love potato bread but this was quite different.） I then started experimenting with different toppings—sautéed peppers and goat’s cheese, sautéed onions—all of which perfectly complemented the dough. With any of these toppings, a green salad, and a good beer, were it offered to me as lunch or dinner, I wouldn’t turn it down.
The next Christmas Eve dish that was and remains one of my favorites is baccalà. Baccalà is dried, salted cod that has been preserved by, well… drying and salting it, a process that has been used for millennia. Though cod comes from cold northern seas, it has found its way into the cuisine of cultures all over the world. The reason for this is that this method of preservation made it possible for it to be transported in large quantities over great distances, allowing it to be sold and traded. At one time cod was so plentiful, it was said that off the coast of Nova Scotia, people could walk across the water on the backs of this coveted fish. Unfortunately, due to overfishing, its numbers have dwindled, to say the least, hence the rather high price it commands at fishmongers’ the world over.
Leading up to Christmas Eve, as had been done for centuries, my mother would reconstitute the cod by soaking it in water for a day or so. It was then rinsed to remove the excess saltiness and slowly cooked in a very light tomato sauce with potatoes and green olives. Drizzled with extra-virgin olive oil and served with a piece of toasted bread, or “fiscotto,”II like most simple peasant dishes, it is probably one of the healthiest things one can ingest.
After the cod and other first-course dishes （there were so many I once suggested my parents build a vomitorium） came the main course. This was often a broiled bluefish.
Bluefish is not commonly eaten, as most people find it oily and “fishy.” （It is not as oily as mackerel and its meat is lighter and flakier, but it’s in the same family.） However, if it’s cooked properly, both of those qualities are tempered. It is also rather bony, which always put me off as a kid, but the taste was so hard to resist that I would steadily pick my way through my portion, much to my parents’ dismay, with my bony little hands.
The preparation for this dish is very simple. The fish is cut in half lengthwise and sprinkled liberally with a mixture of breadcrumbs, olive oil, a little chopped garlic, chopped parsley, and salt, on top of which a few thinly sliced lemon rounds are laid. It is then placed on a baking tray, loosely covered in foil, and put in the oven to bake at 325 degrees Fahrenheit. After about twenty minutes to half an hour, the foil is removed and the oven is switched to broil （grill if you are British, still confusing for me to this day）， and the fish is cooked for about five minutes to crisp and brown the top, and then left to rest for a few minutes.
Now, as you know, whenever you cook fish, your kitchen will smell like… well, fish. And when you cook bluefish, it will smell even more like fish. Not like a fish that has gone off, but just… more. But don’t let this stop you from trying it! I promise that the delicate breadcrumb mixture and the acidity of the lemon work perfectly to nullify this particular poisson’s pungency, giving it an almost sweet flavor.