“Stand in front of the refrigerator, honey!” my mother said with a smile.
“Oh, mom!” I looked at her with pleading eyes. “Please don’t make me.”
“Joey, please? Please sing for everyone? Sing ‘Silent Night.’ You know that everyone loves it when you sing.”
“But,... ” I said, my eyes begging her. Deep down I knew she had me. Whenever she asked me to do anything, I’d do it for her…“Okay, I’ll sing.”
In a navy blue dress with white smocking around the collar—my favorite dress, made for me by my grandmother Sears—and with my head bowed low, I walked slowly toward my stage: the front of the white Frigidaire. Why my mom chose the refrigerator as my stage was a mystery to me, though I am guessing it was because of what was inside?
I looked up but could hardly see through the smoke rising from the cigarette dangling from Aunt Milly’s lips. Aunty Ruby, in a red chiffon dress with white polka dots and nursing a stiff martini, sat next to her. My mom stood there with a wide smile on her rosy face.
It was Christmas Eve, late 1950s, and I was about to make my debut on the Frigidaire stage.
"Si-i-lent night, ho-o-ly night, all is calm, all is bright . . ."
“Round young vir-r-gins, Mother and Child,” I could hear giggling, but I just kept going.
“Holy infant so tender and wild.” And then, for the finale, I belted it out, “Sleep in hea-ven-ly pleeee-ease, sle-eep in hea-ven-ly please.”
Having completed my first live appearance, I stepped away from the stage.
“Ding!” the timer from the stove rang.
“Dinner is served!” my Mom said, as she shoved big oven mitts onto her hands and pulled a pan of bubbling hot scalloped Blue Point oysters, the dish for which she was famous, from the oven.
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Excerpted from “Kitchen Gypsy: Recipes and Stories from a Lifelong Romance with Food” - give or get this great book by clicking here.
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Wishing you the happiest of holidays!
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