Laetitia

Exciting news for the five people who read this blog: the sacred ingredients column has been converted into its very own blog! Go there now: http://sacredingredients.typepad.com/sacred_ingredients/

I’ll still be blogging away here as I journey through formation. But now to read the monthly sacred ingredients column, visit me over there.

When I had just moved to New York in pursuit of a publishing career, Gourmet magazine helped direct me to Rosa Mexicano near Lincoln Center. At first taste of that perfect tangy saltiness of their pomegranate margarita, I knew I had to take my Franciscan friend, El Cheapo, there for his birthday.  

At the tail end of a debilitating cold and after fighting my way through the very wet streets in Manhattan on a stormy May evening, I entered Rosa Mexicano to find El Cheapo sitting in table near the bar, copious notes and a few books strewn across the table. He had been a chaplain over at Columbia then, working on Asian Studies with Wm. Theodore deBary. Pouring over Buddhist thought, he had been sitting there for over an hour in anticipation without even so much as a glass of water: “I asked if they would let me sit here, and the hostess let me.”  He said this with a bit of glee, like the cat that ate the canary, because he had been allowed to sit there without spending a dime. 

I sought to remedy the drink situation and ordered us both Rosa Mexicano’s famous Pomegranate Margarita. I expected he would like the contrast of flavors, but had not anticipated that he had never tasted tequila. I will never forget that look on his face when he first tasted the margarita, a mixture of surprise, delight and a profound realization of its potency. It deceptively looks puny as a red-violet, frozen concoction, but it packs a mighty punch. We finished half of it before we walked up their beautiful long staircase with its cascading waterfall on the wall.  

The one margarita was enough for me with the cold, and one margarita was most definitely enough for El Cheapo as he devoured his mole enchilada. I remember him commenting on how good the black beans were and could not help but wonder if indeed the tequila was now taking full effect. My suspicions were confirmed while were walking down the long stairs and I mentioned how the pomegranate has often been used in Madonna and Child paintings: 

“The pomegranate margarita was great, wasn’t it? The pomegranate has often been used in Madonna and Child paintings, so in a way we’re celebrating Mary. Here’s to Our Lady…” 

“Now you sound like my grandfather who would have crazy reasons like that for drinking. Our Lady of the Avocado…” 

“Uh, do you mean pomegranate?” 

“Yeah, what did I say?” 

“Avocado.” 

“Oh right. How funny, Our Lady of the Avocado…” 

The memory of the pomegranate margarita will stay with me. I maintain the importance of the pomegranate in Christian art, however. Above you will see Botticelli’s Madonna of the Pomegranate. The pomegranate here has been interpreted by art historians as representing the fullness of suffering of Christ’s passion. We see Mary holding it firmly, representing in my view the Church holding forth his Passion. This of course works well with the pomegranate’s dual meaning of representing the universality of the Church because of its many seeds. 

The pomegranate then has an interesting dual meaning: Christ’s passion and the universality of the Church. At first glance it seems rather divergent in meaning. We tend to think of universality or catholic (in the strictest sense of catholic meaning universal) in positive terms and see Christ’s passion in negative terms. However, Franciscan thought takes a different view. It is precisely through Christ’s passion and suffering that we see the God of humble love. We see what Bonaventure would call God bent low in love. In conforming our life to the sufferings of Christ’s passion, we embrace God bent low in love for us. This embrace is not only universal, but also evident in the many branches or seeds of the Church. In this way, Franciscan thought helps us see the dual meaning of the pomegranate actually flowing quite consistently. 

Because I enjoyed that pomegranate margarita immensely, I will share the recipe for it here: 

Rosa Mexicano’s Pomegranate MargaritaRecipe from: Roberto Santibanez, Culinary Director, Rosa Mexicano restaurants Servings: 1  

2 ounces white tequila

½ ounce Triple Sec

1 ounce fresh lime juice

1 tablespoon fresh pomegranate juice (can substitute bottled pomegranate juice)

6 ounces ice, or more

Garnish with lime wheel or wedge Directions: Mix all the ingredients in a blender until smooth and frothy. Serve in a chilled glass and garnish with lime.

As you enjoy the pomegranate margarita, may you also nod toward the Madonna of the Pomegranate.

I went to a Catholic grammar school growing up in Syracuse. One of my very clearest first memories of religious instruction was an activity my class did in kindergarten.  We were each given a sheet a paper (or was it that we had to tear the perforated sheet from a book?) that had a very large heart shape ready for us to color.  Indeed others may have wanted to color it purple or green or orange, but I stuck to red being a complete and utter color purist. After we were finished coloring our paper hearts, we instructed to take a glue stick and apply it to our newly colored hearts. Then, we were given table salt to apply it the heart. We were learning what Jesus had said in Matthew, “You are the salt of the earth.”

Salt is actually an important ingredient. Salt was considered a mark of civilization for its ability to preserve food and diminish the dependency on seasonal produce. So valuable was salt that Roman soldiers were partly paid in salt for their wages. In Matthew, Jesus says, “You are the salt of the earth. But if salt loses its taste, with what can it be seasoned? It is no longer good for anything but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.” What can we infer?

Salt is unique in its ability to season and preserve — it never loses its flavor. So what did Jesus mean by salt losing its flavor? In the time of Jesus, they did not refine salt as we do today and instead went to the shores of the Dead Sea or the Salt Sea to comb the salt from the sand. However, it was difficult to differentiate between the sand and salt and thus most salt was a mixture of both. If the salt had more sand than salt, it was said to have lost its flavor.

It is in this sense that we can take a glimpse of Jesus’ meaning. If we are salt, then we have the ability to enhance and sustain the world. As human beings made in the image and likeness of God, we cannot lose our flavor. However, when we choose anything other than God’s love, we begin to add sand to our salt and gradually we begin to lose our flavor. In other words, we lose our ability to be present in the world as participants in the Christ mystery. And so, if dilute and delude ourselves with more and more sand, we become dangerously close to being of no use other than to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.

This is in part, too, about appearances and underlying realities. We may appear to be like salt but actually be full of sand, betraying ourselves and others. Our selfishness gains us abundant sand, but the good of what we could do is so diminished that it could easily be trampled underfoot. And with a world full of so much brokeness around every corner, we certainly need more salt and less sand. We must become the salt of the earth for the sake of the humble love of God so we can transform the world into love out of the hate.

Because I am from Syracuse, NY,  I am sharing a receipe very unique to Syracuse: salt potatoes. Salt mining has a long history in Syracuse and the Irish immigrants in Syracuse developed this combination in the 19th century. This appeals to my Irish roots, my Irish ancestors having come over in the early 19th century. 

Salt Potatoes
1 1/4 pounds kosher or rock salt
2 quarts water
2 pounds small fingerling, or small red potatoes, cleaned
4 tablespoons butter
 

In a large pot, combine the salt, water, and potatoes and bring to a boil. Cook until the potatoes are fork-tender, approximately 25 to 30 minutes. Remove from the pot to a cooling rack and let stand for 5 to 7 minutes. Serve with drawn butter.

My grandmother’s parents came here from Poland in the early 20th century.  She grew up mainly on a farm in upstate NY, the farm being her father’s solution to the rising costs of potatoes. Her older sisters and brothers spoke Polish, and she remembers speaking it until she went to school. And as the school scrubbed away her name Regina in favor of Virginia, so did they scrub away the Polish in favor of English. Tragically, her mother died when she was 17 and she was beginning to march in line with the rest of the greatest generation going off to fight World War II, albeit on the home front. In essence, she lost much of her familial Polish traditions in practice if not in spirit. The soul of a Pole remains Polish.

She still talks about the food her mother made. There is a wistfulness in her eyes and the longing of memories she knows are fading. I have often pressed her with the questions, hoping to resurrect what I perceive as a tragic loss of family tradition. However, as I have grown older I have begun to see our present traditions more in terms of evolution rather than devolution. And as I reflect on what our Easter traditions have been, I realize that there has always been horseradish.

Memories from past Easters always involve horseradish. It is almost a game the way everyone in mock ceremony passes the prepared horseradish to sniff. If you do not know, horseradish properly made can make one’s sinuses feel as though a firecracker has been set off inside. But the horseradish was always for the hardboiled eggs and it is my grandmother who takes the most delight in it.

Horseradish is a very traditional Polish Easter component. The horseradish, like for the Jewish Passover, symbolizes the bitterness of slavery of the Jewish people in Egypt. For Catholics, we also remember the slavery to sin we once had before Christ died to redeem us. For that reason, many Polish people add beet juice to the horseradish to symbolize Christ’s Passion.

All may not be lost for my search for Polish traditions. And if it is, I will always have memories of my grandmother and horseradish.

Chrzan (Horseradish)

INGREDIENTS:

1 horseradish root
salt to taste
4 tbl. sugar
5 tbl. boiling water
Juice of 2 lemons
Beet juice 

1. Grate horseradish root. Food processors will not work for this and it must be grated by hand. Do not grate beforehand or overnight. It must used  immediately to preserve its potency.

2. Add some salt, the sugar, and the fresh lemon juice.

3. Add about 5 spoonfuls of boiling water.

4. Add some beet juice for color.

5. Place in a clean glass jar and store in refrigerator.

Laetitia is proud to introduce a monthly food column called Sacred Ingredients. In it, I will discuss an ingredient and its religious significance historically or presently. I will also post a recipe for you to enjoy!

For the month of May, I will post a weekly Sacred Ingredients column! Stay tuned…

But how did this come about in the context of Secular Franciscan formation? 

Last week my fraternity broke off into small groups in our regular meeting.  The goal was to discuss the concept of family in an effort to both get to know each other more deeply and also to begin some group reflections on our Family and Youth Apostolate. And as I began to describe my own family, I realized how important food is to my family.  Our most sacred moments as a family happen while we cook together and share meals. It is in that spirit that I wish to discuss some sacred ingriedients with you and invite you around my virtual kitchen table to share some good eats.