Tag Archives: Florence + the Machine

Aug 15 2017
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Feast of the Assumption, Ferragosto

Ferragosto or, Dog Days are Over

While in Japan it is the time of Obon, in Italy it is the time of Ferragosto. Woe to American tourists who travel to Italian cities at this time of year, for chances are good they will find the majority of shops and restaurants closed. Most Italians have headed to the sea for the Ferragosto holiday, a practice that dates back to ancient Rome where this time was known as Feriae Augusti, or “Holidays of the Emperor Augustus.”

The sea is the logical destination as these sultry Dog Days of summer, the hottest part of the year, ruled by Sirius, the dog star, come to a close. There are many schools of thought as to the meaning and the timing of the Dog Days, but if we have to choose one, I’ll subscribe to the version that has them begin each year in early July and end about now, around the 15th of August. For all these Dog Days, Sirius and our sun have been rising together in the morning sky. It was thought in times past that the combined heat of the two made for our hottest days. But in the constant rearrange of the stars and planets, now Sirius begins to emerge from the sun’s bright light and heat to rise independently. The two forces separate.

In the Catholic Church, the 15th of August is the Feast of the Assumption, marking the day of Mary’s ascent, body and soul, to heaven. Mary, human like us. It is also my maternal grandmother’s birthday. Because she was born on the Assumption, her parents named her Assunta, in honor of the day. Ferragosto and the Feast of the Assumption go hand in hand.

In Lavagna, Italy, yesterday brought a festival that features a cake that stands 21 feet tall! It is the Torta dei Fieschi, a wedding anniversary celebration that dates all the way back to 1230. Tomorrow, on the 16th, it is Il Palio in Siena, the famous horse race that runs through the entire city. This Ferragosto tradition is accompanied by celebrations throughout Siena and, of course, great quantities of food and wine.

In short, if you are in Italy, Ferragosto is not a time to stay home. But this seems not unusual. Some years ago, my mom’s cousin Tina visited from Italy. We had never met her before. She arrived in Miami for a one week stay with three very heavy suitcases, and while she was with us, she changed outfits more than once a day. One of her morning robes had feathers on it. We had never seen such a thing except maybe in glamorous old Hollywood films. Feathers floated into the air in her wake as she floated down the hallway. On Sunday during her visit, we did what we always do: Mom made a big dinner while Dad puttered around the house. Tina asked in Italian, “But what do you do on Sundays here?” Mom answered in the best Italian she could muster. “We cook, we read the paper, we relax.” Tina was not impressed. “In Italy,” she said, “we go out. We go dancing.”

This is what I imagine Italy to be like during Ferragosto, at least if you are in the right place at the right time. If you are in a touristy part of Florence or Rome during Ferragosto, you’re probably in the wrong place at the wrong time. But if you are in Siena, or in Lavagna, or in Napoli (where Tina is from)… well, there’s probably a lot of celebrating and dancing to be done. Get you to the sea or get you to a festa. Summer is coming to a close and it is time to send it out with a bang. Florence + the Machine have got that down pat. The dog days are over, the dog days are done.

This chapter of the Convivio Book of Days appeared originally on August 15, 2015. When Seth and I were at Elizabeth Ave Station last Saturday night for their Silver & Gold party, the band closed the night with their own rendition of the Florence + the Machine song. Did they know that the Dog Days were almost over? Hard to say. But hearing that song made my night. Hopefully it will do the same for you here. The blue girls in go go boots remind me of Dr. Morales, Haden’s veterinarian. I’ve never told her that.

In Lucera, the hometown of my maternal grandparents in Southern Italy, this past weekend was the Torneo delle Chiavi Lucera, the Tournament of the Keys of Lucera. It is an annual medieval festival, procession, and tournament. Over the weekend here, my mom made cucuzza and eggs, traditional for the feast of the Assumption and for Grandma’s birthday, and this is what’s for dinner tonight. It is hearty peasant fare; it requires a good crusty loaf of bread. Grandma was born in 1898. She probably ate cucuzza and eggs for most all of her birthdays, and still we do, too.

 

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Aug 15 2016
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Feast of the Assumption, Ferragosto

Cucuzza, Assunta, & Ferragosto

Cucuzza

I spent a couple of hours yesterday, the 14th of August, in pursuit of cucuzza longa, the odd, obscure vegetable that Italians love to cook for the Feast of the Assumption. My best hope, I thought, would be the Italian market up in Palm Beach Gardens. That’s not close by.

“Why don’t you just call before you go?” Seth suggested. I thought about it. In my head, I conjured a teenage girl at the market answering the phone. I’d ask, “Do you have cucuzza longa?” and she would say, “I’m sorry, what?” “Cucuzza longa,” I would say again. “You know, the long green vegetable that’s kind of like zucchini, but really it’s a gourd. For the Assumption. You know. Don’t you?”

Of course she wouldn’t know. Cucuzza longa is one of the bizarre Mediterranean things our ancestors left behind in the Old Country that didn’t quite translate to their new home. But a few of them longed for these things even after they set foot on American soil, and they continued to grow them in their backyard gardens. My grandfather did, anyway, and so did Rosa, the old woman with the rough hands that my mom would buy vegetables from each summer. Rosa would wrap all our purchases in newspaper and twine. The cucuzza, I remember, would stick out of the paper; there was too much vegetable, in that case, to wrap completely.

So I drove up to the market instead, feeling not very hopeful but at the same time half expecting to see a big, special display of cucuzza awaiting me as I walked through the doors. Alas, no luck. (The photo, in case you’re wondering, is a random find from the Internet––thank you Unknown Cucuzza Photographer.)

My grandmother was born on the 15th of August, 1898; her parents, my great-grandparents, gave her the name Assunta, for she was born on Azzunzione, the Feast of the Assumption, which comes every 15th of August. It is a holy day of obligation for us Catholics. The Church in America moves the date around so that it falls on a Sunday each year, but in Italy it remains the 15th of August, its proper day, and a national holiday. It is, as well, the start of Ferragosto, a time when most Italians close up shop and head to the seaside, a practice that goes back to the country’s Ancient Roman roots. The name Ferragosto, in fact, is derived from the Latin Feriae Augusti (Holidays of the Emperor Augustus).

The cucuzza longa in the picture above are each, no doubt, upwards of three feet long. They’re gourds, not squashes, and the plant’s flowers are white, not yellow like squash flowers. They can grow straight as bowling pins, yet some grow into curvy serpentine shapes. We peel them, cut them into long strips, and cook them up with a scramble of eggs, parmesan cheese, and lots of flat-leaf Italian parsley. Some fresh olive oil and salt and pepper complete the dish. Paired with a crusty loaf of bread, it is a very good meal, and it is traditional for the Feast of the Assumption (and for Grandma’s birthday). If you know of a source here in South Florida, please let me know. Next year, though, my plan is to grow my own cucuzza in my summer garden, right next to the okra and the sunflowers.

August 15th brings another transition of late summer into fall: the dog star, Sirius, has been rising together with the sun each morning for the past six weeks and now Sirius begins to emerge from the sun’s bright light and heat to rise independently. This six-week joining of stellar forces each summer is known as the Dog Days of Summer, a time when days are thought to be the sultriest. This year, here in Florida at least, that was certainly the case. Tomorrow, with Sirius’s first independent rising in weeks, the Dog Days are over, the Dog Days are done. For another year, at least.

 

 

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