Nana and Mama gathered the ingredients for making our special Italian pastry called pita piata. Daddy wiped off the table so we could roll out the dough. My little brother Paul squealed with glee, escaping Papa’s strong, hairy arms as he chased him around the room. While they played, my older cousin Carl and I brought bowls of chopped walnuts and raisins to the table. I sneaked a golden raisin. Mmmm, my favorite.
Nana and Mama measured the ingredients into our giant bowl. Daddy and Papa took turns mixing the dough. They really had to use their muscles to make it smooth. I peered over the edge, watching the flour and sugar become wet and sticky from the water we added.
People say many hands make light work, but I believe even heavy work is better when we can do it in community.
Mama always proportioned the dough to make sure it was even. She cut the dough in half, then the halves in half until we had sixteen perfect disks of dough. Daddy grabbed Nana’s heavy, wooden pin and rolled out the dough. He loved the challenge of making it paper thin.
“Your daddy is the best roller around,” Papa said, elbowing me, “even if he’s not Italian.”
That was a big compliment.
“You ready, my little capatosta?” Papa asked, pinching my arm. Papa always called me “capatosta” or “hard head” in Italian. He called me that because I’m stubborn, but I know he’s just as stubborn as I am.
I shook cinnamon on top of the dough while Papa spread the sugar around. We were Christmas angels throwing stardust over the night sky on Christmas Eve. Papa’s eyes twinkled.
Nana poured the oil on top and mixed it in perfectly with her long, thin fingers. Then it was time for my favorite part — the raisins and nuts.
Paul dashed into the room. “Can I help? Can I help?”
Papa helped Paul mix the oil with the cinnamon sugar on the dough. Paul giggled and licked his fingers. Mama gave him that look and sent him to the bathroom to wash his hands. I sprinkled the raisins and nuts over the dough, pretending they were music notes dancing the Tarantella through the air.
Then we started rolling the dough from opposite ends. Papa began to roll his end. I followed. We met in the middle, creating a double pastry roll.
“And now we join the circle,” I said.
“Yes,” Papa replied with a wide grin.
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This is a circle we have continued to join year after year, generation after generation in our family. A circle that represents a kind of unending love, enduring faith, and precious memories.
Today my brother Paul and I lead our families along with my parents in the making of the pita piata. We gather with our spouses and our six kids who are in their teen years or will be soon. Sometimes my sister’s family from Washington joins us with her adult kids. We gather at the table each Christmas to bake and remember my Papa John and Nana Sara, my Uncle Russ, and my first husband Ericlee who are all in Heaven now.
Our Pita Piata Making Day has been a holiday tradition in our family for generations. Maybe a tradition more important than decorating the tree or filling stockings. Through the years, I’ve come to believe food is the best way to remember our loved ones who have soared to heaven. Why?
Food sparks memory. The smells, textures, and tastes can take us back to scenes from our childhood or special trips or a time when our loved ones were seated at our tables. God created us with thousands of taste buds that help us differentiate between the five main flavors: salty, bitter, sweet, sour, and umami (or savory).
The holidays can often carry a swirl of flavors and emotions. The days can be full of grief and joy, happiness and heartache — often all at the same time, especially when we are missing our people. And yet, Christmas is a time to remember Immanuel, God with us, God coming near in the midst of our longing.
One of the healing practices we have in our family is remembering our people through food. My kids remember their dad whenever my daughter bakes his favorite snickerdoodle cookies. I remember my Grandma Sara when we roll ravioli on Christmas Day for our feast. Maybe you serve up your aunt’s cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning or that bacon-wrapped turkey in honor of your brother on Christmas Eve. Let me encourage you to take time not just to savor the food, but also to tell the stories of the people who live on through the memories of these special dishes. May these stories multiply faith through the generations.
Food provides nourishment. God created food for both delight and to build strength in our physical bodies. As humans, we are dependent on food. It’s a necessity like breathing. We remember the Israelites who were emancipated from slavery, but then wandered in the desert for forty years. God provided manna for them — a sweet bread from heaven — and quail for protein. This food was a reminder of their dependence on the Father.
Food fosters remembrance. Jesus modeled this for us over and over again in His ministry. He invited His disciples to the table and used food to feed and teach them. He multiplied a boy’s lunch to feed five thousand and later declared, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty” (John 6:35 NIV).
Jesus broke bread and poured wine on the night of His betrayal to help prepare His closest friends for his death. After His resurrection, He hosted a fish fry on the shore to replenish His disciples’ bodies and feed their souls for the future.
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It’s that time of year again. The aroma of the pita piata pastry wafts through the house. We pull baking trays from the oven and slice up another round of pita piata. We sink our teeth into that first bite of cinnamon-sugar-heavenly goodness, and we remember.
Friend, is there a food or dish that reminds you of your loved ones? Share in the comments about one of your family food traditions and how it honors their legacy.
Dorina helps women discover God’s glory in unexpected places. Subscribe to Dorina’s Glorygram here for recipes, reflections, and details about her new book, Breathing Through Grief.
It is true! We remember through food. We used to have a tradition of making peanut brittle with our small children at Christmas time and then taking plates of goodies to the neighbors. But we haven’t since they left and married. My husband and I still bake at Christmas and do a few plates, but not on the scale we used to do. Nice memories. Thank you for pointing out all the food references that our Lord used. Lovely devotional.
What a sweet tradition! Sometimes we do have to scale back! You could surprise your kids with a care package!
My mother always made crab stew on Christmas Eve. I lost both of my parents last year, so holidays are hard now. My husband says he will be making my mom’s stew for me this year.
We make my grandma’s Italian fish soup for Christmas Eve!
Melody,
Sweet sister so sorry for the loss of both parents. May God comfort you & give you a sense of peace. Use this time to remember your parents & the fun you all had. Asking God to bless you with His gentle touch.
Blessings 🙂
I love this so much. At Thanksgiving I made the Waldorf fruit salad my mom always made, in her honor. She passed last year. I wish I had family to do holiday baking with.
That sounds delicious! Maybe you could invite a friend over for a baking party!
My mother would make traditional shortbread, without fail every year for Christmas. One Christmas we all attempted to make the shortbread and all 4 of us failed. Two days before Christmas she had a stroke and died. When we gathered for her funeral, as per tradition my younger siblings when to open the chest freezer when they ‘came home’ and there was mom’s huge tin full of her shortbreads.
What a sweet gift on several levels!
I remember being drawn to spend time with my Grama as she baked a plethora of goodies. I can’t remember what all she created but the memories of her kitchen are vivid. My mom was known for her baking & gifting chocolate chip cookies. Years before she passed we were discussing what she’d like read & sung at her memorial service. I told her obviously I couldn’t promise not knowing what the circumstances would be when the time came but if I could, I would bake her cookie recipe & serve them after her service. God gave me “12 days notice” as she declined in Hospice House. Friends & I baked batches & everyone ate chocolate chip cookies & drank milk at the visitation after the worship service. One last cookie from The Viv brought joy to everyone present. Thank you for this beautiful devotional! Blessings,(((0)))
I have a story I wrote for a collection of family Christmas stories,
“Mom’s Old-Fashioned Fudge.”
I can still remember my mom making homemade chocolate fudge each year at Christmas. Her fudge was a family favorite as far back into my childhood as memories go. It was the old-fashioned kind with cocoa, sugar, milk, butter, salt and vanilla.
My most vivid memory is how much my dad loved it and couldn’t wait for it to harden enough to have the first piece. I don’t have that many good memories of my dad, but this is one of them and it has a special place in my heart.
For some reason my dad, a man plagued with anger issues, seemed to enjoy Christmas and was on better behavior than usual. I don’t remember him ever ruining Christmas with one of his angry outbursts or fits of rage.
After my mom died at the age of 71 in 2001, and I was still struggling to have a relationship with my dad, I would make mom’s fudge and send him some every Christmas. He loved it and eagerly looked forward to it. It wasn’t just a food gift at Christmas—it was a bridge to demonstrate love to a father who had never had a genuine loving relationship with me. He died in 2011 and I can honestly say I miss sending him his favorite chocolate fudge.
It may seem like an insignificant gift or a small gesture, but in light of the history and relationship we had and his severe treatment of me especially through my teen years, this fudge that I made and sent to my dad in the mail for ten years was a gift of love for a father who was difficult to love.
Up until the year my dad died, I was still trying to build a relationship with him. It was baby steps but each step counted. One of those baby steps was making him mom’s old-fashioned chocolate fudge every Christmas.
My grandparents owned the cafe in a small Iowa town in the 50’s and 60’s. My grandma made homemade “gooey” rolls (pecan rolls) that people from that town and others would come for after church on Sundays. My mom said grandma would get up at 3am every Sunday morning to start hand made dough and prep the pans. She made dozens and would run out every Sunday. I now make them for my family for our traditional Christmas brunch, as well as for my parents and brother’s family for Christmas morning. The sweet smell of brown sugar and cinnamon as they are baking is such a precious memory of my grandma. The highest praise is when my mom told me they taste just like grandma’s!
Dorina – thanks for sharing this today!
I have wonderful memories of helping my grandmother make nut roll (potica in Slovenian). We would stretch the dough paper thin by pulling our knuckles underneath until you could see the pattern on the tablecloth below, then spread the thick, yummy nut mixture all over. I have the recipe in the hundreds of index cards my mom left and I kept the tablecloth because of the sweet memories. My husband and I want to honor the family memories and will be making nut roll sometime soon.
That’s me too! Grew up in Cleveland and am in Los Angeles now.
Oh yum! I love learning about your nut roll tradition!
My husband’s family and their delicious tamales! This year my mother-in-law is hosting Christmas Eve. I’m soooo excited as it’s been years since she has hosted. The memories will just flood my soul. Her beautiful dishes on the table with a holiday table cloth. The house will still smell of her banana bread loafs she makes for friends, family and her church family. The kitchen will have the steam of the tamales cooking and my mouth will water. I know she will be tired, but I also know she will be filled with love to once again open her heart, her kitchen and gather around her table and bless the Lord for her family and home \0/
My mom always baked a special pastry for our family at Christmas and Easter, and since we don’t have her with us I have continued the tradition, sending it to friends and family across the country and even back to Europe, where my cousin carries on the baking tradition with my mom’s recipe for her family. It brings love and joy to those who appreciate it, and I love remembering my mom when I make it.
What a special way to remember your mom! What’s the pastry?!
The whole time I read this I thought of my grandmother, nanny. She made chocolate pie, for every gathering, and knew my sister and I ate so many servings we needed our own pie. One of the greatest compliments she gave me was near the end of her life, when I started making her pie, and she said I was the one in the family who made her pie “right.” My nieces, one of whom looks an awful lot like my nanny, has started making these pies with my sister and mom- this year they’ll be here from their home up north and I can’t wait to make pie with my nieces and share those moments with them.
How sweet! You have the touch! That’s a high compliment! Thank you for sharing!
Dorina,
I remember making sugar cookies & using cookie cutters to make them into shapes. Loved to ice them & put sprinkles on them. A real good memory I have is my foster grandma making her famous mince meat pie. You could smell the alcohol she put in it & boy did I devour it. We don’t bake much due to work & having no children. This year I made cranberry orange bread & peanut butter cookies for my husband’s boss. She has worked a ton lately, short staffed. I thought her family might enjoy the food.
Blessings 🙂
Melody,
Sweet sister so sorry for the loss of both parents. May God comfort you & give you a sense of peace. Use this time to remember your parents & the fun you all had. Asking God to bless you with His gentle touch.
Blessings 🙂