Like all diaspora they brought their food. Many years ago I spent a summer cooking on a small island in the Elizabeth’s (a small island chain off of New Bedford) and made more Cioppino than you can shake a stick at. I drank enough Vino Verde (courtesy of Padanaram Liquors) to satisfy any thirst and ate enough fresh baked pastries to choke a cod fish. However, the best Portuguese dish, I feel, is Portuguese Kale Soup. I am not sure if they made this in Portugal but all up and down the New England coast you can find it, especially when the weather turns foul and the rains begin and the winter sets in. I grew up eating this soup in Provincetown and Truro from the time I was born until…well, now we come to it and to be honest I am getting a little weepy right now.

It is December 3, 2019 as I write this and I will post this tomorrow, December 4th. My mother died on December 4th four years ago, surrounded by love, and as peaceful as if she had just gone to sleep. She made Portuguese Kale Soup and that’s how I will always remember it. The recipe is simple and begins in the meat section of the A&P out on Shank Painter Road in Provincetown where mom would buy a package of Gaspar’s linguica and a box of frozen kale, a can of whole peeled tomatoes, a couple of potatoes, onions…the rest we had on hand. You basically just put it all in a pot, cover it all with water, add a bay leaf or two, some salt and pepper and cook it until the large-diced spuds are soft. As memories go it is a real winner. So much so that for the past year I have been trying to have some linguica, real-Massachusetts-grade-A-Portuguese-linguica, sent to me here on Paros. My sister brought some from Maine but the TSA took it. Every outlet I tried in the USA told me they couldn’t ship it overseas. Even Amazon didn’t have the right stuff. You see, there is a difference between Portuguese linguica (from Portugal) and the stuff I want. Worlds apart, as they say. And kale in Greece? What the heck is that?

But I found some kale…a little pale, but sturdy enough–fresh, not frozen. For the sausage I had to compromise. I will be using a mildly spicy Italian sausage I bought in Florence a few weeks ago at my sister’s suggestion. I am also using a little stock, not just water. The rest is the same. Almost. Yes…a little weepy again, but that’s alright. I have my mother’s spirit guiding me and her practical kitchen sense approving the alterations I must make. Because you see, the temperature is dropping and the rains are beginning and the winter is setting in on this little island in the sea and what I want is a bowl of Portuguese Kale Soup and the memory of a steamy kitchen filled with garlicky aromas and a voice saying, ‘Now…we’ll just let that sit and tomorrow it’ll be terrific…”

–JDCM

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Today is the first day of Lent in the Greek Orthodox Church.  For the next 40 days there should be seriousness, sadness, contemplation.  Also no oil, no animal products, no leavened bread,no meat with a backbone.  No weddings, no christenings, no birthdays, no name-days…Thank the gods for octopus and chorta, fresh clams and beans with lemon juice!  Like most traditions co-opted by the Church, the idea began long before Christianity.  It falls around the same time of the year when the stores of food would begin to run low.  The fall and summer harvest’s bounty is beginning to be used up and it is too early for the new lambs…the seas perhaps too rough to fish.  So for the next 40 days we scrimp and don’t eat so much.  Or so we should.  I think, maybe, considering everything that is happening in the world,  we should do it just to experience a little starvation.   Many people don’t have this luxury.

Today is also my mother’s birthday.  She would have been 92 today and we would have gathered and helped her to celebrate with flowers and cards.  I can still celebrate the day.  She was very proud of me and my sisters, loved us dearly and without conditions, without judgment.  She worried, like all good mothers can and do.  She rushed to our aid when she could.  She let us go as we needed.  She gathered us in her arms when we returned home for a holiday, a weekend or a much needed break from all the difficulties that taxed her children’s existence.   For me, she was the parent I turned to for help.  In times of trouble she would look me in the eye and say, “Listen, this is all going to be over soon…” or  “You have always been able to just do it, just go out there and make your own way…!”  and eventually “The last thing I want you to do is waste your life taking care of me…I’m alright.  You get on with it.”  She was quite the woman.  Quite the mother.  My mama.  Our mama! I miss her every Goddamn day…that would have been something she would have said too.  She was brilliant, caring, gentle and could curse like a longshoreman.  Happy Birthday mama.  Many kisses.

Below are some images from the past few weeks–pictures drawn by the children of some friends for my birthday, a photo of me at the bike race receiving the 3rd Place Bronze…Mom would have been tickled pink to see these things and to be at the party.  I would like to think she was.

–JDCM

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