Christmas Day
Christmas mornings with three small children—as anyone will know who has three small children—are at once heartwarming and exhausting. Upon far too early an awakening, Kate and I would have to stop the kids from going after their gifts like velociraptors attacking their prey. I always kept large plastic bags at the ready and would fill them with the shredded wrapping paper as soon as it was rent from the presents by their desperate little hands. (This is to ensure that tidiness is maintained and that no present gets lost or discarded accidentally under what will soon be mounds of paper. I once threw away a beautiful antique pencil drawing I had bought for Kate as a gift, and since then I diligently employ the “unwrap—grab the wrap—bag the wrap” method. Not a single piece of artwork or tin toy soldier has been lost since.)
After all the hubbub and the thrill of gift giving had ended and some adult relative who had come to stay was assembling a toy that I refused to assemble because I can’t bear to read instructions, it was always our intention to loll around for a while in our pajamas, sip coffee, and watch the children short-circuit as they bounced from one toy to another. Every year we imagined that these rare moments of repose were a possibility, as guests would not arrive for Christmas dinner until midafternoon. But every year this never happened. Here is the reason why.
There is a dish, a very special dish, that is served in our home on Christmas Day. It is called timpano. This is a baked drum of pastry-like dough filled with pasta, ragù, salami, various cheeses, hard-boiled eggs, and meatballs. It’s a big, heavy dish, and needless to say very filling. The recipe and the tradition of serving it on special occasions, particularly Christmas, were brought to America by my father’s family. I never remember not having it on Christmas Day, whether we were celebrating at our home or at the home of one of my dad’s siblings. It is quite a showstopper, so much so that we chose to feature it in Big Night as the centerpiece of the film’s climactic meal. However, its preparation is very labor-intensive, and the cooking process requires much time and attention. It is for this last reason that, even though we would not be sitting down to eat until about two or three p.m., my parents would arrive at about eleven a.m. to begin the process of finishing the cooking of the timpano, which they had painstakingly assembled a couple of days before.
Upon hearing the sound of car tires on the gravel drive and a moment later the shouts of “Merry Christmas!” from my parents’ mouths, I would sheepishly look at Kate. She would sigh quietly and then, as she slowly turned and stared at me, I would see something die in her eyes. At this point my anxiety level would skyrocket and I’d flit off to the bar to see if I couldn’t find liquid calm in a bloody Mary or a scotch sour. Laden with gifts and platters of food,* including the pièce de résistance shrouded in a large dishcloth, my elegantly dressed parents would climb the stairs smiling from ear to ear, as thrilled to see us as if we’d all been separated for decades, when in fact we had only just seen them the night before. They were so happy and excited, how could I even think of being put out by their extremely early arrival? (Well, per- haps not so much me as my poor wife.) I will tell you how. The timpano.
* Even though we were cooking the dinner, my mother refused not to bring at least three extra side dishes as well as any leftovers from the Christmas Eve dinner, from which we were all still recovering, because in her words, “I’m not going to eat them and God knows your father doesn’t need them!”
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First let me give you the recipe so that you might acquaint your- selves with this traditional Tucci family fare.
Timpano
—SERVES 12 TO 16—
(THE PROPORTIONS MAY BE ADAPTED TO FIT A SMALLER OR LARGER CONTAINER)
The dough for timpano is rolled out into a thin round, the diameter of which is determined by the pan you are baking it in. Add together the diameter of the bottom of the pan, the diameter of the top of the pan, and twice the height of the pan. The total will equal the approximate diameter needed. The dough may be kneaded in advance and set aside while you prepare the pan, or refrigerated overnight. Return it to room temperature before rolling it out. It is important to generously grease the pan with butter and olive oil before lining the pan with the dough. Greasing and lining the pan with the dough may be done while the pasta is cooking.
The meat used in preparing the ragù is generally served for dinner the night before the timpano is baked, because no one has room for anything other than salad after eating timpano.
— FOR THE DOUGH —
4 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting 4 large eggs
1 teaspoon kosher salt
3 tablespoons olive oil
1⁄2 cup water
— TO PREPARE THE PAN —
Butter Olive oil
— FOR THE FILLING —
3 pounds ziti, cooked very al dente (about half the time recommended on the package) and drained (18 cups cooked)
2 tablespoons olive oil
8 cups Ragù Tucci (double the recipe on page 71), at room temperature 4 cups (1/4 x 1⁄2-inch pieces) Genoa salami, at room temperature
4 cups (1/4 x 1⁄2-inch cubes) sharp provolone cheese, at room temperature
12 hard-boiled large eggs, shelled, quartered lengthwise, and each quarter cut in half to create chunks, at room temperature
4 cups little meatballs, at room temperature
1 cup finely grated Pecorino Romano
6 large eggs, beaten
- To make the dough: Place the flour, eggs, salt, and olive oil in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the dough hook. (A large-capacity food processor may also be used.) Add 3 tablespoons of the water and process. Add more water, 1 tablespoon at a time, until the mixture comes together and forms a ball. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured work surface and knead to make sure it is well mixed, about 10 minutes. Set aside to rest for 5 minutes.
- (To knead the dough by hand, mix the flour and salt together on a clean, dry work surface or pastry board. Form the dry ingredients into a mound and then make a well in the center. Break the eggs into the center of the well and beat them lightly with a fork. Stir in 3 tablespoons of the water. Use the fork to gradually incorporate some of the dry ingredients into the egg mixture. Continue mixing the dry ingredients into the eggs, adding the remaining water 1 tablespoon at a time. Knead the dough with your hands to make a well-mixed, smooth, dry dough. If the dough becomes too sticky, add more flour. Set aside to rest for 5 minutes.)
- Flatten the dough out on a lightly floured work surface. Dust the top of the dough with flour and roll it out, dusting with flour and flipping the dough over from time to time to keep it from sticking to the work surface, until it is about 1/16 inch thick and the desired diameter.
- Prepare the pan: Grease the timpano baking pan (a round enamel basin or casserole dish) very generously with butter and olive oil so that it is well lubricated. Fold the dough in half and then in half again to form a triangle and place it in the pan. Unfold the dough and arrange it in the pan, gently pressing it against the bottom and the side and draping the extra dough over the side. Set aside.
- Preheat the oven to 350°F.
- Make the filling: Toss the drained pasta with the olive oil and allow it to cool slightly before tossing with 2 cups of the ragù. Distribute 4 generous cups of the pasta over the dough on the bottom of the timpano. Top with 1 cup of the salami, 1 cup of the provolone, 3 of the hard-boiled eggs, 1 cup of the meatballs, and 1⁄3 cup of the Romano cheese. Pour 2 cups of the ragù over these ingredients. Repeat this process to create additional layers using an equal amount of each ingredient until they have come within 1 inch of the top of the pan, ending with 2 cups of ragù.
- Pour the beaten eggs over the filling. Fold the dough over the filling to seal completely. Trim away and discard any overlapping dough. Make sure that the timpano is tightly sealed. If you notice any small openings, cut a piece of the trimmed dough to fit over the opening, using a small amount of water to moisten the scraps to ensure a tight seal has been made.
- Bake until lightly browned, about 1 hour. Then cover with aluminum foil and continue baking until the dough is golden brown and the timpano is cooked through (and reaches an internal temperature of 120°F), about 30 minutes. Remove from the oven and allow to rest for 30 minutes to cool and contract before attempting to remove from the pan. (The baked timpano should not adhere to the pan. To test, gently shake the pan to the left and then to the right. It should spin slightly in the pan. If any part is still attached, carefully detach with a knife.)
- To remove the timpano from the pan, place a baking sheet or thin cutting board that’s large enough to cover the entire diameter of the pan on top of the timpano. Grasp the baking sheet or cutting board and the rim of the timpano pan firmly and invert the timpano. Remove the pan and allow the timpano to cool for 30 minutes more.
- Using a long, sharp knife, cut a circle approximately 3 inches in diameter in the center of the timpano, making sure to cut all the way through to the bottom. Then slice the timpano into individual portions as you would a pie, leaving the center circle as a support for the remaining pieces. The cut pieces should hold together, revealing the built-up layers of great stuff.
It is the inconstant cooking and resting times required of each individual timpano made any given year that became the bane of Christmas Day. It is a temperamental dish to say the least. It might take an hour or two to cook, then need to rest for an hour, or vice versa. It depends on the oven, the vessel it’s cooked in, if the sauce it is made with is a little more watery than usual, if the timpano has been previously frozen, etc., etc. That’s all fine, if it is the only thing you are serving. But timpano was served as a first course. Therefore it was impossible to time the second course, like a leg of lamb or even a simple ham. People often wonder why, if there is such a huge first course, there is even a need for a second course at all. I have no answer for them. All I know is that it is traditional. It is very rare that one eats in an Italian home and both a primo and a secondo are not served on any given day. I remember the first time my brother-in-law John came to visit us in Westchester, my parents were over and my mother had cooked. She served the Tucci family ragù with pasta, followed by the ragù meat and meatballs. Obviously finding it delicious, John kept going back for more. After a while, bowls and plates were cleared and new plates laid, at which point my mother brought a roast chicken, potatoes, two different vegetables, and a salad to the table. I noticed that John was suddenly a bit rattled. Confounded by what was basically another entire meal being placed before him, he politely asked, “Wow, wait, what’s all this?”
“What do you mean?” asked my mother, equally confounded by his query. “It’s dinner.”
“Still?!” He gawped. “I mean, well, what was that, that we just ate?”
“That was just the first course,” said my father, grinning devilishly. “Oh my God! I thought—”
“You thought that was it, didn’t you?” I asked.
“Well, yeah. I mean, I had three helpings!”
“I had a feeling you thought that was the main course!”
“Are you kidding?! You can’t have just that. Especially on a Sunday!” chastised my mother.
Needless to say, we dug into the chicken and vegetables with gusto.
Two courses. It’s just the way it has always been, and on holidays both courses just get bigger. A lasagna, a bowl of pasta, or a soup as a first course is perfectly acceptable, but as I say, timpano can cause issues both culinary and marital. How many over- or undercooked, not inexpensive pieces of meat were angrily eaten by Kate due to her inability to time them appropriately because of the timpano, I cannot say. Not only were those legs or hocks lovingly prepared by her but also, they were what she was looking forward to eating, because she didn’t even like timpano. (It’s sort of like cilantro; you either like it or you don’t. I happen to love it.) But even if the meal miraculously ended up being timed perfectly, the timpano was so rich and heavy that the meat course could not be enjoyed to the fullest. At any rate, somehow we ate our way through just about everything most Christmases, but not without a lingering resentment deep in Kate’s soul.
I am of course being a bit harsh when I make it seem as though Christmases were ruined completely by an inanimate drum of pasta-filled pastry, but sometimes it came close. As I said, usually a ham or leg of lamb was served. The ham would be a large bone-in shank, studded with cloves and a few pineapple rings and basted with a brown-sugar glaze. It was then left to rest and served with potatoes, either roasted or au gratin, and string beans. If we were serving lamb, it was salted and drizzled with olive oil, and incisions were made with a small knife, into which garlic and rosemary were inserted. A little white wine mixed with the meat juices made a light and savory gravy. The sweet smell of a leg of lamb roasting in the oven still brings back so many happy holiday memories for me. Throughout most of the world lamb is eaten a great deal but it seems to have fallen out of favor in America, and I am not sure why, as it is delicious and can be cooked so many ways.*
* The English and the Italians love lamb, and places like Australia and New Zea- land are famous for theirs, yet perhaps the most delicious lamb I have ever eaten was in Iceland. I will address this in another chapter.
After dinner, espresso, digestivi, fruit, nuts, dates, dried figs, biscotti, and Lazzaroni amaretti cookies were served. These little almond-flavored rounds came wrapped in a delicate, crinkly, opaque paper. My father’s favorite party trick was to roll the paper into a tube, stand it upright on the dinner table, and light the top of it on fire. If done properly it would burn down evenly, and, while somehow maintaining its cylindrical shape, just before the flame reached the bottom and singed the tablecloth, the now-blackened paper would float high up into the air and almost, but never, touch the ceiling. What properties cause it to become aerodynamic when ignited are a mystery, but I know of no other paper in the world that has this ability. As kids we begged my dad to do it over and over again, and he was more than willing to oblige, often to my mother’s dismay. The reason being that there were a few instances when there was a “failure to launch” and certain precious tablecloths still bear the scars.
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After dinner, dessert, and semi-drunken conversations about politics or something vaguely serious were attempted, the furniture was cleared to the edges of the living room, and the “Ring Game” was played. This is a game of deception in which lying and cheating are encouraged. There are no teams and there is no winner. A ring is threaded onto a long piece of string, which is then tied together at the ends. A circle is formed by the players, who hold the circle of string in both fists at waist height. One person is placed in the middle of the circle, whose goal it is to find out which player is hiding the ring. The person who has been found to have the ring then takes their place in the center. As soon as the game commences, all players begin sliding their hands in both directions, either pretending to pass the ring or actually passing the ring to the players on either side of them, shout- ing wildly things like, “Here, you take it! I don’t want it!” etc., etc. Needless to say, the poor person in the middle is slowly driven mad. The better you were at slipping the ring into the fist of the person next to you, and they are caught with it by the person in the middle, the less likely you were to end up in the middle. It is a cruel but brilliantly funny game, and as soon as you understand that cheating is not only necessary but fair, as it sometimes is in life, you will enjoy it.
At the end of the day, when all the guests had gone and the children were tucked away after endlessly caterwauling about not being tired, Kate and I would end up having the “inevitable conversation.” It is important for you to know that this was a woman with the patience of a saint, a woman who seldom complained about anything. But by the light of the Christmas tree, as I sipped a late-night scotch, the words “That fucking timpano . . .” would hiss from her lips and a discussion about tradition, how not to insult family, or whether we should just go skiing over Christmas, etc. would ensue.
However, I must admit that while the rest of the family slept, midnight often found me by the open refrigerator, eating a huge piece of timpano and secretly thinking that for all its trouble, it was probably the best fucking Christmas gift of all.
