For me, Halloween is an excellent opportunity to prepare a feast of simple abundance, a meal that says “Welcome Home” to the happy, hungry travelers in my family. We are nothing if not a family, a tight, merry band of explorers, near and far, young and old alike. Never mind a candle burning in the window. Food on the table is what leads my loved ones home.
Thousands of years before today’s retail gods turned October 31st into a frenzied consumer ritual of cheap, gaudy costumes and even cheaper candy, October 31, November 1st and November 2nd were days set aside for a most radical feast; a homecoming, a meaningful, community-centered celebration. The Grosset Webster Dictionary (1947 edition) defines radical as “fundamental, complete, thorough, a basic element, ” and this is consistent with my use of the word here.
When I was a kid, on the day after Halloween, my mother would pull me close and tell me that it was time for me to remember my dead; her voice a silvery violin string quivering at the touch of an invisible bow, sounding the depths between the twin extremities of love and sorrow. I so desperately wanted to please her, but I didn’t know my dead at that tender age. My dead, on the other hand, knew me well enough.
Parallel traditions from places as separate as Mexico (Los Dias de los Muertos) and Ireland (Feast of Samhain,) and my own native Italy, have it that on All Souls Day, the delicate veil between the dead and the living blows with abandon, blurring already misty boundaries. The past is made present by virtue of our living memory of our departed ancestors, our venerable elders, who journey back from the spirit world to delight in the legacies they have left behind. They come to bestow their gifts of wisdom and guidance on the future, the little children.
One has only to ready oneself to receive. One might also hasten to prepare a feast, of course, and leave a place at the table for those who come such a long way, that they may not doubt their welcome. For this is also the celebration of the annual harvest, Nature’s cyclical gift of abundance to us all.
Samhain is the ancient Celtic word for Summer, and this Feast marks its sentimental end. The dark season approaches steadily. The living fruits of another bountiful harvest must be dutifully taken and prepared for storage to stave off the Hunger Moon of yet another winter. Pastured animals that have grazed like royalty, wandering at will across breezy meadows and woodlands, must be reigned in, and a precious sacrifice or two chosen from amongst them for slaughter.
Death, decomposition and regeneration are in the air. All that was life will retreat a little. Living matter that fed us will return to the earth to rot and nourish, in yet another turn around the cosmic wheel of time. Such is the cyclical nature of all eternity which we no longer honor when all we want is our cheap candy now, as so many of us do.
Given that the earth’s bounty seems boundless at this time of year, it is common sense that food is at the forefront of these celebrations. Apples, nuts, mashed potatoes piled around a golden well of melted butter, savory roasted pumpkin / squash soup, sweet breads fortified with egg, moles and tamales are merely a few of the food traditions spanning the globe that are linked to this festival. Much is made about the lore of the apple and its significance in All Souls’ Day. One legend attributes the custom of bobbing for apples at Halloween to the story of a mythical journey made across the seas by adventurous souls risking everything to lay eyes upon a magical apple tree in Avalon. Thus the apples afloat in a bowl of water represent the souls of our dearly departed adrift on the open ocean, intent on reaching safe shores.

If you do prepare a feast the important thing is that you prepare foods that celebrate your cultural heritage, nourishment that sustained your ancestors for millennia; morsels that your dead favored while they were alive, so they will know you really remembered.
The other thing to remember at this time of year is that the earth’s bounty can never be taken for granted. It is a solemn blessing that can be taken away if we are ungrateful or greedy. Demeter, the Mother of Abundance, will soon spread her bitter grief across the land. With a sweep of her hand she will lay it barren, waving goodbye to her beloved daughter Persephone, the Crone, who begins her annual solitary pilgrimage to her cold throne in Hades’ jewel-strewn underworld.
Perhaps it is here, as Persephone lingers at Death’s threshold with the door ajar, that the air between the two worlds flows effortlessly in all directions, gently shaking the veil loose. Anyone, living or dead, with the fortitude to do so may travel at will between the realms, gathering knowledge, glimpsing the future, dispensing oracles, transcending this new-fangled linear concept of existence.
It is a time of transformation, for death must not come only to our physical entities. Our wounded selves must undergo the process of death and regeneration, too. It is a time to bury old grudges / hatchets, stubborn fears, wasteful habits, and ill-fitting skins that have long outlived their usefulness. These weighty burdens, like ferocious weeds, are taking up space needed for new growth, new vigor of mind and of heart.
Listen to the wind whistling plaintively in the trees, carrying away the brightly dying leaves. Listen and reflect as you walk beneath them. Be like the root buried underneath the mulch, building its strength until the season of light returns.

It has been a long time since my mother held me close and beckoned me to remember my dead, so long that she is now amongst them. So what feast shall I hasten to make good for her pilgrimage home? I know she is not one to travel alone. She will call her favorite ‘vecchiettes,’ elders to her side. She will gather the ghosts of hungry children around her skirts. She will take the hand of the luckless stranger they chance upon along the way, much as she did when she was alive.
I will need help from some friendly kitchen witches. There are savory oregano herb loaves to bake (my mother’s superior version of focaccia bread long before focaccia was so trendy). So fragrant are these breads that they will make your eyes water when they embrace your senses. You won’t know why you’ve fallen to your knees, face in your hands. There are Italian deep fried egg-doughnuts, and all shades of salads (leafy arugula, fennel orange, fruit), plus amaretto almond cookies to prepare.
And of course, there will be “Ciambotta.”

Think of Ciambotta as an unapologetically rustic variation of the haute-cuisine ratatouille; a meal to lift the soul and sate the appetite of the most ardent explorer, happy to be heading home again.

Ciambotta

1 or 2 onions
5 or 6 potatoes
2 or 3 zucchinis
2 or 3 eggplants
6 or 7 plum tomatoes or a large can of Italian plum tomatoes, whole.
2 or 3 red peppers
A whole bulb of garlic, more if you dare.
Fresh basil (2 tbsp), fresh parsley (2tbsp), oregano (2 tbsp fresh or 2tsp dry) and thyme (2 tbsp fresh, 2tsp dry)
Salt / pepper to taste / a tiny dash of dried hot peppers flakes, if desired
Extra Virgin Olive Oil
1/3 cup Balsamic vinegar

Optional
½ lb beef (or lamb) cubes (or strips or slivers), preferably pasture fed.
genuine Italian pecorino romano cheese.

Once clean and cored, tear the red peppers into small rounds with your bear hands. Toss them into a small saucepan and cover completely in a mixture of water and balsamic vinegar. Household white vinegar (which is sometimes made from a natural gas byproduct – synthetic ethyl alcohol) or apple cider vinegar or rice vinegar will not do. None of these vinegars will coax the heart out of the peppers and infuse them with the tangy-sweet character required to carry this dish. Bring liquid to an almost-boil, turn off heat and let sit for 4 hours or overnight. When I was a kid, it was my job to hurry off into the cellar and fetch a couple of briny red peppers marinating in a barrel of home made wine vinegar. I have lost that tradition but compensate with this very useful technique. You have just completed the hardest part of this meal.

Slice the onions into medium cubes and sauté in olive oil in a large saucepan on medium gentle heat for 5 minutes. Add your meat chunks and cook for another five minutes. While the meat is optional for you, and I myself often make it without meat, my mother will expect her beef, for that is how she always made it for her family. Meanwhile, chop your potatoes, zucchini, and eggplant into hearty, chunks. Deliver these into the pan and let them get their turn sizzling gleefully in the olive oil (another 10 minutes). Once the starch in the potatoes starts making things stick to the bottom of the pan, add fresh or canned tomatoes. Cover, letting cook on low heat for 15-20 minutes. The natural vegetable juices will start to flow and fill the pot. No need to add water, ever. If you are a professional Chef or a really organized person you will do a proper mise-en-place. That is, before you even turn on the heat you will chop all your vegetables into separate bowls and line them up on the counter next to your stove like brave Terra Cotta Warriors, ready to jump into the pan on their marching orders. Maybe next time I’ll do that.
Add the red peppers, chopped garlic and herbs, salt and pepper to taste. Let sit on the stove until cool. Refrigerate overnight and serve hot the next day. The flavors in this meal mingle beautifully if left to rest overnight. My mother will know if you skip the resting step. “Time” she’d say, “ is a flavorful ingredient in many a meal.”
This meal is also delicious cold, in case your guests arrive late.
You can serve sprinkled with real Italian grated pecorino romano cheese if desired. I rarely serve this dish sprinkled with cheese, as it is so rich in its own flavors, Besides, I save the pecorino romano for my pasta. Oh yes, and of course, there is a pasta dish to prepare!
Happy Hallow’s Eve.

Copyright, Francesca Gesualdi, 2011