Preservation of American Hellenic History
Preservation of American Hellenic History
by Jason C. Mavrovitis
We were trained to be very quiet when we woke on New Year's morning. Under our beds we would find New Year's hats, noisemakers, confetti, and streamers brought from the hotel ballroom. I waited as long as my patience held out before making tentative use of the rattles and whistles. Nitsa would scowl at me. She was far too sophisticated for the toys that amused me.
The first time we were allowed to stay at home alone on New Year's Eve, Nitsa was probably twelve and I, nine. We decided to make chocolate chip cookies. I do not remember helping very much, but I do remember eating tablespoons full of the uncooked dough and the upset stomach that followed. Nitsa reported my condition to our parents when they called just before midnight. Unalarmed, Mom told Nitsa to put me to bed.
The following year, Mom and Dad took Nitsa and me with them on New Year's Eve. My godparents, Nouno Bill and Nouna Rose were there. For some reason, Uncle Louie was not with us. I remember only the incredible size of the room, the bright lights, the band, and a beautiful blond vocalist. Nouno saw that I was taken by her. At some point after dinner he left the table returning a little while later with the young lady in tow. She asked me to dance with her. I was completely flustered, not a clear thought in my head. But, I danced; I danced with Bette Hutton who would a year or two later begin a Hollywood career capped by her performance as Annie, in Irving Berlin's Annie Get Your Gun.
New Year's Day was very special. It started mid-morning with Happy New Year hugs and kisses at the kitchen table in the middle of which was a beautiful golden-brown, round loaf of Vasilopita (St. Basil's Bread). An annual gift from Thea Anastasia, it was fragrant with the smell of mahlepi, the ground kernel of the wild cherry tree. Hidden in it was a silver coin, which was believed to bring St. Basil's blessing to the lucky person who found it in their slice of the loaf.(5)
Dad made the sign of the cross three times over the bread before he cut it into wedges: the first piece, for our home, the second for himself, the third for Mom, the fourth for Nitsa, the fifth for me, and what remained, for all the people in the world. The coin was placed in a small glass with wine, and set by the icon and its lamp in our home. When the little glass contained three or four years worth of coins, Mom would wash them and take them to church, where she deposited them in the tray for the poor.
Mom usually made scrambled eggs with feta cheese on New Year's morning, and served a platter of homemade loukanika, a sausage that she had made in the early fall and hung to dry and cure in our basement. Buttered, toasted slices of the Vasilopita, with orange-amber quince preserves spooned on them, accompanied the eggs and sausage.
After our late brunch, we bathed, and dressed in our best. In the early afternoon, Dad went to the Greek florist on Sixty-ninth Street, just up from Third Avenue, and then walked back across Third Avenue to get our car from the garage. Boxed and under his arm would be two dozen, long-stemmed red roses that he had ordered days before.
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