The Dreaded New Year’s Dumpling
By
Gerry Niskern
What will you be eating on New Year’s Eve?
That last night of the year is coming up and countries around world are preparing a special food that everyone must eat to ensure good luck for the coming year. In Spain people must eat 12 grapes at midnight to represent each month to bring good health and prosperity. Black eyed peas are a must in the United States South. Mexicans eat delicious tamales and, of course, dumplings in numerous shapes and sauces are the traditional midnight fare in many countries.
Somehow, as a young kid I had Christmas and New Years mixed together. My Orthodox Christian Grandmother’s Christmas was celebrated on January 7th. After church, the whole family gathered at her house to celebrate. The kitchen was filled with all kinds of pies, cookies, delicious cabbage rolls, roasted pork in browned sauerkraut, and Grandma’s speciality, her round loaves of bread decorated in flowers and leaves. There were also bowls of stewed prunes and apricots. There were no presents exchanged, just lots of laughter and fun.
Even though my parents had given my sister and me a wonderful Santa Claus day on December 25th, with toys and filled stockings, I looked forward just as much to the Christmas at Grandmas with a house filled with my cousins.
I remember walking up the path to her house every year, our boots crunching on the frozen snow. I couldn’t wait, but then I would remember the tradition that I always dreaded, the dumplings! Along with all the delicious food spread out on the long tables that filled the living room, dining room and hall, were bowls of honey drenched, round dumplings covered generously with black poppy seed. Tradition dictated that you were supposed to swallow one whole in order to have good health, good luck, and much happiness for the entire coming year. “Everyone must eat,” Grandma would command. “Or you won’t have good health in the new year!” She watched to make sure all of her grandchildren followed tradition.
I hated those dumplings! I tried my best and finally gagged down a tiny bite and I was “off the hook” for another year.
Than all the tables would l come down, clearing the big kitchen floor for the polka. Everyone joined in, well, except for my dad and uncle John, the two “Americans”. My Uncle Paul Fama provided the music with his sparkling, blue accordian and we danced in the New Year. Uncle Walter Tribelo lead those willing to try in the high kicks of the Masurka.
Lucky for me, soon that dreaded dumpling was forgotten!