Lent to us Catholics meant giving up something. At least that’s what the nuns told
us. It was Sister Mary Delores, or
Constance, or some other name depending on what grade we were in at the time.
“If Jesus gave up food for forty days,” their logic always
began, “you can give up something, too.”
Usually, candy was my choice. Mom hardly ever had any around the house and certainly never
bought any for us. On the occasions we
accompanied her shopping to the Kroger for groceries, or any other store for
that matter, they didn’t have shelves of Snickers and other treats at the check
out line to tempt us. Even when we
did happen to spot some in the store, she just said, “No. You don’t need that.” If, like some kids do today, we
attempted some type of temper tantrum to get candy, that temerity would earn us
a quick stern look and perhaps a smack up side the head.
Most of my childhood candy was purchased during summer’s
day-long baseball games at the park.
At the end of a game, my teammates and I would gather at a small store
for a soda and whatever else we could afford for candy. Since Lent normally occurs during months when
the snow and ice still covered the park, I had no need to stop at that corner
store.
So, when the nun called my name and asked, “What are you
giving up for Lent?” candy was my easy choice. It was something I had little chance or opportunity to get, and my answer always satisfied the nuns. I always wondered, though, what nuns gave up for Lent.
Grandma Bronislawa loved this day, the day before Lent
begins. It’s called Shrove
Tuesday, Mardi Gras, and Fat Tuesday. Most people think that today is meant to splurge
before the Lenten season. Some
people think that means to take it to bacchanalian extremes of wantonness. Grandma just thought fat was
where it’s at.
She saved her fat over the year. Whatever grease she had accumulated cooking, she drained
into an empty coffee can. Today’s
recycling fanatics could learn a lot from the way people used to live and
reused everything. Grandma
Bronislawa could carry a week’s garbage to the curb in one bag and keep it at
arm’s length with just her two frail fingers.
Come Fat Tuesday, Grandma took that coffee can, which was
now full, and in which a year’s worth of bacon and chicken grease had now
coagulated, and scraped it all into a big pot on the stove. If she needed more, she added Crisco.
As that mixture cooked to a boil, she made her dough and
rolled it into balls, and when they were ready, dropped them in the pot. Sometimes she injected them
with fillings like apple or prune or apricot. Sometimes she left some with no filling at all. I think she did that just for me. I didn’t need anything but powdered
sugar sprinkled on mine.
In a recent iPhone commercial one guy says he had a funnel
cake that was 1400 calories and another guy says, “You know that’s not good.” The first guy says, “It WAS good. It was delicious.”
Not as good as Grandma’s pączki.
I don’t eat that much candy. Never really did.
I’ll give it up again this Lenten season, but I will always have some pączki.
