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Your Turn

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John Turner points to a flock of Common Nighthawks passing overhead. Photo by Patricia Paladines

By John L. Turner

Beginning on Friday, August 27th, the Four Harbors Audubon Society will kick off its fifth season of the “Stone Bridge Nighthawk Watch” at Frank Melville Park in Setauket. Each night participants will meet on the north sidewalk of the Stone Bridge (where Main Street crosses the water) and count Common Nighthawks as they pass overhead during their fall migration.

The Watch begins at 5:30 p.m. and concludes at dusk each night, when observers typically see bats emerge to forage for insects over the ponds. Sometimes participants are rewarded with a dozen or so nighthawks feeding on aerial insects low over the ponds before it gets too dark.

Nighthawks, related to whip-poor-wills, are highly migratory birds that leave the Northern hemisphere in the autumn as their insect prey wanes, ending up a few weeks later in the Amazon River basin where they overwinter. Unfortunately, as with so many bird species the Common Nighthawk is declining and the Nighthawk Watch was established by the Four Harbors Audubon Society as an effort to gather more specific long-term data about its numbers and population trends. 

Participants often see other birds species such as Bald Eagle, Peregrine Falcon, Great Blue and Green Herons, Belted Kingfisher, many types of songbirds and mute swans. The Watch runs through to October 6. Please join us. The only items recommended for you to bring along are binoculars and a healthy curiosity about the natural world!

Frank Melville Memorial Park is located at 1 Old Field Road, Setauket. For more information, visit www.4has.org.

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Stock photo

By Barbara Anne Kirshner

The mighty Yankees and the AL Central first place White Sox magically emerge from a voluminous cornfield to take their places on a well-manicured baseball diamond and the game begins.

This scene played as if right out of a movie, except this wasn’t a movie, it was an actual baseball game. But it wasn’t being played in a grand stadium, instead it was played in a regulation ball field in rural Dyersville, Iowa, surrounded by acres of tall corn only feet away from the original baseball field and house featured in the iconic Kevin Costner movie Field of Dreams.

The regular-season baseball game, which had been delayed for one year due to the COVID pandemic, finally played Thursday evening August 12. It was exciting as if scripted by Hollywood with a surprising edge of your seat twist at the end. 

The Yankees fought their way back from a 7-4 deficit at the top of the ninth when they rallied with a two-run homer from Aaron Judge, then another two-run homer by Giancarlo Stanton off the Sox closer Liam Hendriks, to make the score 8-7 in the Yankees’ favor. 

But the Yankees’ dreams of victory in Iowa were suddenly dashed when at the bottom of the ninth inning Tim Anderson hit the first pitch from Zack Britton to land a walk-off home run right in the middle of those corn fields giving the win to the White Sox.

Though the Yankees left in defeat, just being a part of this spectacular event was thrilling for the players and their fans. Yankees manager Aaron Boone said, “That was as special and breathtaking a setting for a baseball game as I’ve ever been part of.” Yankees outfielder Aaron Judge said, “It was pretty cool driving in and seeing everybody standing on the side of the road, with signs, cheering us on as we’re coming in.”

This newly built 8,000 seat ballpark sits right next to the original built for the 1989 movie starring Kevin Costner, Amy Madigan, Ray Liotta and James Earl Jones. Before the game, Costner ambled onto the outfield like his character Ray Kinsella and watched as the White Sox and Yankees walked out of the cornrows to take their places. 

Baseball in hand, Costner headed to the microphone while the original musical score from the movie accompanied him. The actor looked at the crowd and uttered, “It’s perfect. We’ve kept our promise. The dream is still alive. There’s probably just one question to answer. Is this heaven? Yes, it is.” And it was perfect; it was heaven. The dramatic introductory festivities were a prelude to this exciting game.

Throughout the evening there were clips from the movie featuring some of the classic quotes, adding to the enchantment of it all. One pivotal quote from James Earl Jones’ character Terrance Mann was “Ray, people will come Ray. They’ll come to Iowa for reasons they can’t even fathom.”

And that’s exactly what happened Thursday, August 12, 2021. People came to Iowa to that magnetic cornfield to be part of the tradition of baseball, but more than that, they came to be part of a unique event. In addition to those in attendance were the 5.9 million total viewers on FOX Television, the largest audience for a regular season game on any network since 2005.

At the end of the movie, the ghost players were on the field with Ray Kinsella looking on. Suddenly, the catcher takes off his mask revealing he is Kinsella’s deceased dad and after a few words, the father and son play catch leaving all of us to ponder what if we could have just a few minutes to play catch with a loved one. 

Playing catch is such a singularly inviting activity for two people. The ball and the throw unite the pair. If only I could have one more moment with my mom, the person who introduced me to baseball and her beloved Yankees. If we could play catch like we did when I was a kid, what I would give for the chance to relive that moment with her. 

Fans and players lingered after the game, then finally started their pilgrimage back home with the wish for one more moment.

Thankfully, Major League Baseball commissioner Rob Manfred announced that the Field of Dreams game will return to Dyersville, Iowa next August 2022. The teams taking part are undecided as of this writing.

Miller Place resident Barbara Anne Kirshner is a freelance journalist, playwright and author of “Madison Weatherbee —The Different Dachshund.”

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From left, Michael and Deborah Livering and Terri Morrissey with an announcement that PAS will reopen in September. Photo from PAS

By Michael Tessler

What is a community without theatre? Theatre brings us comfort, joy, a sense of wonder, togetherness, and an appreciation for life. For children, especially those lucky enough to find themselves on stage, it is a great escape and a wonderful place to learn about humanity and its many expressions. It is a safe way to learn and explore. For theatre kids like me, it is a home away from home and the place you can truly feel most like yourself. 

For so many children in our community, the Performing Arts Studio (PAS) of New York at 224 East Main Street in Port Jefferson is the beating heart of our hometown. Mayor Margot Garant has called it a “hidden gem.” Right now, this incredible staple of our village is in need of our help. 

For 25 years, a dynamic trio who has brought music, laughter, tears, and every imaginable expression of the arts to a small but magical theatre in Port Jefferson. They are a gift to this community. Deborah and Michael Livering  and Terri Morrissey were some of the first people to ever believe in me. They are true professionals. Class acts who have impeccable talent and have chosen to dedicate their lives to helping young performers find themselves and immerse themselves in all the wonder and adventure theatre has to offer. 

This small studio is unique. Its black box stage is cozy but limitless. Countless children have spent their days after school and summer breaks discovering themselves and the magic of the arts. This is a place where lifelong friends are made. I would know; even two decades later and my old cast members still feel like family. 

Times Beacon Record News Media has been the beneficiary of PAS’ great talent as well; our paper’s first original film One Life to Give and its sequel, Traitor, featured several veteran actors trained at PAS including Dave Morrissey, Jr. and Max Golub.

A veteran of Broadway, Deborah Livering has taken her remarkable voice and talent and used it to uplift a new generation of performers. Her husband Michael is a master of the keyboard and Miss Terri is the most beautiful and pure soul you’ll ever meet — the lessons she’s taught me and countless other children have guided us through life and endure long after curtain call.

PAS has been closed due to COVID-19 since March of 2020 and forced to downsize. The show must go on and our friends at PAS need our help. They’ve launched a GoFundMe with plans to reopen in September and the community has already been pouring in with words of encouragement and much needed donations. 

Theatre isn’t just great entertainment. It is the embodiment of community — countless individuals coming together to make something truly magical. Let’s help make sure live theatre makes a roaring comeback in Port Jefferson. You can support PAS by donating at https://gofund.me/89cc325e.

I’d also strongly encourage you to visit my dear friend Jeffrey Sanzel and the amazing folks at Theatre Three as they return to live shows. How blessed we are as a community to have stages filled with so much love and endless talent. Tickets are on sale now! 

Michael Tessler is a film and television producer living in Los Angeles. He previously served as Director of Media Productions for TBR News Media and is a proud PAS alum.

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Ira Dunne, president of The Social Brain in Port Jefferson Station, at last month’s Bike and Helmet Safety Day event. Photo from the Port Jefferson Station/Terryville Chamber of Commerce

By Joan Nickeson

Selfless and supportive. There are many 501c3 nonprofits in our communities, which hold a special recognition by the state and local governments. In the old days we referred to them as “charities.” 

Being charitable has never been more important, so I’m shining the light on one exceptional organization, The Social Brain, founded by Ira Dunne. 

A behavioral specialist with a master’s in therapeutic recreation, Dunne has transformed the lives of traumatic brain injury survivors on Long Island and their office center is right here in Port Jefferson Station.

“Traumatic brain injury survivors may be getting support during the week, but come the weekend, there is a void,” Dunne said. “Building social activities that accommodate their physical challenges has lacked organized support. That’s why we created the Social Brain.”

They just completed their first music therapy event, where clients interacted with a certified therapist and 15 different instruments. Dunne explained how singing of familiar songs builds cognitive skills, sparking memories. Manipulating instruments motivates and engages the individuals in a fun group setting. 

The Social Brain, a member of the Port Jefferson Station/Terryville Chamber of Commerce, recently held a hugely successful Bike and Helmet Safety Day at the chamber train car. 

TBR News Media covered the event where new helmets were given away to children and adults, and the importance of head protection was discussed. All helmets had been donated via the Social Brain website; thesocialbrain.org. 

One hundred percent of their services are provided through donations. For more information contact Ira Dunne at 631-793-4311 or [email protected].

Joan Nickeson is an active member of the PJS/Terryville community and community liaison to the PJS/T Chamber of Commerce.

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Irene Lechner

We asked our readers to share some memories of their mothers, just in time for Mother’s Day! Here are some of the responses:

The Recipe for the Perfect Mom

Robin Lemkin

Around the kitchen table is where we feel most at home. When we think of our mom Robin Lemkin, we think about all the love and time she pours into making a delicious home-cooked meal and making time for family. Our mom has always valued the importance of a family dinner and making sure we all sat together as one happy unit. Our mom always feels a sense of calm when she crafts a new recipe and is always eager to share it with us. So much so, that she has enabled that knack for love of the kitchen in the two of us. And for that, we say thank you and compliments to the chef! We love you, Mom! Happy Mother’s Day. 

      — Love, Hayley Lemkin and Meredith Lemkin, East Setauket

Diane Werner

My mother Diane Werner was a warrior who loved unconditionally, taught her students with undeniable passion, and told it like she saw it. She was the best role model a girl could have, and her presence is felt in everything I teach my daughter. We miss her every day.

— Stefanie Werner, East Setauket

 

 

 

 

Irene Lechner

My mother Irene Lechner is the most special person in my life. I greatly admire her strength, integrity and work ethic. She is my rock, my protector, my compass in life, my best friend, and my personal life coach and daily therapist. She isn’t afraid to speak her mind. She loves animals, especially cats and supports many no kill shelters. My mom also has a great love for adventure, specifically roller coasters; the scarier the better! I’m forever thankful she is my mother.

— Kathleen Gobos, Holbrook

 

 

 

Me and my mom Geraldine and I were both hard working scholars. She rode horses with my dad and went out on sailing trips with the family. She supported my sports play for a more balanced education. She was from Brooklyn and met my dad in Miller Place. They were married for 52 years raising 4 kids in Stony Brook. When we talked about the issues we always looked for a positive outcome. She passed on in 2002 with my dad, but her legacy will live forever.

— John Whitton

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Pixabay photo

By Aida von Oiste

In 2018 the Swedes coined the phrase plogging “plock a upp” to encourage picking up roadside garbage. In 2019 Colorado added “plalking while walking” to persuade walkers to do the same.

I live two blocks south of Setauket Harbor. The joy of each morning is walking around the harbor to breathe in the beauty of nature and feast in its seemingly tranquil existence. 

As Spring arrives, I look and listen for the mating call of the red-winged blackbird as they return in mid February, along with the geese who fly in formation above me. Up until the red-winged blackbirds arrival, I often hear the call of the red cardinal and watch its brilliant red flash, along with the blue jays squawking year round and robins and sparrows who have been here throughout the winter.

Summer brings out the mockingbirds singing their varied songs. Wrens and crows surface and an occasional little yellow warbler flies by teasing me with its bright yellow. Summer is filled with nature exploding and reproducing. The swans and geese nest, the hawks and owls terrorize the small birds and chipmunks. You see many a bird fighting to protect its territory and keep its mate. Deer families cross the road, a turkey followed by her babies. Not to be outdone are the geese crossing the road with their babies following stopping traffic. The seagulls are here year round.

Fall brings the departure of the red-winged blackbirds, but the harbor is filled with a swan “convention.” Beautifully colored male ducks and their drab mates, and an occasional crane or heron graze nearby as the boats leave their summer lodgings for winter storage. The gun shot of hunters ring out through late fall and winter. A dreaded sound!

The last few months I’ve taken to walking with a plastic bag to pick up the debris strewn by passing cars who throw their garbage out their windows. Empty cigarettes and cigar packages are the most numerous offenders followed by cans and glass bottles of soda, sparkling water, beer cans, and vodka bottles. Discarded tissues and napkins, McDonald’s meal debris, paper bags filled with leftover wrappings from a local deli and lots of plastic bags. Some are filled with dog waste and dumped on the side of the road.

My bag fills up quickly. Cardboard boxes blown by the wind don’t fit so I put them under my arm. But, I leave the dead fish for the seagulls. 

Once it was an occasional can I could pick up on the side of the road. Now a bag is quickly filled up each way. We can’t stop the “jerks” from throwing out their trash when they drive through, but we can carry a trash bag and go “plalking while walking.” So, please join me in keeping our home pristine!

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Photo by Barbara Anne Kirshner

By Barbara Anne Kirshner

Hair … It is our crown.

We spend billions of dollars coiffing it. 

We have it shaped, colored, highlighted, blown out, straightened, curled, and conditioned.

But what happens when our crowning jewel is threatened?

Too many hear a doctor sympathetically announce, “I’m sorry, but you have cancer.”

After that frightening diagnosis is flung into the air, what is the treatment? Many are forced to undergo the next Big-C Word-Chemotherapy.

Chemo’s harsh attack is the common choice for killing cancer and keeping it from spreading, but in so doing, it ravages the body and those once-prized locks fall out in clumps.

This shocking side effect of chemo compounds the tragedy of the cancer diagnosis.

What recourse does one have when that cherished mane disappears? Some resort to simple scarves wrapped around the now bare head or big picture hats, but there is another solution; a solution that will build the morale as it resurrects that once bounteous coif. 

That’s where technicians, like my sister Judy, come into play. She works in hair replacement. Many of the people she sees each day are facing the greatest battle of their lives against the Big-C. These people are starved for a sense of normalcy. They long to look in a mirror and see their former selves before cancer took control of their lives. These valiant warriors reject disappearing until treatment is over. This is a motivating factor in seeking out someone like my sister.

I never thought about my sister’s profession. I knew what she did and figured that we both chose people-oriented careers (I am a teacher). But I never really considered what my sister did for the morale of people until I saw how she helped a dear friend of mine who was diagnosed with cancer.

The treatment for my friend was aggressive chemo. She was admitted to the hospital for a week each month and hooked up to constant chemo. This left her depleted of all energy and feeling terribly nauseous. Her hair that she had always been meticulous about started falling out. 

Prior to cancer, she had it regularly colored with highlights added. She wore it straight, shoulder-length and for summers added a Brazilian treatment. She lamented the effects of chemo, particularly the loss of her hair. She told me that she might get a wig, because she wanted to return to work. That’s when I suggested she see my sister.

With hope in her heart, she made an appointment at the hair replacement shop where my sister works, The Riviera in Syosset. She was greeted by Jack, the owner of the shop. His understanding immediately comforted her. He asked her for a photo so he had some idea of her preferred hairstyle.

When the wig was delivered, my sister went to work on her. The moment my sister replaced the bald head with luscious tresses the emotion set in. My friend dissolved in tears of joy, the first happiness that she had experienced since that dire diagnosis. She was immediately impressed by my sister’s gentle nature and care.

My friend’s confidence returned with the return of her hair. She went back to work with her upbeat nature intact.

Her emotional transformation made me realize the very special and delicate work my sister does every day with people like my friend who long for life before cancer. My sister rebuilds self-esteem; such a priceless gift.

I am thrilled to report that my friend is now cancer free and her natural hair has grown back. She has developed a bond with my sister, thankful for the return of her confidence that came at such a crucial time.

This close-up look has given me a better insight and appreciation for what Judy does every day for countless cancer patients and I’m bursting with pride that she is my sister.

Miller Place resident Barbara Anne Kirshner is a freelance journalist, playwright and author of “Madison Weatherbee —The Different Dachshund.”

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Stock photo

Recently I was in New Jersey with my former college roommates. 

We had been Zooming and planning to get together for months. The yearbook came out and we laughed over it. We tried a yoga pose to alleviate back pain, discussed the kids and uses of turmeric. 

We moved to the subject of CBD oil, and dispensaries, when “Sheila” handed us each a small, light weight, paper package.

The next day, retelling this to my 22-year-old, she surmised that, as early 80s college grads, the package likely contained something illicit. 

The envelope, however, contained compressed laundry detergent sheets. 

I was cautiously impressed. My roomie-tribe had vowed decades prior to reject plastic packing when possible. 

The envelope label read in part, “eco-friendly, cruelty-free” and “biodegradable anionic and non-anionic surfactants.”

 To this point I had used powder detergent. I buy the cardboard boxes locally and they do nicely in the outdoor fire pit when empty.

Once home, I gave my 20-year-old Kenmore a whirl. The sheets worked well in both cold and hot washes. 

My kid said they are easy to use. The thin 6 by 10-inch, lightweight envelope takes up minuscule space in the cabinet and the perforated sheets will do 60 loads. 

I foresee fewer shopping trips for me, fewer transport ships and trucks and a reduction in carbon emissions. 

The efficiency in cold water is especially important, I think. Globally, cold water is what humans have greatest access to. 

E.B. White once wrote, “I arise in the morning torn between a desire to save the world and a desire to savor the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.” 

I suffer the same affliction. When shopping, my first thought, after “How many carbs?” is, “How big a carbon footprint?” Thus, I began deeper research. I was curious about the manufacturing process of the emerging hydrate-at-home cleaners if I am to use them. 

As a Long Islander I am not always convinced that dirt is worse than harsh chemicals. Dirt and I are not so different.

Nutrients for humans come from food directly or indirectly through plants grown in soil. If a cleaner breaks down dirt, it breaks me down on some level as well, no? 

What I found is, although all forms of laundry detergent manufacturers have, in response to consumers, removed most phosphates, other substances known to pollute the environment remain. 

With regard to packaging, most people I know are putting plastic into the recycle bin. 

A quick survey of friends in Brookhaven who use liquid detergent, revealed that half had purchased plastic laundry jugs stamped with an HDPE ‘2’ symbol. 

The other half either found no recycle number stamped on the plastic at all, which I found alarming, or, the symbol was high. Not in a good way. 

In either case, these cannot be recycled in Brookhaven. I found one of my own shampoo bottles cannot be recycled. 

Although I have found vegan laundry sheets, cleaning action and chemical ingredients seem equal.  

The choice then for me, is either heavy thermal energy use at the front-end drying process for sheets or on the back end with disposal and transport of plastic jugs. 

After discussion with the family, we are abandoning boxes of powder for laundry sheets. I will throw the envelope in the chiminea when it is empty.  

On a personal level, my goal will be to do fewer loads of laundry and wash my hair less often. You’ll likely find me in dirty jeans and a bandanna covering my hair — flashback to senior year.

Joan Nickeson is an active member of the PJS/Terryville community and community liaison to the PJS/T Chamber of Commerce.

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Photo from Wikipedia

By Barbara Anne Kirshner

The boys of summer are back!  And with them the voice of the New York Yankees’ John Sterling, and the partner he’s referred to as his compadre for some 16 years now, Suzyn Waldman. For this Yankees fan, the start of the 2021 season, April 1st, featuring this pairing on Yankees radio, WFAN, can’t happen soon enough.

I grew up watching the Yankees with my mom, an avid Yankees fan. She knew all the players by name. During the late 1990’s into latter 2000, whenever Mariano Rivera came to the mound, Mom would say, “It’s all over now, the Sandman has arrived. It’s good night Irene.”  And to Mom’s delight, more times than not, Rivera would close the other team out. 

John Sterling. Photo from Wikipedia

In 2007, my mom suffered a major stroke with smaller ones to follow. She was in and out of hospitals and physical therapy centers. I was with her every day driving from my home in Miller Place sometimes to Port Washington, then to Glen Cove, then to Amityville and for a while, she was home in Plainedge.

During those long trips each day, I listened to WFAN and the Yankees game. It was at that time when John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman became my special friends, always there to make the drive I had to take more comfortable. Mom passed away September 2009 and the last time the Yankees won the World Series was November 4, 2009. I always felt that she sent the Yankees blessings from Heaven and that’s why they won that year.

Though my daily drives ended in 2009, my connection to WFAN and those Yankee broadcasters remained intact. I enjoy the clever repartee between Sterling and Waldman that, combined with their ability to detail every pitch, every hit, every base run, allows the listener to see the action clearly in the mind’s eye. 

Even at the times when I watch the game, I always turn down the volume on the television and turn up the volume on Sterling’s and Waldman’s play by play. Sorry, Michael Kay, but for me, no one compares to them. Sterling’s signature remarks add to the fun of the game. The amusing catchphrases Sterling has for each player combined with his final bellow for a Yankee victory of “BALLGAME OVER! THEEEEEEEE YANKEES WIN, THEEEEEEEE YANKEES WIN” and his calls for home runs of “It is high, it is far, it is gone!” adds an extra excitement to the game that I just can’t miss.

Suzyn Waldman. Photo from Wikipedia

In August 2020, due to health reasons, Sterling had to step away from his broadcast duties for several games and, though Waldman was her usual wonderful self, there was something BIG missing. The only other time Sterling stepped away from broadcasting the Yankees games was in 2019 for four games. Before that he called 5060 consecutive Yankees games.

This year, Sterling has made it known that he is in fine health even at 82 years of age so hopefully we can look forward to an entire season with the twosome doing their thing for the Yankees. Happily, the season begins on time not like last year at the height of COVID when the baseball season didn’t start until July 23 and ended after 60 games on September 27.

During spring training 2021, Sterling had the opportunity to call the March 15 and 22 baseball games with his former partner, Michael Kay, on the YES Network. It was good to see and hear my favorite sportscaster, but I look forward to his pairing with Waldman.

Sterling’s compadre, Waldman, is multi-talented. She was a musical theatre actress who segued into sportscasting, not an easy transition for a woman to make. Her opposition is well-documented. But she has maintained her dignity and flourished in sportscasting despite everything. At the Yankees home opener on July 31, 2020, Waldman sang the Star Spangled Banner, receiving high praise for her rendition.

The boys of summer return April 1st and with them the voices of John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman, still stellar after all these years together. So off to the broadcast booth we go for those familiar voices of Yankees baseball.

Miller Place resident Barbara Anne Kirshner is a freelance journalist, playwright and author of “Madison Weatherbee —The Different Dachshund.”

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Casatiello Photo by Melissa Arnold

By Melissa Arnold

Aside from a five-year stint in Suffolk County, Long Island, I’ve spent all my life in the shadow of Philadelphia, on the Jersey side. South Jersey is full of delightful perks — sprawling farmland that earned us the Garden State nickname; the Shore; Wawa convenience stores; and a melding of diverse cultures.

My Italian-American family has been here for several generations now, long enough to have lost our immigrant relatives and their knowledge of the language. Two things do remain: our family recipes, and the mashed-up, incomprehensible names we have for Italian foods. (Perhaps the most well-known is “gabagool,” our word for capicola made famous in The Sopranos.) 

Each year on Palm Sunday weekend, my grandfather, whom I called Poppy, would visit with football-sized parcels wrapped in aluminum foil under each arm. Inside were stromboli-like breads stuffed with Italian meats and cheeses and rolled up like a jelly roll. Poppy called it gozzadiel. His wife, Eleanor, made them annually for everyone they knew.

It’s been more than a decade since Poppy passed away and the gozzadiel deliveries halted. I could never get the recipe out of Eleanor because she never had one — like most Italian women, she baked with her senses, not measurements. “Just make a pizza dough and put the salami, ham and cheese on it,” she told me good-naturedly. That was all I got, and then eventually she passed, too.  

A few weeks ago, as Palm Sunday approached, my late-night thoughts wandered to the upcoming Easter traditions and to the gozzadiel we mention wistfully each spring. I began to Google intensely from my bed, grasping at straws: “Italian meat bread.” “Rolled Easter bread.” “Gozzadiel in English.” I got lots of recipes, but none of them were right. Google doesn’t speak our broken Italian.

Finally, I landed on a Neapolitan rolled bread called casatiello. Using my rudimentary Italian skills from high school, I spoke the word aloud into the dark. “Ca-sa-ti-ello … Ga-za-diel.” Close enough! But a proper casatiello features chunks of meat, and whole hard-boiled eggs affixed to the top with crosses of dough. Eleanor’s bread had layers of meat, not chunks. And there were no eggs atop ours. But it was a start. And this year, so help me, I was going to make it.

Mind you, I am not one of those crazy people that made a sourdough starter in the heat of last year’s lockdown. I love to cook, but I’m no social media influencer. I know how to follow directions and call my mother. Mostly, I just improvise.

So I did what Eleanor told me — I went to ShopRite and bought a refrigerated pizza dough, nervously plopped it into a bowl with olive oil, covered it up and said a prayer. A few hours later, my husband and I stared at the puffy, risen mound as if it were an infant. “Let’s do this,” he said.

Using a pepperoni bread recipe as a guide, we rolled out the dough in a rectangle as thin as we could, then covered it with my mom’s recommendations of Di Lusso Genoa salami, BelGioioso provolone, and imported ham. More cheese. More prayers. A careful, tight rolling and an eggwash, and finally, the trip to the oven. I read that the inside should reach 160 degrees, which took some trial and error — it needed 30 minutes at 400 degrees, and another 10 minutes covered with foil at 350 degrees (I was nervous).

The result was a perfectly golden behemoth. The next day, we gathered around my parents’ table as my father made the first cut to reveal a beautiful spiral and, miraculously, the exact flavor of our beloved gozzadiel. My dad raised his eyebrows and declared, “This could raise them from the grave. You nailed it!”

I was unprepared for the visceral flood of nostalgia that washed in with those first bites and transported me to another time. This was a true food memory, the kind that happens at tables like mine all over the world to bind families, friends, and communities. And it was glorious.

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