No Fish Heads for Me

Every year, as Carnevale winds down, Lent quietly takes its place. I remember one particular Lent when I was trying to convince our daughter Chiara to give up crisps.

She’s addicted to salt and vinegar crisps, and if she doesn’t have her daily dosage, she goes into some kind of withdrawal crisis, which can’t be good for her. Or maybe it can?

But no way we were touching the crisps! So we discussed what else she could give up. I suggested chocolate. But this too was met with resistance. Chiara’s negotiations with me ran along these lines: “All chocolate? Can I have at least my Nutella pancakes? Or my chocolate chip cereal? Or maybe the milkshake… milk is good for you!”

We weren’t making much progress. So I proposed that instead of giving up something she liked, maybe she could consider doing something good instead. That might mean a random act of kindness, a nice gesture for someone without expecting anything in return. Or help at home with chores, such as apparecchiare e sparecchiare (to set the table and to clear the table).

I didn’t get a definite answer from Chiara, apart from “I’ll think about it”, but she was curious about what Lent was like for me when growing up in Italy. So I told her a bit about it.

I was brought up as a Catholic. Mamma was quite devout and during Quaresima it was always fish on a Friday.

In reality, I think the rule is more about not eating meat on Fridays than eating fish. But we always had fish, and I hated it. With a passion.

We’re not talking fish fingers here, or breaded fish, I would have been OK with that. Instead, we might be served a whole mullet or seabass, complete with body parts, such as head, tail, fins and bones.

And then we would be expected to dissect the creature, and carefully remove each bone and other non-edible bits.

Mamma had taught us to do this from an early age, and she encouraged us to eat all parts that were edible, but I didn’t. No fish heads for me (nor my brothers).

And when it came to other fish, eels were a no-go. I wasn’t going to eat river snakes!

So, apart from the fish torture on a Friday, Lent also involved some form of extra prayers or fioretti (small sacrifices). For me as a child this could mean running some extra errands, going to visit a grumpy old neighbour, or sitting at the doctor’s for hours to get a prescription for Nonna.

I had a lovely aunt, called Zia Antonietta, and she often worried about the after-life. She would talk about what happens to our souls after death, and how long we might spend in Purgatorio.

She made a point of telling me, on many occasions, that we had to behave well in this life, otherwise we might end up in Inferno. She insisted I had to pray extra in Lent for my dead relatives, even those I’d never met, so they might reach Paradiso sooner. And if I wanted to be extra good, I should also pray for those lost souls who had no-one to pray for them.

It started to feel like a lot of praying for an eight-year old. Still, to be on the safe side, I did say my extra eterno riposo prayers in Lent. I couldn’t bear the thought of a dead relative being stuck in a place they didn’t want to be.

But la Settimana Santa (Holy Week) was the toughest. We were really supposed to do more during that week, especially on the last three days.

Fasting didn’t just involve eating more frugally or less often, it also meant giving up other pleasurable activities. For instance, we couldn’t play any music or watch TV on Venerdì Santo (Good Friday).

And furthermore it was super important to go to Confession before Easter.

In my village we used to have a Confession Day during Lent, where our church would bring in some extra priests, so that everyone could take part in the sacrament, no excuses.

But this was actually worse, because the whole village showed up, even people who never attended Mass. So we would end up waiting for an eternity before it was our turn. And apparently us children had plenty of time, so we had to let the grown ups go ahead before us. Because they had dinner to prepare, or shops to open, or fruit to pick.

I tell you, those wooden pews could get quite hard when you sat on them for ever.

Luckily, we knew that Pasqua was only around the corner at that point, and then life was going to be that much easier and fun again!

When I told Chiara about my childhood Lent experiences she was semi-horrified, but also grateful that, as her Mamma, I was a little more chilled about it.

I still value this special time of year, though. We tend to rush around and be busy all the time, and Lent offers us the chance to pause and reflect. Whether you’re a believer or not, I think it’s important to make time to be still, to think, and simply to wonder.

That’s the feeling that stayed with me most from those childhood Lents, and it’s what inspired La Quaresima, a word search built around the words and traditions of the season, in case you’d like to spend a few quiet minutes with them yourself.