
My mother-in-law is busy gluing on Baby Jesus’ middle finger, the tip of which has fallen off. Jesu, in his little ivory satin frock, lies prone on the kitchen table, a small perfectly round hole in his sedere where he slots into Mary’s arms, I can only assume.
Monica is bent over him, tutting at the superglue. This finger won’t stay on, she says, frowning.
She is deadly serious. Meanwhile, Lorenzo passes and takes a photo of Jesu Bambino’s exposed undercarriage. She scowls.
Jesu bambino needs to be reattached to his mother in time for one of the many processions that occur here throughout the year, when the Virgin is moved to various new positions, or dressed (tiny, perfect satin slippers), or mounted, or paraded through the town. She has a busy year, Mary. And Monica is one of her bearers and dressers, a great honour, and something she takes extremely seriously. When she shows me her special ceremonial outfits, she whispers in reverence, and strokes them lovingly as though they were the clothes of her own child.
It occurs to me that this is a scene one can witness only in Italy. But it feels somehow right, for a Sunday morning.
Almost every Sunday of my life has been filled with two constants, a family roast and a whiff of Jesu Bambino in one way or another. Bells and smells. The smell of something in the oven, roasting busily accompanied by the sound of crackling fat, and the distant ringing of church bells.
Last Sunday, as Monica tended to Jesu, I made the anchovy lemon butter roast chicken from Bitter Honey. I haven’t made it for years, and I forgot how much I love it. I was a little less generous with the butter (my original recipe calls for a whole pat. I do not regret this decision, but I wanted to break Lorenzo in gently). It was still juicy and delicious, and more importantly, it has been feeding us for 3 days.
This is the true joy of the Sunday roast, particularly a chicken, that is the gift that keeps on giving (like Jesu Bambino?). We ate it hot for Sunday lunch, cold for Sunday supper, I made fregola in broth with the bones on Monday night, and then today for lunch we had the breast meat in the most incredible sandwich. And there is still enough for another meal (a soup? Risotto? Salad?).
Part of what made the sandwich so delicious was the sundried tomato aioli I made to go with it. Sundried tomatoes add a sweetness and depth to aioli (or plain mayo) which almost – dare I say it – recalls Marie Rose, but is much more Mediterranean and chic. This would be delicious on hot chicken, cold chicken, in any sandwich, with chips or roasted potatoes. Or just for dunking bread into.
Recipe
2 egg yolks
1 small clove of garlic, minced
200 ml best extra virgin olive oil
100 ml neutral oil (such as sunflower)
1 Tbsp of Lemon juice
1 tbsp red wine vinegar
1 scant tsp salt
1 tsp of mustard (optional)
5 sundried tomatoes, finely chopped (drain them from their oil or rinse them of their salt first).
Place the yolks in your mixer/blender/bowl. Add the salt, mustard and garlic and start whisking. Drizzle the oil in drop by drop until it is emulsified, mixing/whisking vigorously all the while. Add the lemon and vinegar. Mix and taste for seasoning. Add more acidity/salt according to your preference. Add in the chopped tomatoes and mix for a little longer. Taste again for seasoning, adjusting as you see fit.
*Jesu Bambino is the Baby Jesus, and one of the things that tickles me is how he is always referred to as Jesu bambino, in very grave tones, despite it sounding like a character from children’s book.
*Sedere is what you sit on, a bum/bottom in Italian.
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Such a lovely aioli recipe and thank you for sharing your story, the celebrations with Jesus are very important in Italian communities and it's great that you get to share in these festivities as well as recreate the chicken with this delicious accompaniment.