Feast of the 7 Fishes - A Christmas Eve in Rahway, NJ
🎄 A Christmas Eve in Rahway
Growing up in Rahway, New Jersey, Christmas Eve always felt like stepping into a world of magic and noise. One of my favorite parts of the holiday was visiting my best friend Ronnie Paolantonio. The Paolantonio house was alive the moment you walked in.
"Attento!"(Careful!) Melio called from the kitchen, dodging a tray of simmering clams. “It’s hot!”
The smell of garlic, tomato sauce, and seafood hit you like a warm hug. Ronnie’s dad was orchestrating the kitchen like a maestro, stirring pots, flipping pans, and yelling out instructions while somehow keeping track of ten different dishes at once.
In the living room, the women were deep into their traditional Christmas puzzle marathon. Coffee cups (half coffer half Aamaretto), scattered puzzle pieces, and laughter filled the room. “That piece is upside down!” one aunt exclaimed. The men’s card table, in the next room, provided a competing soundtrack: shuffling, laughter, and the occasional grumble over a bad hand (hai imbrogliato"). Cigar smoke filled the air. One room was louder than the other, but somehow, it all worked.
Around 11:15, the women bundled up the kids and headed to St. Mary’s for Midnight Mass. I, sticking to my own tradition, went to the First Presbyterian Church for the candlelight service. By the time we returned, the real feast began.
Before midnight, we honored the age-old Italian custom of La Vigilia, the Christmas Eve Vigil. In Italy, families abstained from meat, eating only seafood. Italian immigrants in the U.S. adapted this into the Feast of the Seven Fishes, a symbolic meal with multiple seafood dishes celebrating family, faith, and tradition. The “seven” is symbolic, tied to ideas like the Seven Sacraments or Seven Days of Creation, though some families serve nine, twelve, or even thirteen dishes.
At midnight, the fast was over, and meat finally joined the table. The first tray to appear: Italian sausage, followed by meatballs and lasagna. Plates were piled high as more dishes arrived. It was impossible to eat everything, but no one cared.
The table that night looked like this:
- Seafood: fried smelts, calamari, shrimp scampi, baccalĂ (salt cod), clams, mussels, octopus, and sometimes lobster
- Italian classics: lasagna, macaroni, meatballs, Italian sausage
- Accompaniments: Italian bread, salad, tomato sauces, olive oil, and endless garlic
Ronnie leaned over, in his best eyebrow raising Grocho Marx impression, “Want to go get a pizza?".” I laughed, knowing he meant it. We were stuffed, belts unbuckled... Plates were passed, stories were told, jokes were shared, and everyone—kids, aunts, uncles—moved between rooms like a well-rehearsed dance.
By the time the night wound down, the house was filled with the smells of garlic, tomato sauce, and seafood lingering in the air. Laughter still echoed from the card table, the puzzle pieces remained scattered across the living room, and the warmth of family lingered long after the dishes were cleared.
Christmas Eve in Rahway wasn’t just about food. It was about family, tradition, and connection. It was the chaos of the uncles playing cards, the women working on puzzles, the kids running between rooms, and the aroma of Melio’s kitchen. It was a living reflection of the Feast of the Seven Fishes: abundance, celebration, and love shared around a crowded, noisy, perfect table.
Even now, years later, I can close my eyes and smell that garlic, hear the shuffling of cards, the yelling, the laughter, and feel the warmth of that house—where Christmas Eve became magic, not just a date on the calendar, but a memory etched into my life.