Regardless of the origin of the expression, “holy mackerel,” it’s what came to mind when I saw hundreds of chicharros (blue jack mackerel) cooking on the barbecue at the Portuguese Hall on Pocket Road, Saturday, September 10.
The Sacramento Portuguese Holy Spirit Society (SPHSS) was holding its first Festa do Chicharro.
As a daughter of Dutch immigrants married to an Azorean immigrant, I found this Portuguese celebration of the end of summer and the harvest fascinating and heart warming.
While the men barbecued the chicharro outside, women were busy in the kitchen preparing an assortment of dishes, including baratas cozidas (boiled potatoes) with molho cru (vinegar and oil sauce), caldo de peixe (fish soup), salada de alface (green salad) and pao (bread).
On this mild September evening, I enjoyed peering into a model Azorean kitchen with traditional tablecloth and pottery. I marveled at the colorful, intricately detailed costumes. And my heart swelled at the sight of the Azores flag displayed to the right of the United States and Portuguese flags.
In 1990, my husband introduced me to the island of Flores (flowers) where he was born. It is one of the smallest of the nine Azores islands, known for its deep valleys, high peaks, lagoons, crystal-clear streams, and hydrangeas.
In 2009, I, in turn, introduced my husband to Holland, the land of my ancestors, a land of tulips, sand dunes, dikes, and windmills.
Our children are a melding of two cultures, reminders of what unifies us rather than sets us apart.
A post about Festa do Chicharro may not directly relate to my journey as a writer, but it does relate to the spirit of this blog and the theme of my novels.
I write about building creative connections, bridging cultural gaps, and crossing spiritual and emotional borders.
What better way to do this than share a meal and the preservation of a tradition with another culture?
I commend the SPHSS for keeping the traditions of their mother country alive.
