Carnival in our mother's kitchen

When we ate until we sated… because then silence came

In our mother's family, Carnival wasn't a word on the calendar.
It was a precise, almost solemn time. It had a rhythm, an order, a scent.

And it had a menu.

Nothing was improvised. Every day had its own dish, every dish its own meaning.

We ate a lot. We laughed loudly. We fried without fear.

Because then, at the stroke of midnight on Shrove Tuesday, everything changed.

Fat Thursday: It's getting started in earnest

Carnival celebrations began on Fat Thursday. That day, crescentine imborlengate —fried crescentine, puffy and warm, filled with borlenghi stuffing—were served rich, flavorful, and generous.

And along with them, the unmissable Bolognese sfrappole .
Crispy, light, golden. A crumbly cloud that broke between your fingers.

It was the beginning of abundance.

Friday: Apple fritters

On Fridays, the apple fritters arrived. Warm, fragrant, with that simple sweetness that reminds you of home.

The apples are dipped in the batter and then in the boiling oil, sprinkled with sugar.

They were still eaten warm, and it seemed like there was never enough of them.

Saturday and Sunday: sfrappole galore

Saturdays and Sundays were days of visits, of relatives, of neighbors who passed by.
On the table there was always a tray full of sfrappole.

It was still fried. It was still dusted. It was eaten without counting.

It was a celebration that was experienced with the whole body, without measure.

Shrove Tuesday: the last great banquet

And then came Shrove Tuesday. The last day.

That day, they were preparing borlenghi and sfrappole. It was almost a challenge: eat until the very last bite.

Because we knew that something else would begin in a few hours.

From midnight: silence

At midnight on Tuesday, Carnival ended. Lent began.

On Ash Wednesday, abstinence from meat was observed. And for many, fasting was also observed.

And so it would be for all the Fridays of Lent.

After days of fried foods, sugar and abundance, the time for measure had arrived.

It wasn't just a religious rule. It was a rhythm of life.

First we overdid it. Then we went back to normal.
First we laughed loudly. Then we fell silent again.

The meaning of all this

Today, perhaps we no longer observe those rhythms with the same rigidity. But we can still learn something.

That the celebration has meaning if there is also anticipation.
That abundance has value if we know the measure.
That food is not just nourishment, but shared time .

In those kitchens, there was a lot of frying, yes.
But we also learned that every season has its own pace.

And perhaps this is the true lesson of Carnival: enjoy it to the fullest, knowing that later we will return to simplicity.