This post is a tribute to our dear grandmother, Bobbie, who taught us how to make Italian bow knots, or bows as we affectionately refer to them. Every Christmas, for as long as I can remember, the family has gotten together to make them. Our grandmother and mother made, rolled and cut the dough. Us kids would tie and our grandfather would fry and powder them with confectioner’s sugar. Once they were cool, more confectioner’s sugar was generously shaken on and our fried knots of golden deliciousness were placed in large tins for storage. Like they ever needed storing! We could have eaten the entire batch right then and there! We always kept a tally of how many times we double, tripled, or even quadrupled the recipe and just how many bows we yielded. Often, it seemed as though we ate more then we put in the tin. But we didn’t care! They were delicious! They ARE delicious! The longer they stay in the tin, the better they get. Light, crispy, tender, lightly sweet, powdery goodness. They are wonderful for breakfast with a cup of coffee or any time of the day. In fact, we laugh about the time we could not find the bow tin. We frantically hunted for it, our Italian pot of gold, only to find it much later in one of our brother’s beds. He had snuck the tin for himself to enjoy bows any time of day or night. There he was, tucked in his bed, tin almost as large as him, powder sugar on his face, caught red handed with his hand in the bow tin!
Today, we continue to make bows as an annual Christmas tradition. At least six generations have made these sweet knots of fried dough started by our great great grandmother, Giovannina. Giovannina, with her husband of just 5 months, after immigrating to America from Baia, Italy, became known as Jenny. With only the contents of 2 pieces of luggage to her name, I like to think that she carried the bow tradition with her as she sailed upon the S.S. Neckar in November 1894 and made bows her very first Christmas in America. Feeling alone and afraid in a new country, unfamiliar with the language, its people, its customs, its traditions, she must have felt some comfort in that small ball of dough. A piece of home.
We are at home when we make bows. No matter who’s house we make them at, we are home. Home with our childhood memories of Christmas, home with memories of our sweet grandmother, and home with the next generation of bow makers and eaters. We have made them for our weddings, while pregnant and with newborns. Just like our grandmother did so many years ago, grandmother teaches grandchildren to gently roll a ball of dough and to tie a simple knot. Although we do not have Jenny’s original recipe, we have the tattered old cookbook, tallied quantities scribbled all around that special page, of our grandmother, Bobbie.
The recipe is once again passed on to the next generation and the memories live on forever.
You can find reference to Italian farfallette docile in Tomie dePaola’s book Merry Christmas, Strega Nona.
Check out one of our new Italian Christmas traditions, pizzelle and cannoli dip.