The unrelenting heat and humidity of July reminded me of many an August from my youth. It also reminded me of a North Plymouth tradition that has fallen away for my family. When I was growing up, August meant the fresh fruit of New England was coming into season and filling the grocery stores.
Today we’re used to fresh fruit being available year-round. Back in the day we had to wait until mid-summer. But when it rolled around, what a treat it was to savor the taste of local fruit at its peak ripeness. And that’s when my mom would begin her quest for that fruit – though she mostly sought the damaged and bruised fruit she could buy at a significant discount.
Her quest was for ingredients used to make the Italian jam known as savord – and she needed a lot of fruit for it.She sought out apples, pears, plums, peaches, grapes, and apricots. Like the North Plymouth pasta construction known as “tootalings,” every family’s recipe for savord was different. Mom never used citrus fruits or bananas, and to be honest, I couldn’t tell you if she added sugar or any spices. Like so many of her recipes, they were not written down and are lost to history. I do, however, recall the process for making the savord.
Crates upon crates of bruised and damaged fruit would fill our kitchen. Over the course of two days the fruit was washed, peeled, pitted, and quartered. Once prepped, it found its way into a stock pot that was only used for savord making. The stock pot held at least 60 quarts and would live on our stove for more than a week. The fruit would simmer very slowly on low heat until it was cooked down to the consistency of black tar.
The day before the savord was done, my mom would begin the process of preparing the canning jars. Glass Ball jars with metal clasps and rubber gaskets would sit in another stock pot with rapidly boiling water. Once sanitized, the jars would be removed, cooled, rapidly filled with the savord, slapped with a label and date, and then transported to a dark corner of the basement.
I can still remember the smell that filled our house day after day as the savord cooked. As a child, I vowed never to eat “that stuff.” My parents suffered the indignity of not having a summer kitchen in the basement like so many of my friends, and I reminded them of that when savord production was in high gear. (Mom and Dad finally installed a basement kitchen, but it happened long after I had fled the nest.)
Sitting in the dark corner of the basement, the jars of savord from the previous year would make their appearance at Christmas when baking for the holiday ramped up. Mom would use the savord for two signature desserts.
The first was her brasadella, a dense ringed anise-flavored coffee cake topped with savord. Mom would make brasadelle throughout the year but would only top it with savord during the holidays. The normal brasadelle was often eaten at breakfast, but the savord-topped cake would be served as dessert after holiday dinner meals. The second dessert using the savord were the sweet raviolis (or as we called them “rav-yolls”). Like meat- or cheese-filled raviolis, the dessert raviolis would be filled with savord (and sometimes chopped nuts) and then deep fried. Dusted with powdered sugar, they were a rare delicacy. Of course, as a child – and even into my high school years – I would not eat any of these concoctions. It wasn’t until I was well into adulthood that my palette was ready to give it a try.
As the story would later play out, my mom and dad filled a role as after-school babysitter to my daughter. Rather than make her finish her homework or allow her to watch TV, Mom found the perfect opportunity to instill her love of cooking in my daughter. Almost every day they would spend the after-school hours cooking dinner or making a fabulous dessert. It was on one of those days that mom taught her how to make brasadella and raviolis.
To this day, the source of the savord remains a mystery to me; my mom hadn’t made it since the late ‘80s. An old jar of savord must have been hiding in the basement and made its way into the light of the kitchen. And knowing my parents I’m sure “it’s fine” was probably uttered.
Eating my first sweet ravioli as an adult, I can’t believe I denied myself this incredibly sweet and luscious jam all these years. It’s a regret I still have, only compounded by the death of my mom a few years later. We did discover a few jars in the basement when we sold my parents’ house in 2010, but I wasn’t about to tempt fate (or botulism) and sample a jar that could have been 25 years old.
Fast forward to 2018, when I hired a new architect for my firm, Michelle Mott, who turned out to have her own family connections to North Plymouth. As the year-end holidays rolled in, so did the food gifts from contractors and vendors. But none of them could hold a candle to Michelle’s treats. In a round tin full of raviolis filled with savord, she brought in the sweetest gift of all. Michelle’s family not only makes raviolis but the savord as well. Of course, her family recipe differs from what my mom made (they use citrus fruits…gasp!) but it’s still that amazing, sweet concoction.
Michelle’s holiday tradition and recipes remain alive in her family, to the benefit of everyone in my firm. But it’s the hot and humid days of summer that bring me back to my mom’s kitchen and the smell of cooking savord I’ll never forget.
Architect Bill Fornaciari is a lifelong resident of Plymouth (except for a three-year adventure going West as a young man) and is the owner of BF Architects in Plymouth. His firm specializes in residential work and historic preservation. Have a question or idea for this column? Email Bill at billfornaciari@gmail.com.