by Cookie Curci

For many years, my Italian-American family worked the valley land; they were prune ranchers, cherry growers, farmers and cannery workers. The cuisine they enjoyed was essentially food from the land and some of the food they enjoyed came to them freely from the hills and orchards of the Santa Clara valley. Much of what they grew, they ate or preserved.

Olives were cured for eating and pressed for oil, the oil was used to preserve dried pork sausages, tomatoes were sun dried and the bright yellow mustard greens , that grew freely in the valley orchards, were gathered at the peek of the season as a tasty main course.

Longtime valley residents are familiar with the picturesque yellow flower of the mustard green plant and how it once grew so plentifully in our orchards. They remember how it once graced our orchard lands as a beautiful ground cover and how it once painted our landscape with glorious, sun-colored, blossoms.

The pungent, leafy green mustard greens were a fresh source of vitamins to those who enjoyed eating them. The ranchers generously shared the bounty of these government-supplied crops, known as "ground cover"-. Leafy green vegetables that were grown and then plowed under to replenish the soil.

My family and I were among the many valley residents who beat a path to the muddy orchards to pick these bitter, leafy mustard greens. Wild quince also grew freely in the foothills, and every year Mom trekked to the area to pick baskets of the sweet, green fruit to make her jelly. Mushroom hunting was another all-day pastime that took us to the edges of the valley in our search for huge, growing tree mushrooms; tall trees also sprouted bushels of mistletoe in December and January.

"Hunting" for a good mustard green patch took some skill and know how. The greens had to be picked at just the right stage of development. Once the blossoms appeared the greens were no longer eatable. Meeting early in the morning, while the frost was still on the pumpkin, valley families drove their cars and pickups out to the Almaden orchards to search for a mustard green patch. Clad in knee-high galoshes and bundled in warm clothing they would spend hours searching and picking their favorite springtime vegetables.

Years ago, some of the favorite "hunting" spots for mustard greens was the Terresi family ranch , the Cassibba prune orchard, Romano's cherry orchard and the Mazzone ranch on old Almaden road.

After an exhausting morning of stooping and bending to pick the greens, the tired, but contented, pickers happily returned home- their baskets and bags filled to the brim with greens, and their shoes and boots covered thickly with dried orchard mud.

Once they got home, the pickers turned their kitchens into a process factory. Huge kettles were set on the stove; the greens were washed in the sink to make sure all traces of the orchard mud was removed. Then they were cleaned and cut and placed into a pot of boiling water. The boiled greens were drained and then sautéed in olive oil, garlic and dried red pepper. The aroma was heavenly, at least to an Italian kid like me, whose favorite vegetable was mustard greens prepared Italian style. The remaining greens were boiled and frozen for another dinner.

On Sundays, when the family gathered at Grandma's house, the joyful fragrances of her freshly cooked mustard greens and ever-simmering tomato sauce permeated the ranch house atmosphere and drew the family together. On these occasions we waited anxiously to hear grandma utter our favorite words, "Vene, vene, mangia." Just before dinner, glasses of red wine were raised to our good health, and with them, Grandma and Grandpa's celebratory words, "Salute per chinto ano."

"Good luck for a hundred years," the family echoed back. Then, and only then, did the meal begin.

Today, fewer and fewer grandmothers continue the Sunday dinner ritual, and the plentiful prune ranches that once offered us free and bountiful greens have all but disappeared from our valley. The 1960s and 1970s brought microwave cooking to the kitchen, and a full-course dinner was being zapped in shorter time than it took to swallow down a predinner cocktail. The bright golden yellow mustard flowers, which grew so thickly in the orchards, have become just another pleasant memory.

The traditional foods from our past are getting harder to find these days. My "hunt" for mustard greens, fava beans, and quince takes me to the corner supermarket, where, nine-times-out-of-ten, I'll leave disappointed.

Gone are many of the wonderful cooking aromas from my childhood, aromas that drifted across the neighborhood to call me home every evening at suppertime. The lingering fragrances of home cooking are sadly missing from many of today's microwave kitchens.

Recently, two of my longtime friends braved the cold weather and muddy orhcards to search out a small patch of mustard greens. They had to go as far as Gilroy to find the wild greens growing in a pear orchard. My two friends generously gifted my household with a bag of these freshly picked, vitamin enriched, greens. My frying pan was quickly set on the stove; olive oil was poured in, garlic (of course) and dried red peppers added. A loaf of French bread was torn into chunks, and, as we raised our glasses in a toast, we happily declared, "Salute per chinto ano".

It's comforting to know that good friends, traditional foods, and the flavors of yesterday can still be found in the valley--perhaps not in the same abundance as I once knew them, but still there, nonetheless.