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I know that I’ve written in this column in the past on my doubts about the soda tax when proposed by former Mayor Michael A. Nutter. I still think the tax will fall mostly on the folks at the lower rung of the economic ladder, but I don’t see where Mayor Jim Kenney has any choice. The City needs the revenue to fund things like pre-K, a vital part of his program to revitalize education in Philadelphia. If you don’t like the soda tax, how do you raise the money? See, that’s the problem.
Uncle Nunzi thinks I’m behind the proposal to tax sugary drinks because my doctor just told me to cut down on sugar and carbs. “You want everybody to suffer along with you,” Uncle says. I assure him that’s not the case and that I have no influence over our mayor. I found out that in order to reduce my sugar and carbs to acceptable levels, I have to eliminate practically every food I love. My doctor advised me to “like” food, not “love” it. Can I help it if I get dreamy-eyed over a plate of linguine and meatballs? I’ve had to replace good Italian bread with English muffins. I have nothing against English muffins, but I don’t get excited over the nooks and crannies. I’m getting healthier by the day, but I’m about as happy as Chris Christie standing on stage behind Donald Trump while he brags about his poll numbers. Christie is probably thinking, “I lost 60 pounds for this?”
The Lenten season was always a time for debate in my family. The men among us never fasted. As I remember it, they were also excused from attending church or just about anything other than bringing home a paycheck. A woman could’ve been married to serial killer Ted Bundy but if he had a steady job, her friends would tell her, “He brings home his paycheck.”
The women in my family didn’t do the full Lenten fast, but they used Lent as kind of a Weight Watchers program. All of them fasted on cake. You would’ve thought that for strong, resolute women, doing without cake from Ash Wednesday to Easter would be a snap. In my family, the fast provoked debates that would’ve put Lincoln-Douglas to shame. The arguments tended to center around the definition of “cake.”
The debates usually took place as impromptu affairs over a cup of coffee in my Aunt Mary’s kitchen. Out of the five women, four sisters and a sister-in-law, Aunt Mary was the liberal. The most heated arguments occurred over her ruling that hot cross buns were NOT cake and could be consumed while still keeping the Lenten fast. My mother was the Antonin Scalia conservative of the group. Mom argued that the sugar content and icing on the bun definitely placed it in the forbidden cake category. Aunt Mary countered with the argument, “Why do they sell hot cross buns only during Lent if they’re cake?” This is the kind of false, fuzzy-headed liberal thinking that drives conservatives wild. After all, conservatives are into denying pleasure, not acquiescing to it. The decision was usually a 2-2 tie with Aunt Ange abstaining because she both hated confrontation and had already devoured half of her hot cross bun anyway.
I’ve always been intrigued by St. Joseph’s cake. March 19 is St. Joseph’s Day and for Italians such as me, there is no better way to honor this saint than with a delicious cream cake that is more like a doughnut. St. Joseph was a carpenter by trade, but the idea of honoring him with a special hacksaw on that day was apparently rejected long before I was born in favor of cake overflowing with Italian cream. Since such cakes are prohibited from my diet these days, Uncle Nunzi says it’s a wonder I didn’t get my pal Kenney to tax its consumption. It is not unusual to see long lines outside an Italian bakery on St. Joseph’s Day waiting to buy the creamy cake. It is traditional that we buy St. Josephs cakes and present them to anyone we know named Joseph. It doesn’t matter if you have Type 2 diabetes, as you’re expected to eat St. Joseph’s cake or deeply offend the person offering it to you. Italians have a special medical team standing by on such occasions in case the recipient suffers a critical attack while ingesting the carbs and sugar from a St. Joseph’s cake. I am trying to figure out how I can substitute an English muffin for said cake and still be true to my Italian heritage. I have already figured out that just by standing in the same room with St. Joseph’s cake, my blood sugar goes up.
I see Entenmann’s still sells hot cross buns during this Lenten season in defiance of my mom’s ruling that hot cross buns are cake. Of course, there is no requirement to fast on Sundays, so I suppose one could limit consumption to that day of the week. My mother argued that people should also fast on Sundays to prove their worth to a higher degree. I suspect Mom believed allowing folks not to fast on Sundays was just another sop to weak liberalism. ■
