In the house where we lived, there was a courtyard with a small chicken coop.
One day, while my father was present, a hen died. “Tomorrow, prepare this hen for a meat sauce. And make orecchiette pasta as well,” he said. My father was eager for that hen, especially during such a time of extreme poverty, and he was already licking his lips at the thought of a good dish of meat ragù. My mother replied, “I don’t want the meat sauce; I want orecchiette with ricotta.”
The next day, she prepared the chicken with meat sauce and made orecchiette with ricotta for herself.
When everything was on the table, my father, influenced by the enemy, said, “Fine! Eat your orecchiette with ricotta, but afterward, you’ll eat the meat too!” She responded, “No, I won’t eat it. I can’t eat the hen we raised!” My father cursed and continued, “You won’t eat it because the evangelists don’t eat the flesh of dead animals?” (Even today, many people don’t know the difference between the terms “evangelist” and “evangelical”). My father was convinced that my mother refused to eat the hen due to some rule of her new religion, and he tried to provoke her.
“Well,” my mother said, “it is true. It is written in the Bible not to eat blood or meat from animals that have been strangled, because its life is in the blood (see Acts 15:29).
At these words, my father became enraged, picked up the bowl full of pasta, and threw it to the ground, breaking it. Then he stormed out, furious.
My mother, with great patience, cleaned up everything, threw away the pasta, and said to us children: “Come, let’s pray that the Lord may forgive him and save him.”
However, we were hungry. She then said, “Come to the table and at least eat the meat!” But since we paid close attention to everything our parents said, we replied, “Mom, isn’t it written in the Bible not to eat strangled meat?”
To this, she answered, “You’re right, my children! I’ll give you something else to eat.”
Late that night, my father returned, and we children were already in bed.
He placed a package on the table, and my mother, acting as if nothing had happened, opened it to find raw liver (it was the first time he had brought it home raw; previously, he had always brought it already cooked from the store).
My mother asked, “Cosimo, how would you like me to prepare this? Fried or roasted?” He replied, “As you wish, I don’t care.” He then picked up an empty bottle and went to get some wine.
With the patience and strength the Lord gave her, my mother thought to herself: “I’ll prepare half fried and half roasted, to avoid any argument.” She made a fire (there were no ovens in houses at that time), prepared the meat, and in the meantime, my father returned and said, “Wake the children: they need to eat with us.” So we all ate together peacefully, and there was no quarrel.
A few days later, my father confessed to my mother: “You’re smarter than the devil, because when I brought the raw liver the other night, instead of being angry about what happened at lunch, you prepared it anyway. I was ready to give you a beating! But as always, you behaved well.” At that point, my mother said, “It wasn’t me who behaved well, but it was thanks to that Jesus in whom I believe and whom you mistreat!”
[Note: My mother acted in good conscience before God, refusing to eat the flesh of the hen that had died without being properly slaughtered. She was sincere when she said she didn’t want to eat the hen she had raised, but she also knew that eating an animal that died in that manner was offensive to the Lord and His laws. The Bible clearly states the prohibition against consuming the blood of animals. (Leviticus 17:14; Acts 15:29)]