In searching for personal sanity and a healthy outlook in an often-toxic world (the mass shootings provoke actual, physical pain in me), I now regularly seek and celebrate things that make me grateful. One day I awoke to find myself, inexplicably, grateful for the color blue in all its shades, from sky to ocean, turquoise to sapphire. I have a lot of blue clothing, but I’ve never felt thankful for a color before.
My feelings about our American Christmas season are complex and often critical, so I began looking for a way to express appreciation for the best holiday spirits. At a random moment, I tuned my car radio to our magnificent local station, WRSI, and immediately found inspiration: John Prine, an early victim of COVID at 73 in 2020, crooning in his heartfelt and unrefined voice, “Life is a blessin,’ a delicatessen … ”
I think the rhyme ranks with the best of Bob Dylan (think “Mozambique” and “couples dancin’ cheek to cheek,” or “lucky to be employed,” “on a fishing boat right outside Delacroix”) but I find meaning beyond the simple joy of the rhyme. For me, a delicatessen proves that our long-term American impulse (often grudging and uneven) to welcome and celebrate multiple cultures promotes addition rather than subtraction, expansion rather than contraction.
On a recent trip to Scottsdale, Arizona, as distant from New England’s geography and politics as anywhere in the country, we happened upon a “New York” deli, complete with old photos of celebrities and Yankees stars covering one wall. The owner showcased his New York attitude, too: he was constantly on the phone, loudly taking orders and trading barbs with familiar customers, and offered condolences when we admitted living near Boston. He claimed his homemade cannolis were better than any in the North End (they were very good), and when I suggested telling people there about him, his eyes widened in mock horror: “No, don’t do that, I don’t want them knowin’ nothin’ about me back there.”
His banter with customers from varied racial and ethnic groups exemplified the multitude of cultures that have sought out the American experiment and American dream. His steam table, slicer, cold cases, and hanging meats and cheeses illustrated the range of immigrants who all proudly fought for, and found, a place among the rough-and-tumble culture of competition that defines America.
There’s so much to choose from in the wide world of delicatessens: Jewish latkes and matzo ball soup; German sausages and sauerkraut; Italian lasagna, mortadella, and Parmigiano; Greek grape leaves and baklava; Middle Eastern hummus and olives; Romanian pastrami; corned beef adopted by the Irish; Chinese egg rolls; pho from Vietnam; Mexican enchiladas; pupusas from El Salvador; Russian borscht; Polish kielbasa; and on and on and on. America isn’t a melting pot for a homogenous stew, but a great feast of distinct, delicious, dishes.
Our American feast includes other arts as well. Our cultural delicatessen offers the American ballet and dance of Alvin Ailey and Twyla Tharp; the searing prose and activism of Standing Rock Sioux Vine Deloria, Jr. and the voices of Toni Morrison; the consummate jazz of Duke Ellington and Miles Davis; the piercing voice of Billie Holiday; the uplifting spirituals of Mahalia Jackson and Aretha Franklin; the on-screen and on-stage mastery of Welles, Williams, and Wilson; the haunting oils of Andrew Wyeth, the hard spiritual truths of Imo Imeh; and the American self-reflections of Andy Warhol. The menu of American art and culture is much too long for this column, or even the entire newspaper. Our nation of immigrants has created everything from cultural appetizers to desserts, soup to nuts, health food to comfort food.
All of these works are like Christmas presents given for our education and enjoyment, and most can be experienced for free or nearly free in 2022. The true Christmas spirit welcomes new life and new beginnings, appreciation and adoration, and the diversity displayed in hymns and hip hop. We share human attributes and feelings, but respond and worship in multiple ways.
Our country has been shaky during the last few years, but here we are, ready to welcome another one, surrounded by an American feast, with our cup running over and our plate piled too high. Our American life “is a blessin’, a delicatessen” where foods, literature, art, song, dance, theater, and film present (to many) a never-ending supply of physical and spiritual sustenance that began before we were born and will endure long after we’re gone.
Merry Christmas.
Allen Woods is a freelance writer, author of the Revolutionary-era historical fiction novel “The Sword and Scabbard,” and Greenfield resident. His column appears regularly on a Saturday. Comments are welcome here or at awoods2846@gmail.com.