For many families around the world, food is inextricably linked to holiday traditions, and Italian Christmases are no exception. The sheer variety of regional dishes across Italy is astounding, yet for my family, the centerpiece has always been capon. The distinctive taste of capon is, for me, the very essence of Christmas dinner, evoking warmth and cherished memories. Even after moving to the United States and dividing my life between two cultures, my dedication to Christmas capon has never wavered. I even managed to convert my husband’s family, persuading them to embrace capon over the more conventional turkey.
What exactly is Capon Food? At its heart, it’s a specific type of poultry, a young male chicken that has undergone a particular process. A capon is essentially a castrated rooster, a practice carried out surgically when the bird is still young, usually within the first three months of its life. This early neutering profoundly changes the bird’s physiology and, consequently, the nature of its meat. After this procedure, the newly created capons are put on a specialized, cereal-based diet, starting with ground grains and progressing to whole kernels as they mature. In the final month of their lives, their diet is further enriched with by-products from dairy production. Capons are typically ready for harvesting between seven and eight months old. These months are characterized by a sheltered and relatively inactive existence. They are raised indoors, without the need to forage or exert themselves in search of food.
This combination of castration, a carefully controlled diet, young age, and a life free from stress results in a remarkable bird. A capon is significantly larger than a regular chicken, and its meat possesses a flavor profile that is both delicate and intensely satisfying. It’s known for a distinctive sweetness and exceptional moistness, qualities that make it a sought-after delicacy. However, producing capons is a labor-intensive and expensive agricultural undertaking. Consequently, capons command a premium price in the market, positioning them primarily as a luxury item, often reserved for special occasions like Christmas. Capon production typically begins in late winter and peaks in early spring. By mid-fall, they begin to make limited appearances in high-end butcher shops. As December approaches, capons become more readily available, even gracing the meat counters of well-stocked supermarkets.
An average capon weighs between 5 to 6 pounds and is easily identifiable by its physical characteristics. It has a noticeable layer of fat beneath the skin, and its raw flesh exhibits a light and uniform color. While most capons have a pinkish skin, certain breeds and specific diets can result in a yellow-skinned bird. Fresh capon food should have firm flesh and a smooth, slightly damp skin. The aroma should be subtly sweet and neutral; a fishy smell can indicate a lower quality feed diet, suggesting a less desirable capon. If the head and feet are still attached, indicators of freshness include bright, non-sunken eyes and the absence of prominent external male characteristics, such as a large crest, wattles, or long spurs.
Despite representing a small fraction of the overall poultry market, capon production occurs in both industrial and small-scale settings, each yielding distinct qualities in the final product. Industrially raised capons are often kept in confined battery cages off the ground and fed on a strictly regimented schedule. In contrast, capons from small farms are allowed to roam freely within indoor shelters and feed according to their natural inclinations. The most significant difference, and a crucial indicator of quality, lies in the distribution of fat under the skin. In higher-quality, pastured capons, the fat is evenly distributed, whereas in battery-raised birds, it tends to gather in yellowish clumps. Furthermore, pastured capons are often sold with their head and feet intact, along with their giblets, while industrially produced capons are typically sold without these parts.
For those fortunate enough, the ultimate source of capon food is a local farmer who raises and harvests a limited number each year, often as a supplemental income stream. These birds are prized for their unparalleled flavor and the assurance of quality that comes with direct, trusted relationships built over generations. In smaller, semi-rural towns like my hometown of Perugia, sourcing capon in this way is still a viable option.
However, for city dwellers, obtaining capon food can be more challenging. There are several regional Italian breeds, primarily from Piemonte, but also from Le Marche and Friuli Venezia Giulia, that boast a state-sanctioned pedigree, guaranteeing quality and heritage. To secure one of these highly esteemed capons, urban residents often begin negotiations with their trusted butcher as early as October, ensuring they don’t miss out on this Christmas delicacy.
While capon can be deliciously roasted, poaching is often considered the most traditional and preferred cooking method. The broth produced from poaching a capon is highly prized by culinary experts and is deemed the essential base for traditional Christmas filled pastas, such as tortellini or cappelletti in brodo. My mother, like her mother before her, always poached capon, and it’s a tradition I continue to uphold.
Finding capons in the United States is not always straightforward. In many states, including California where I reside, the practice of caponizing chickens is banned. However, thanks to a connection my trusted butcher has in Iowa, I was usually able to obtain my annual Christmas capon. But, alas, not this year. As if 2020 hadn’t presented enough challenges, it also left me stranded in San Francisco and, more disappointingly, capon-less.
Interestingly, it seems that the smaller Thanksgiving gatherings necessitated by the pandemic in 2020 altered culinary preferences. The demand for the typically large, inexpensive turkey, often lacking in nuanced flavor despite its size, decreased. Instead, curious diners explored other poultry options, smaller in scale but superior in taste. Consequently, the capon harvest intended for the Christmas season was largely depleted by Thanksgiving. This year, I, like many others, will have to settle for chicken.
This scarcity has, perhaps predictably, intensified my appreciation for capon food. Absence truly does make the heart grow fonder, and I found myself thinking and talking about capon more in 2020 than ever before. Memories of my childhood in the Umbrian countryside flooded back, particularly recollections of the men whose specialized task it was to transform chickens into capons. These individuals were known as castrini, and each region had its own, often reverently referred to as Il Castrino – the common linguistic root is evident.
Our Castrino, whose real name I never knew, was the grandfather of Claudio and Sandro, two boys who lived down the dirt road connecting our house to the main road. He was a wiry, gentle man, with a slight bend in his posture, who lived according to the natural rhythms of the seasons. When he wasn’t castrating farm animals, he busied himself with small repairs, tending gardens, and foraging for seasonal gifts from nature.
He wasn’t a man of many words, but he possessed a comforting, constant presence that remains vivid in my memory even after almost half a century. I recall him giving me lily pads to use as impromptu umbrellas and offering me leaves to chew, which I accepted with childlike curiosity and trust. He always carried a hand-woven basket and wore a well-worn but impeccably clean and pressed jacket. Even as a child, I sensed that both the jacket and the basket were somehow connected to the mysterious tasks he was always prepared to undertake.
One day, while repairing his grandchildren’s roof, he lost his footing. My nanny rushed in, exclaiming, “Il Castrino é caduto dal tetto!” – “The Castrino fell from the roof!” In the ensuing commotion, his grandchildren were brought to our house to play and be distracted from the potentially serious situation. The day was filled with tension, but fortunately, everything turned out well. Il Castrino was badly bruised, but he recovered in time to ensure many Christmas tables would be graced with capon.
This year, even with a simple chicken taking the place of capon food, I will continue to weave the cherished language of family traditions into our Christmas meal. I will share with my child the story of Il Castrino and his quiet heroism, and I will raise a glass in his honor, wherever he may be.
