ετσι ειναι η ζωη: Livin' the good life, Greek-style.

My Frappe: Metrios Me Gala

ετσι ειναι η ζωη: Such is life.

(phonetic: etsee-eeneh-ee-zoe-ee)

This was one of the first phrases I learned from my Notre Dame-North-Carolina-Indiana-Jones Professor upon arriving in Ancient Corinth in 2003.  Such is life.  At the time I was in full Greek-immersion mode, "efharistoe"-ing my way around the picturesque village, downing bowls of avgolemono and living mostly off of homemade wine bought from the little old lady's back room in a tiny village outside of town, that we, naturally, used to store in large, plastic gasoline containers on the front porch.  Life seemed good.  It seemed very good.

When I think back to that brief period on the Peloponesos in the summer of 2003, I recall nothing but the ideal of what life was: hot summer days, the esoteric beauty of piecing together Ancient yellow-limestone Corinthian roof tiles to reconstruct a geometric era temple, of meeting third-generation Pot-shard experts from the local village and watching them apprentice their sons for the same, the views of the peninsula from the top of Acrocorinth (Ακροκόρινθος), that first dinner at the local taverna where I learned how to properly pronounce Moussaka (μουσακά), eating raw garlic by the clove with 20-hour cooked mutton and homemade bread and cheese in the mountains, pathetic attempts at sketching Penteskoufi (a tiny ruined village nestled in a beautiful valley near our house), learning to orient myself based solely on the Isthmus and the surrounding mountains, diving into the impossibly beautiful waters of Perachora on a hot summer day and admiring the bountiful sea urchin next to the ancient Greek ruins of the Heraion (Ηραίο Περαχώρας), eating freshly washed, ice-cold cherries at a roadside restaurant with a view of the ocean and a nice breeze after cruising at indecent speeds in our cooky professor's dilapidated, A/C-less, white Lada, window shopping in modern Corinth while sipping a Greek Frappe (Metrio me Gala, for the record), learning bazouki songs after a giant outdoor barbecue of a whole lamb in a hand-dug charcoal pit, laughing and singing and telling stories late into the night, every single night, with a tiny glass of wine (ποτηράκι) in hand.

I didn't tend to think about the less than ideal aspects of the "good life" in a tiny village in Greece: village gossip - especially about expats and the new "archeology arrivals," constantly changing rivalries between family-owned restaurants and bars which effectively reduce your eating options by 50%, no hot showers - and no indoor showers, for that matter - oh, and no indoor toilets either, no air conditioning (even when it's bitterly hot), being jokingly punished for too much drinking by being forced to climb Acrocorinth while seriously hung-over, a mostly-vegetarian diet (this was particularly painful for me), sleeping in a room with crumbling ceilings and a perpetual fear of rodents, lizards and spiders crawling between your sheets, endless afternoons spent sketching temple blocks on graph paper in a hot room, or even more endless afternoons spent sorting through endless piles of said-ancient temple blocks to catalog and re-sketch them again.  The list goes on.

Still, that summer, like many others I've lived, is one suspended forever in my mind and heart as representing a form of true happiness - the kind built upon utter simplicity and freedom, making it ever-memorable and, in its own imperfection, perfect.  And the one culinary memory that best represents that carefree Grecian summer for me is the Greek Frappé.  I drank them every chance I got.  They were one of the first things I learned to order on my own.  And they hit the spot on a hot, dry afternoon of too much antiquity.

Summer these days is, admittedly, full of neighborhood pools and play dates more than leisurely dips in pristine Hellenic waters, but, one day in June, on a perfect Denver afternoon, I decided to take a moment for myself by making a frappé after almost a year since touching my $13 / can Greek Nescafe.  It transported me immediately.  And reminded me that whether it's the Colorado sun, or the Corinthian heat, summer is summer.  Happy is happy.  And ετσι ειναι η ζωη: Such is life.

*  *  * 

Image credit

To make your own frappé, first, find a Greek grocer near you and purchase this.  Then go to Frappé Nation and check out their real Greek recipe and method.  I prefer mine metrios (2 sugars) "me gala" - with milk.  If you have regular American Nescafe, just add more coffee.

Spring & Easter 2012: Bone Marrow Tacos

Easter Flowers and Marrow Tacos

So I've been MIA.  No big excuse, just life going along with a million things to do.  Roman turns 3 in just a few days!  We've got his party coming up and my mom and stepdad arrive tonight for a week-long visit.  Add to that the impending move to Denver, random scattered family birthdays / my watercoloring and my new addiction to Prison Break and there is precious little time left to blog.  No big deal, though, as the lull in activity has left me with more than enough food for sharing, albeit a little late.

So, Easter (yes, I am that behind). We got to host a few family members at our house for Easter this year, which was really exciting as it's really the first time we've gotten to do that, well, ever.  I decided to plan a full-on Greek Easter Menu and had lots of fun doing it.  I used my Greek cookbook go-to The Foods of Greece by Aglaia Kremezi as well as her Greek menu posted on Epicurious.com from several years ago.  Then I got so into her food that I also ordered her other book The Foods of the Greek Islands.  The menu came out to be perfect for a group of 5 adults and one child.  It also really took me back to my Grecian adventures throughout the years, and I always appreciate revisiting those if only in nostalgic flash-backs.  In the making of said Greek foods I also made some delicious marrow tacos.  I know, most of you non-marrow-eating-freaks probably think I'm a freak for eating it.  Too bad.  Your loss. :)

Here's the menu in list form.

*  *  *

Brenda's Nearly-Ideal Greek-Inspired Easter Menu

because Easter just feels Greek to me 

Starter

Magiritsa: Greek Easter Soup

This soup is not for the faint-hearted.  I love offal and this is particular soup has an "offal" lot of it (boom-boom-crash!). :)  The swirling in of the egg-lemon (avgo-lemono) sauce at the end makes the broth so fresh and delicious, as do the fresh herbs.  Oh and I definitely recommend adding the rice.  Such a great starter.

Main

Leg of Lamb Stuffed with Feta & Dandelion Greens

I've made this stuffed leg of lamb for Easter two or three times now and it has converted several non-lamb-eaters.  It is so freaking good and so fail-safe.  Even Matt's Gramma, who was concerned about her salt and fat intake was so happy with it because of the inclusion of dandelion greens.  Very little prep work to do with it and it's quite impressive looking.

Side

Roasted Potatoes with Garlic, Lemon & Oregano

Actually, I used Cat Cora's recipe and modified with Oregano instead of Thyme (Church-Style Roasted Potatoes), but this recipe is equally good.  I also steamed some green beans and tossed those in with the potatoes at the last minute in a cast-iron skillet.

I used baby russets and peeled them for that extra finesse.  Delicious.

Bread

Easter Bread

This was so much fun to make!  The sweet-dough recipe from Bon Appetit is amazing and can be applied and used in so many ways.  Plus, the bread is a real eye-catcher with the whole eggs in it.  Mine were all very bright color which made it a great centerpiece as well.

My next recipe to try with this dough is this amazing Cherry-Almond Focaccia! I'll have to wait until fresh-cherries are in season.

Dessert

Fresh Cheese & Honey Tart from Santorini served with macerated strawberries and basil

This is a light version of a cheesecake with a really interesting crust made with beer, oil and flour.  Very nice spring-time dessert and it paired perfectly with the basil strawberries. :)

*  *  *

Also in preparation for Easter, Roman and I kept busy making special Easter treats for

everyone.  In the spirit of Mexican confetti eggs, I cut a hole in and blew out a dozen eggs,

little hands filling
little eggs 

dyed them and then filled them with goodies (with Roman's help).  We used nuts, dried

fruits, small chocolates and some jelly beans so that the eggs had a slightly more adult feel.  I then served them as a little after-dinner-but-before-dessert treat.  They were so much fun to crush open - like little mini pinatas. :)

Overall, it was a wonderful celebration, full of good food, laughter and a fair-share of sugar-meltdowns thanks to the Easter Bunny.  We took a walk on the beach at the Eastern Promenade after eating and then came home for dessert - Gramma brought her Italian Ricotta cheesecake, which is one of my favorite desserts so I was very happy.  I was left with a certainty that I'd made the right choice in creating a Greek-inspired menu as it was very different (and yet semi-familiar) for Matt's Italian family, and also provided everyone with a talking point.  Here's my freaky little recipe for you to share in some of the Easter goodness.

 *  *  *

Marrow Tacos

Serves 3-4

One of the things on the menu that took a little more work than anticipated was the Magiritsa - a Greek Easter Soup traditionally served on the Saturday night before Easter.  It is a light stock flavored with the offal of the lamb and Avgo-Lemono Sauce, one of my all-time favorite Greek things.  The original recipe called for Lamb neck, liver, tripe & even head.  Wouldn't you know it, after calling 3 different butchers I was basically laughed at for thinking that anybody would have / keep or even want those pieces of meat.  Whole Foods was able to supply me with lamb leg bones and a lamb neck.  I got beef liver, and couldn't find tripe, so that had to do. 

One of the beauty of leg bones is the wonderful marrow they have inside.  Growing up it was one of my favorite parts of eating soups and stews like Mole de Olla - having a marrow taco.  You quickly toast a corn tortillas, squirt and spread lime juice all over one side, spread the little delicious nugget of marrow on it and then sprinkle with salt and devour.  So delicious, so simple and so nutritious (although, marrow is a little fatty).  Mmmmmm.  Such a commonly wasted delicacy!

So as I made the stock for the Magiritsa, I took the marrow out to include in the soup itself, but saved a couple of choice bits for myself for some pre-Easter marrow tacos.  So delicious.  Try them out. :)

*  *  *

Ingredients

4 large Lamb or Beef Marrow Bones

6-8 corn tortillas

1 lime, halved

salt & pepper to taste

Method

1. You can roast the marrow but I usually just boil it to get a stock out of the deal at the same time.  Then you can make soup AND tacos :)  Boil until the marrow looks opaque.  Then lift the bones with tongs and using a chopstick or the back side of a fork, pull the marrow out, attempting to keep it in large chunks.

2. Toast your corn tortillas on a comal or directly on the flame of a gas stove.  Don't leave them so long that they turn into tostadas, but I like some charred bits on mine.

3. Take a lime half, squeeze over the tortilla as you cup it in your hand, and spread using the lime.  Add some marrow and spread.  Salt and pepper as needed.  Eat while still hot!

Fish Stew: Corfiot "Bianco" & My Love for Rick Stein

Bianco: White Fish Stew from Corfu

One of the things I unabashedly adore about the UK is Rick Stein.

A Little Background on Rick

Cornish Chef extraordinaire.

Rick, Chalky and some delicious Cornish seafood.

He is a middle-aged, awkwardly balding, ambiguously gay - but previously-married, like so many fruity British men - celebrity chef. I do have to say that I cringe a little when I use that loaded term "celebrity chef" to describe him, because Rick is just about anything but a culinarily-inclined-diva. What he is, is as non-glitzy and down to earth as someone who owns numerous award-winning restaurants, has written countless books, filmed countless cooking and travel shows, and is essentially *the* poster-boy for British seafood and therefore all of Cornwall, can be.

He is best known for his funny mannerisms, eloquent, typically British way of speaking ("it works a treat" most famously) and for toting his charming, scrappy little Jack-Russel Chalky (RIP) with him on all his world-wide cooking and eating adventures. With a degree in English from no less than Oxford University, it's no surprise all his programs have an air of the educated and refined. And his food, while both elegant and delicious, is also based on the respectable principles of sustainability, regionality, authenticity and - most importantly, in my mind - simplicity.

Currently showing on British tv are reruns of his "Mediterranean Escapes" (get the book on Amazon) and I happened to catch the one on Corfu a couple of weeks ago. I was immediately intrigued and lured in by a Corfiot fish-stew that Rick came across. It was made so simply and looked so delicious that I went out only a few days later and got all the ingredients to make it myself.

* * *

A Little Background on "Bianco"

(pronounced bee-ahn-coh)

Bianco, in Italian, means "white." Odd that a Corfiot dish would have an Italian name? Not so much if you know that Corfu was once controlled by the Venetians, which is where it and other fish stews in the Ionian sea, such as bourtheto - or "red" fish stew - (spicy and red from the tomatoes used to make it) take their origins. Though much simpler, Bianco, which is white because it lacks the "tomato" that bourtheto has, can also be compared somewhat to the Greek kakavia, a fisherman's fish soup which involves a quintessentially Greek touch - it is typically cooked on the boat, using seawater. How delicious does that sound?

What first caught my eye and piqued my interest about bianco - apart from the sheer quantity of lemon juice and garlic used in this recipe - is another important aspect of Greek cuisine that I dearly love: the use of whole, bone-in fish. As Rick sits down on a Corfiot beach, bowl of bianco before him, sun shining, and the whole giant cauldron of the stuff on the other end of his table, he makes a key observation:

"I thought of putting this on the menu in my restaurant [in Padstow, Cornwall] because I really liked it, but the only way that customers in Britain would like it would be chunks of fish off the bone, cooked in this garlicky lemon-and-peppery sauce. And I thought - nah, I'm not doing that. Because you need the bones of the fish to give the liquid its gelatinous quality. Without that, it wouldn't be the same, and someone would be bound to sue me for getting a bone in their throat anyway."

I love eating whole fish, or even chunks of fish with the bone in. It is something that the Greeks have mastered in their cuisine, and to me it is infinitely more appetizing. I've found my whole life in the US that people scare you about choking on fish bones to the point of absurdity, and for that reason we live in a boring world of fish sticks and salmon steaks. To me that is not what seafood is about.

Give me shrimp head-on. Give me a whole grilled sea bass cooked simply in butter and garlic. Give me octopus tentacles and whole baby calamari. Baby eels and live whole lobsters and crawfish, shell-on, galore. I'm so sick of people being squeamish about the food they eat. If you like calamari, don't complain about the tentacles. If you like fish, don't cry about having to pull the tail and head off - it's a FISH not just a chunk of meat!

Anyway, bianco is a great opportunity to get past the squeamishness of eating whole or bone-in fish because, as Rick says, without the bones in, the flavor is just not the same.

* * *

Bianco or "White Fish Stew" from Corfu

Serves 2

To me this dish screams summer, even though it's a stew. The simplicity and freshness of the ingredients "work a treat" on a hot summer day when you wish you were in Greece instead of stuffy old London. Fresh fish, fresh lemon, fresh garlic...I can't imagine something more appetizing.

In Rick Stein's show the Greek woman makes her bianco with a large Grouper fish. You can substitute seabass very easily for this fish as they come from the same family. I used Greek seabream because it was fresh and available that day in my supermarket. Oh and because it was Greek. :)

Here is a video of how to make Bianco from Rick Stein's Mediterranean Escape. I love watching it because it is an example of home-cooking at its best. Quantities are guest-imated, everything is chopped over the pot, and there is a large helping of Rick's commentary which makes it all the more pleasant.

Ingredients
1 whole Greek seabream or seabass (about 1-1.5 lbs in weight),
cut into steaks, keep the head and tail too*
1 cup lemon juice + 1 lemon cut in half
10-15 cloves of garlic, crushed and sliced
2 tbsp freshly ground pepper (don't be shy!)
1-2 cups water (or seawater!), adjust as necessary
1/2- 3/4 cup olive oil
3-4 medium potatoes sliced into thick-ish rounds
salt to taste
chopped parsley for garnish

* Ask your fishmonger to do this for you before you leave!

NB: I was tempted to add crushed red chili pepper to this, but thought it blasphemy as part of the allure is actually the spice and taste of the black pepper.


Method

1. Heat the olive oil in a large pot. Add the garlic and let it simmer in the oil for a minute to infuse it with its flavor.

2. Add the pepper, fish (steaks, head and tail), potatoes, lemon juice, and enough water to just cover everything.  Add the salt and adjust to taste.

3. Cover the pot and allow to simmer on low for 15-20 minutes or until the potatoes are tender. Then simmer another 15-20 minutes with the top off, allowing the sauce to reduce. It should not be soupy but rather like a light stew. Correct the seasoning.

Serve in shallow bowls with parsley sprinkled over them, some crusty bread and extra lemon wedge on the side for good measure. Oh, and don't forget the bone plate for the fish!

A Small Bone to Pick: You can also cook the fish in the stew whole, not chopped. If you do this you can easily remove the head, tail and bones before serving and just dish out flaked or chunks of fish with the potatoes and stew. Yum without bones in your throat. :)

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PS: I've just joined Foodierama. Check it out!

Foodierama is a homepage for foodies based on the idea of serendipity. It's designed as a portal front page containing teasers to the latest posts of all the best food blogs. Whenever users enter the page they discover something new and exciting: a new blog, a new recipe or cooking technique etc. With Foodierama users get a panoramic view of what's going on in the food blog-sphere all on one graphic page.

In Hopes of Spring Day 7: Bircher Muesli

If I was a flower growing wild and free...

I woke up this sunny morning with the most wonderfully Spring-ish, addictive song in my head.

It is now my duty to pass that on to you. In case you don't immediately recognize it, it's the song from the movie Juno. If that isn't enough reason for you to like it, then reading the actual lyrics and listening to the song just might be. It's pretty much guaranteed to make you want to grab a banjo and do a jig. The first line adequately sums up my Spring-induced happiness this London morning.

* * *

All I Want is You
Lyrics by Barry Louis Polisar

If I was a flower growing wild and free
All I'd want is you to be my sweet honey bee.
And if I was a tree growing tall and green
All I'd want is you to shade me and be my leaves

All I want is you, will you be my bride
Take me by the hand and stand by my side
All I want is you, will you stay with me?
Hold me in your arms and sway me like the sea.

If you were a river in the mountains tall,
The rumble of your water would be my call.
If you were the winter, I know I'd be the snow
Just as long as you were with me, when the cold winds blow.

All I want is you, will you be my bride
Take me by the hand and stand by my side
All I want is you, will you stay with me?
Hold me in your arms and sway me like the sea.

If you were a wink, I'd be a nod
If you were a seed, well I'd be a pod.
If you were the floor, I'd wanna be the rug
And if you were a kiss, I know I'd be a hug

All I want is you, will you be my bride
Take me by the hand and stand by my side
All I want is you, will you stay with me?
Hold me in your arms and sway me like the sea.

If you were the wood, I'd be the fire.
If you were the love, I'd be the desire.
If you were a castle, I'd be your moat,
And if you were an ocean, I'd learn to float.

All I want is you, will you be my bride
Take me by the hand and stand by my side
All I want is you, will you stay with me?
Hold me in your arms and sway me like the sea.

* * *

So in the name of all fine Spring weather and banjo-jigs, today's topic is Bircher Muesli.

Muesli is a decidedly non-Mexican dish (apparently it is originally Swiss) which I was therefore not introduced to until a rather ripe age of 16 (yes, during that fabulous trip to Denmark).

Matt is a fiend for Muesli and since the entrance of good weather into our lives once again, has started making it in the morning. A couple of months ago he had Bircher Muesli on a morning flight and harassed me to buy the appropriate ingredients to recreate it for two weeks straight. I finally gave in and the end product was ok but not great. After a couple more attempts at it, I think we've finally come up with a decent combination of ingredients.

The two ingredients I would venture to say are the most important are:

1. The Yogurt
You really need good quality plain "Greek," or technically "strained," yogurt for this recipe. What makes strained yogurt different from the other stuff you get in the supermarket is that traditionally it was actually strained using muslin to remove extra water and whey, giving it a thicker consistency (think sour cream). It usually has a higher fat content too and is therefore less likely to curdle than normal plain yogurt - so you can use it in hot, cold, savory or sweet dishes as well (mmmm, ever had grilled Greek yogurt-marinated lamb? Crazy delicious.). In Bircher Muesli it is the glue that holds the entire dish together. I highly recommend it over the runny stuff for pretty much any yogurt-involving-recipe you have. Photo credit.


2. The Oats
I've been an oatmeal consumer since the very, very early days. I love that the British call it Porridge (and they insist it is different from American Oatmeal, but I've yet to notice any difference) - it really takes me back to that delightful "Please sir, can I have some more?" moment in the old movie version of Oliver Twist, which I watched in 2nd grade. The oats for this recipe don't have to be expensive, but they should be in good condition. In other words, they should not be powdered - get some nice medium to large size oats. It'll make a textural difference, I promise.

For Bircher Muesli you can also use flavored oatmeals, though we generally use plain. I would highly recommend the delightfully British Dorset Cereals brand, which I believe has actually spread to the US by now. Not only is their packaging really pretty, their oatmeal and muesli are both absolutely DELICIOUS. My favorite so far is the cranberry raspberry flavor. Photo credit.


Bircher Muesli should be made ahead of time and served cold, so it's perfect for someone in a rush in the morning. But if you're really a professed dally-er and lover of beauty, this dish is enough reason to get up half an hour earlier to watch the morning sunshine in your sunroom with the proverbial better-half, "All I Want is You" playing incessantly inside your head. :)

Happy Wednesday!

* * *

Matt's Apple Bircher Muesli

Serves 2

Bircher Muesli these days is a loose term which refers to a breakfast dish based on uncooked oatmeal (or porridge oats if you're British) with any combination of fresh or dried fruit and nuts. This is our favorite version because we love tart things and the Granny Smiths combined with the cranberries really give it that irresistible pucker, but feel free to substitute and change quantities where you deem necessary. After all, Bircher Muesli, like Spring, is nothing if not serendipitous.


Ingredients

2 Granny Smith Apples, grated
1 1/2 cups uncooked plain rolled oats (you could also dabble with flavored ones)
1/4 cup raisins and dried cranberries mixed
1 cup Plain Greek Yogurt (the really thick stuff)
4-6 tbsps honey (to taste, really)
1 tsp grated lemon zest
2-3 tbsp fresh lemon juice
1/4 cup flaked almonds (or any nuts / seeds of your choice)

Procedure

1. Stir all the prepared ingredients together in a bowl until well-combined.

2. Ideally, allow to rest in the refrigerator overnight; otherwise, can be eaten immediately

3. Serve with some fresh slices of Granny Smith Apple and perhaps some extra almonds sprinkled on top.

PS: Happy Pancake Day (or Day of the Kaken, as Matt would call it)!

Athenian Jug from about 480BC;
harpies stealing food from a blind Phineus.
A perfect example of what Lenten sacrifices can drive you to.

Almost forgot to mention:

Happy Fat Tuesday / Shrove Tuesday / Mardi Gras / Day before Ash Wednesday /
Carnevale!

Great time of year to be feeling Catholic / Christian guilt and dredge up some reasons to give up this, that, or the other thing. I'm still not sure what / if I'm giving up anything this year (by the looks of this post, I should give up back-slashes), but I'm sure you'll hear all about it if I do.

I would encourage everyone to cook pancakes (of any nationality) for dinner tonight to celebrate in true British style! And if you're not up for that, then at least put on some beads and shake it up in your living room for five minutes. (Notice how I assume you have about as much of a life as I do :) )

I wish I were back in Venice playing drinking games with cheap red wine on the Piazza San Marco...Alas, alack.

Never mind my nostalgic dalliances...though Venice is an Italian city, like Rome, which was the epicenter of all Classical activity, only after Athens, which reminds me of Ancient Greece, my favorite subject ever (besides food)...Ok, ok, I'll get to the point!

In honor of pancake day, I'm going to post a very special recipe (one that I haven't actually tried myself, which is a little shady on my part / goes against the grain of what I usually post) which I found this weekend with Matt while perusing the lesser-used members of my London cookbook collection.

About a year ago we bought a REALLY cool cookbook at the British Museum (yep, the one with the amazing and controversial Elgin Marbles): The Classical Cookbook by Andrew Dalby and Sally Grainger.

It's a cookbook described as "History to devour" because it contains recipes from the ancient wrold. We have still never used it, but while flipping through it, several things caught our eyes.

We were particularly intrigued by the page that boasted a recipe for pancakes. They sound a little heavier than what American or British pancakes are like, but the addition of honey and sesame seeds was enough to make me want to slap on a diadem and lounge while eating a bunch of grapes! Even if you don't sympathize, at the very least, it's a cool way to celebrate pancake day and another good excuse to break out the Whole Wheat Flour...

Here it is - I am bound to try it now - let me know if you do too!

* * *

Pancakes with Honey and Sesame Seeds
from The Classical Cookbook

Serves Four

Ingredients:

4oz (1 cup / 120g) Flour (come on Whole wheat!)
8fl oz (1 cup / 225ml) water
2 Tbsps (60g) clear honey
Oil for frying (I would go with olive oil here, since it is a Greek recipe)
1 tbsp (15g) toasted sesame seeds


Procedure:

1. Mix the flour, water and 1 tbsp honey together into a batter.

2. Heat 2 tbsps oil in a frying pan and pour a quarter of the mixture into the fat. When it has set, turn it two or three times to give an even color.

3. Cook 3 more pancakes in the same way.

Serve all 4 pancakes hot with the remainder of the honey pour over and sprinkled with sesame seeds!

Check this page out for other's experiences with this recipe and stay tuned for my own impressions!

Most Recent Long-Overdue Realization: "Wow. I'm Gonna Be a Mom."

The whole themed-week thing worked for me. I'm hoping it worked for you too, because I think I might do it a little more often between now and the eventual and inevitable demise of this blog in the distant but nevertheless somewhat foreseeable future.

* * *

As clichéd as this may sound, it has taken me a whole 33 weeks to have what I like to call my most recent long-overdue realization: "Wow," I thought to myself in the middle of the night sometime last week "I'm gonna be a 'Mom'."

It is unbelievably, in fact shockingly, easy to live with a little human growing inside your belly for nearly eight months without this fact actually "hitting" you. You acknowledge him, love him, talk to him and even refer to him more often than most people would like, and yet, throughout all of that, you can draw this thin, wavering, fragile, but existent, line between the reality you know and have always known and the one that is about to take over for...well, forever. There are a million things that go on that can trigger the realization either sooner or later, but no matter how late or how early, I guess it has to come. And when it does, it is overwhelming. Exciting. Scary. All-encompassing. Moreso than being pregnant. Moreso than having a giant belly or having to give up your entire wardrobe and a slew of your favorite foods and drinks.

In some ways, as much as I hate to admit it, once it does hit, you have to fight a feeling of quickly growing panic and paranoia that, I think, any good parent-to-be should feel at some point. But nobody really admits this, and much less tells you about it aside from making the occasional remark about "how much your life is going to change." That doesn't even begin to prepare you for realizing it yourself. Much less actually having a baby (I suspect).

Despite the many frightening, different, unfamiliar and somewhat daunting things that stare you unwaveringly in the face once things 'click,' it is a miracle of nature that you (or at least "I") manage to find even MORE reasons why you are happy, excited, eager, and even downright impatient about jumping in the proverbial parental saddle (after a full-recovery and some much-needed pampering, of course).

In honor of this realization, its miraculous nature, and the further and comparatively wildly vast realization that came with it (that no matter how unique or outstanding or extraordinary we pretend to be, the emotional universal human experience is actually pretty, um, universal), I'm dedicating this week's entries to my impending transformation into a parental unit and a bunch of random things relating to the official "pre-transformation period," also known as pregnancy. :)

* * *

Memorable Moments Leading Up to My Long Overdue Realization

in no particular order, unless you're a follower of Freud

5. Why do I suddenly hate seafood markets?
There I was, the picture of summer-vacation-relaxation, in a sun dress, walking along dreamily on an Athenian street sipping my prerequisite Greek Frappe (aka the best way to drink instant coffee) and talking Matt's ear off, as usual, when my eye first caught the endless stalls of fruit ahead of me.

Suddenly I'm dragging Matt through the aisles of one of Athen's largest open-air markets, just around the corner from our hotel. After the fruit, came the meat. Huge slabs of beef, whole pigs, countless examples of offal (and why we, onomotopoeically, call it that) lay before me. Butchers and their blood-stained aprons hack away unmercifully with cleavers that belong only in horror movies and foreign markets. I was fine. I love butchers. I love meat. I love open-air, un-air-conditioned markets.

Walking toward the next set of stalls, I get a glimpse of my favorite part of any food selling establishment: the fishmongers. I love to eat fish. I love the word monger. A match made in heaven.

Then suddenly, t h e b r e e z e b l o w s.

And I do something I NEVER do in a fishmarket - I gag. Big time.

And when I gag, especially more than once (which, in this case, is an understatement) two things always happen: 1. Matt laughs and 2. I almost throw up.

I was seized with a feeling of total and utter hopelessness. The meat around me suddenly began to smell rancid. The Frappe taste only made it worse. And there was no way out without having to pass at least ten more stalls of stinky, nasty sea-y stuff. What was with my sense of smell?! I have allergies - I can't smell anything!

Athenian Meat Market & the goodly Frappe; before the gagging episode

It was then and there, at that amazingly putrid moment of vomity madness, that Ludovictus first made his presence known. :)


4. Malaysian Chicken Delight - don't go there.
Continuing with the theme of being sick, I should mention that I am one of the blessed and the lucky who was almost not sick at all during her pregnancy. The following is an account of one of two incidents during which the pregnancy thing got the best of my stomach:

Never act excited about a dish you've never tasted while talking to the restaurant's owner about it if you're pregnant. In fact, just don't try anything you're not completely sure you'll love. Because you just never know.

The little Malaysian lady who owns and works at the Chinese place down the street from us really did assure me that I would LOVE the Malaysian Chicken. Having read the description, I was pretty sure I would love it too (what's not to love about chicken cooked in a shrimp paste sauce with vegetables?). But the moment I took the first bite, I knew I could not have been wronger. The chicken tasted flat-out ROTTEN. Like it was a hundred-year-old chicken that had been fermenting underground and then sauteed in shrimp paste and put on my plate.

Matt tasted it and thought it was a little weird too, but then he tasted it again when I told him I swore the flesh was literally decomposing and said he actually liked it.

I then had to suffer through the rest of the meal picking at the bell peppers on the plate and secretly eating Matt's beef and broccoli while the woman's head was turned. She kept coming over and singing the praises of the chicken and telling me what she would order for me NEXT TIME. It was all I could do to hold it together and not gag in her face (I did, however, gag several times at the table - much to Matt's amusement).

I was less than 3 months pregnant then, and we have not been back to that restaurant ever since.

Admittedly, this is partly because as soon as I walked out the front door, I turned my head and vomited all over the sidewalk. I don't know if the owner saw, but I know that the group of people standing outside the bar next door did. And so did the two guys who ran past us to avoid the further vomiting the entire way home. They must have found it odd that Matt was actually laughing at me. Bastard.


3. Wait, a MIDWIFE?
As much as it pains me to admit this, there are a couple of reasons I am glad we have lived in the UK this long. One of them is the chance to find at least one reason not to hate the NHS (National Health Service). Well, oddly, I still haven't done that, but I do have a newfound appreciation for British healthcare in one aspect: childbirth.

I was less than thrilled when, newly pregnant and eager to get started on prenatal care, every hospital I called kept talking about seeing a "midwife." A midwife? Where the hell are the doctors? Aren't midwives those hippie-chick, tree-hugging freaks who hate pain killers and try to lure you into having your child at home where the dangerous process of childbirth could quickly spiral out of control and find you and your newborn dead in the arms of your hyperventilating husband?

Well, I guess if you've grown up in the US that's definitely how you might see it. I sure did. Matt got the lion's share of my rants in this regard, until I finally started to find out more and realized that actually, no, midwives are not freaks - they are trained medical professionals. And they are used in all the hospitals here when it comes to childbirth - OBGYNs are only in the picture if your pregnancy is high-risk (because that's what they specialize in - special births like c-sections and inductions). Otherwise, midwives know all they need to know for normal births.

Normal births! What a concept! You mean people can give birth naturally without being induced, without getting an epidural, without needing twenty IVs stuck in their arms and in a room that's quiet and comfy with just their husband and midwife? Shocking, isn't it? (Well, it was to me.)

Enter The Birth Centre and Pippa my midwife. What relief and what excitement! Whatever I need to do for my safety and that of the baby, I will do, but for now, I can't tell you how excited I am about the possibility of having my baby in such a comfortable, professional, personal place...

They have nothing to do with the NHS. Just thought I'd make that clear. I'm still not over my hatred.


2. "I hope those prawns aren't for YOU."

Just after coming home from the US after Christmas, I ventured to the grocery store to shop for something I now consider a luxury given its scarcity in the UK: fresh, uncooked, unpeeled shrimp.
Of course, they call them prawns here. And they seem to consider it odd that you ever want them unpeeled or uncooked. Or without copious amounts of mayonnaise mixed into them. But we'll save "The Shrimp Cocktail Rant" for another (rainier) day.

I was still in that awkward "I don't think I look pregnant but I clearly do" stage. People were giving me the knowing looks, the knowing smiles, the works. I'm not gonna lie - I kinda liked it. But these little pleasantries were taken to a new level when I made it to the fish counter and ordered 500g of prawns only to have the gentleman serving me pointedly stare and say, "I hope those prawns aren't for YOU."

*begin time freeze for explanation*

He meant well. He really did. British people, weirdly, are all told by their doctors, or rather, midwives, and every other person whose ever known a pregnant person or been pregnant themselves, that prawns (and all seafood) are bad for you in pregnancy. I really don't get this at ALL. The medical explanation is that you're not supposed to have undercooked seafood. But who the hell eats raw shrimp!? Anyway, he meant well.

*end time freeze for explanation*

I actually just smiled at him - even let out an incredulous giggle - and said, "Well, yes, they are actually." To which he responded with feigned indifference and yet obvious shock at my lack of concern for the unborn, with a shrug.


1. Second Class Citizenship Ahoy!
One of the best parts of being pregnant thus far has been watching Matt. He has gone from being a normal, happy but only somewhat interested father-to-be to a suddenly freaked-out-what-the-hell-is-that-moving-in-your-stomach guy to an excited, picky-name-picking paternal force.

The other night he had to go out to a business dinner where he apparently had the occasion to speak to some recent new-dads. The gist of their sage advice to him, man-to-man, was this:

*insert Matt's comically disconcerted face here*

"They said, 'Get ready to become a second-class citizen in your own house.'"

I laughed.

Is that harsh? :)

* * *

Gramma's Magical Bell Pepper Salad (& the saga of Julie and the stray Siberian Husky)

It's Sunday and Sundays inevitably make me think of two things: my dad's pancakes and breakfast at Matt's Gramma's house in New Haven (well, Hamden technically, but whatever). This morning Matt and I couldn't help but recall one particularly memorable occasion at Gramma's that included not only good food, but an unforgettable story and very good example of my general inability to control laughter at the most inappropriate of times.

One of the highlights of our trip to Connecticut in December (besides Matt obsessing over the fire like some kind of HFA child), was the dinner we had at his Gramma's house. I love Gramma, who I affectionately like to refer to as The Sheriff, for many reasons, among those her tendency to be brutally honest, to curse unexpectedly, to wear big 80s Italian-style sunglasses whenever she's outside, and because she is one of the few people who I think really knows the meaning of working hard. But I have to say, the reason I love her the most are the meals she prepares for us.

From an outsider's perspective, depending on what part of the country he grew up in, this particular dinner might have seemed either like a perfectly normal Italian American family dinner, or like a display of excessive, marathon-like force feeding by an otherwise seemingly pleasant old woman with a heavy Italian accent. Having now spent the past six years of my life being introduced to the Italian American ways of the Northeast, I revel in these visits and repasts.
Plus I just love to eat a lot. :)

Matt, being Italian in his Gramma's hometown in San Martino, Italy

The table on this last night of December in 2008 featured a lot of the usual Gramma staples, generally to be had at her Sunday morning breakfasts, and some other but nonetheless fortuitous, dinner-esque dishes.

A selection, if you please:
- Breaded chicken cutlets, fried and cooled ahead of time
- Fried chunks of Baccalà (salt Cod)
- A cold Baccalà salad that had capers, I think
- Chicken broth with dandelion greens (if you've never heard dandelion greens or "Horta" in Greek cuisine, you've never lived)
- Baked manicotti stuffed with ricotta & covered in homemade marinara
- The prerequisite boiled string beans with nothing but olive oil drizzled on them
- Generous chunks of parmesan cheese in a ceramic bowl (I say generous because we all know what highway robbery good parmigiano reggiano is in the US)
- Large, unpitted, and very green olives cured in salt water or vinegar - never have I had fleshier, fresher olives than those!
- Succulently chewy oyster mushrooms fried with pepperoncino and olive oil (my personal fav)
- Ciabatta rolls, warmed in the oven to soften them slightly (Gramma says the only reason she still has all her teeth at the ripe age of 80 is that she ate really hard bread all her life)
- Fresh mozzarella and slices of Italian prosciutto (offered after we'd already eaten dinner)
- Freshly roasted chestnuts (we helped pierce them to let the steam escape)
- Slices of cantelope
- A bottle of Frascati wine, tap water, orange juice, a couple of shots of Strega, and of course, Italian espresso
[NOTE: This smörgåsbord made for a real fight for self-control on my part and Matt's and explains why it is also traditional for Matt (and any other family member who may have partaken) to take a nap in the living room after most of the meals at Gramma's house.]

All of this, a deviation from the norm or not, was to be expected. But two things threw me off a little bit that night at Gramma's house as we conversed with her and Matt's uncle.

1. The unassuming bell pepper and cauliflower salad sitting on the table next to me, whose vibrant colors and mysteriously simple yet delicious flavor entranced me from start to finish (literally, to the point that I actually ate all of it except a piece I grudgingly gave to Matt)

2. The story Matt's uncle told concerning Julie, their cat, who also happens to be the oldest adopted cat on the books at the Hamden animal shelter (20 yrs in case you were wondering)

I am severely allergic to cats (hence #11) and pregnant, so when we walked in Matt's uncle graciously insisted he would put the old and feeble Julie in the basement to offer me a comfortable atmosphere in which to break bread. Throughout the meal the conversation flowed like wine (or was it the other way around?), but was nevertheless occasionally interrupted by various thumping, whining and howling sounds coming from the basement, and therefore presumably being made by Julie. Matt's uncle looked pretty uncomfortable about having exiled her in such sharp contrast from her usual pampered lifestyle, and so from time to me he would get up and go talk to her or bribe her into silence with bits of food. Gramma generally received the uncle's gestures with a dismissive wave of her hand and a click of her tongue, thereby signaling that she was glad the cat was in the basement .

On one such occasion, halfway through the dinner, Matt's uncle came back to the table looking particularly upset. As I nibbled on the bell peppers and cauliflower (and shoved other food onto Matt's plate as a diversion from the salad), he explained why. (Caveat (PILP Alert!): what follows was cause for uncontrollable and probably highly inappropriate laughter on my part. This is not the first time I've done it, nor shall it be the last, but at the very least I will try to use this posting as my better-late-than-never mea culpa (wow, another PILP) in honor of Julie).

"One day about a month ago I was sitting in the kitchen drinking my coffee. I usually let Julie out into the backyard before I go to work. So I'm going about my business drinking my mug of coffee when I hear Julie scream. I mean, I was in the kitchen and I had my coffee in my hand, but as soon as I heard her I just jumped outside through the screen door - it was already open, thank God or I may not have made it - and saw a giant Siberian husky going after Julie!--"

*insert first stifled laughter-snort on Brenda's part
followed by a uncomfortable smile from the uncle*

"I was looking for Julie and screaming her name when I realized that vicious dog had her in his mouth! He had her in his mouth and was waving her around like a rag doll--"

*uncle imitates the Siberian husky wildly thrashing its head around with Julie in its powerful hyena-like jaws as I determinedly but less successfully stifle another laughter-snort this time receiving a kick under the table from Matt*

"So he's waving Julie around like a rag doll and I'm like 'What do I do? What do I do?' and then suddenly, instinctively - almost like it was in slow motion - I drop my mug - I mean at this point I didn't care what happened to the mug I just knew I had to get Julie - and I reach over and punch the dog in the back of the head! I mean, I just punched it, right in the head!--"

*full-fledged laughter-snort escapes Brenda's mouth followed by uncontrollable but somewhat stifled giggling, incredulous glare from uncle*

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry -" I manage to stammer. "Please go on. I don't know why I'm laughing. I think maybe I'm just in shock, um, just relieved that you got the dog."

*big old involuntary laughter-snort*

*uncomfortable pause followed by slightly incredulous chuckle on uncle's part*

"No, it's ok, I mean I understand it's kind of an unbelievable story. It was really scary. Yeah, I mean, he saw it coming but I still hit him and he let go of Julie. I didn't do any permanent damage really, but I mean, who's dog is roaming in other peoples' yards anyway? Poor Julie she just laid there for a second and then she got up and ran and I was looking for rocks and yelling at the dog but it ran away and so did Julie. I had to call in to work and take the day off to find her, I even had to call the game warden...and then we had to take her to the hospital to have her fixed up...it was awful."

*amused laughter from the sheriff, hand-gestures from uncle, full-on laughter from Brenda*

"You know Brenda, now I'm really starting to wonder why you're laughing. I mean, it was pretty awful what happened to Julie--"

*continued involuntary laughter from Brenda, awkward laughter from Matt, sardonic chuckles from the Sheriff*

"No, I know, I know. I don't know what's wrong with me...I, I am sorry. I'm really sorry. Yes, that's awful."

He shortly thereafter excused himself to go check on Julie. It was a long five minutes in between though, let me tell ya. The awkwardness and inappropriateness was mitigated only by what I now refer to as Gramma's Magical Bell Pepper Salad. To change the subject I asked her how she made it. It is so easy it hurts, and definitely one of those dishes that just proves simple is always best.

She offered to let me take several jars of it home with us to London, but even after we explained the whole "international customs" concept to her she continued to try to force it upon us, inherently suspicious of any so-called international airport procedures.

Here's the recipe in case you ever want to taste a little of what I tasted that night at Gramma's:

Gramma's Magical Bell Pepper Salad

Serves 4

I didn't have cauliflower at home this morning - so sue me.

Ingredients
- 6 (preferably red, orange or yellow) bell peppers, washed and chopped into large squares
- half a head of cauliflower, chopped into medium sized florettes
- 1/2 cup largeish pickled capers (not caperberries), rinsed
- 1/2 cup (or so) of white wine or rice wine vinegar
- salt and pepper to taste
- Matt adds some dried oregano, but I consider that blasphemous

Procedure
Mix all ingredients in a bowl and allow to stand and soak for half a day, mixing occasionally. Serve as a side salad or snack. Can be put into jars and stored for later consumption, as long as you know the whole sanitary procedure for doing that and you're not trying to smuggle it across the Atlantic Ocean.

The Sheriff (on the right) with her cousin back in the old days