I like a little mystery in the midst of routine. A drizzle of scented massage oil makes the evening fly by. A simple puff of incense fills every crevice of my home with glorious serenity. And of all possible aromas, Frankincense reigns supreme. Ever since I was a little girl, poised with wonder under the glittering Christmas tree, Frankincense has captivated me. My little brain could never quite grasp what on earth Frankincense was or why it was so special, but that didn’t stop me from dreaming of the magical era when a gift of Frankincense was as beloved as gold. In fact, the mystery only made it seem more special. Then, thundering in from the far reaches of Oman comes Frankincense Ice Cream. Each nibble is creamy and sweet – Frankincense has an alluring bite of pine, sweet ginger, something like orange zest, and foggy twilight smiles. In my research I learned that Frankincense is resin (a.k.a. dried sap) from the Boswellia tree. The highest quality flows creamy white and is called luban, meaning …
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I love a good surprise. Today our Omani menu is full of hidden, sneaky treats. The ice cream? Laced with frankincense oil. The lemonade? As good as a garden of roses bathed in summer love. And the kofta are juicy and fragrant, hiding cinnamon and cumin, lounging on a bed of zucchini tomato sauce with a slightly cooling, sneaky handful of mint. And then there’s this kind of surprise: This represents a portion of packages that came in the mail from my mom yesterday. They are binders. These binders contain every post I’ve ever written on the blog. Every. Single. Post. Every recipe. Every photo. Almost every comment. Ever since the first week, she’s been printing out my posts. Dutifully and unbeknownst to me. If that ain’t a mother’s love, I don’t know what is. I’m completely floored. Grilled Kofta with Zucchini Sauce [Recipe] Hand rolled beef seasoned with earthy cinnamon, wild cumin, and coriander seed. Served with a quick tomato and zucchini sauce laced with parsley and a smattering of mint, the perfect way to …
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Pull up a chair, grab a steaming cup of Kahwa and a few dates. We’re going to Oman, a boomerang shaped country on the edge of the Arabian pennisula. Kahwa is omani coffee, made with enough sugar for the biggest smile in your heart, a dusting of dreamy cardamom and brittle, sunset-colored strands of saffron. Sip by sip, let the heat soak into your pores as you dream your day away. If coffee isn’t your preference, perhaps a cold glass of rosewater lemonade [Recipe], or a salty buttermilk drink called laban, or even a creamy yogurt sipper will help you while away the time among the desert dunes. Whatever you choose, just be sure to heed the traffic signs. When it comes time to dine, Oman has an astonishing array of rice dishes (anything from steamed rice to pilafs or even mekboos, a.k.a. machboos). We cooked machboos [recipe] last fall and it was so good it actually inspired me to boil my Thanksgiving turkey. While the house smelled like a far away spice shop mixed with down home …
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I walk out of the kitchen and the steam immediately slides off my face like a mask. The worst is behind me; one pound of large pink shrimp plucked from the bubbling boil now recline in a cool bowl of ice water. I’m on my way to the dining room with an armful of unlikely friends. First, the mayonnaise. This thick, white creamy spread is never on our table unless guests are present. I grimace, thinking of Ava and Mr. Picky. Oh, how they’ll balk when they see it. Then the capers, a personal favorite. I get lost in their grassy brine, each bite like a prize, bursting in my mouth like a carnival. Despite Keith’s aversion, Ava and I will be happy, this much I know. I also carry a lemon, heavy with juice and canary yellow despite the season. A few fresh sprigs of dill are the finishing touch, their delicate stems like a feather in a hat or a weeping willow, grazing the table with grace. Something I rarely think to use …
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When longtime reader Mette suggested a Norwegian-style shrimp party for this week’s Global Table, I knew I was in luck. What could be more summery than cracking and assembling DIY shrimp canapes? Here’s what she said: In summer, people also enjoy a lot of fresh shrimps, eaten cold and very simply with white bread, butter, mayonnaise and a squish of lemon. The shrimps with their shells and heads on are set on the table in a big bowl, and everyone peels their own as they load their sandwiches – it’s slow and messy eating and very sociable, since the mouths are free to talk until the hands are done with the peeling. I couldn’t find any head-on shrimp, but I did find these beauties which I boiled and chilled… Instead of using traditional white bread, I used slices of soft wheat bread cut into dainty circles with cutters (I used the scraps to make baked French toast the next morning). I loaded my canapes up with the salty capers, a splash of lemon juice and …
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I can be so wimpy. Sometimes I need a little push. A little motivation. Like that time I wanted to dive off the tall board at the pool. It was seventh grade and I was so scared my heart was in my ears. Thump, thump, thump. I could hardly see. Even my knees were woozy. I held hands with a friend and, after a thirty-minute long giggle-hesitation, I actually jumped in. Unfortunately, the force of jumping 15 feet did things to my bathing suit I still don’t want to talk about. I never did jump off that board again, although I’ll always be glad I did. Today is much the same. Gravlax, our second Norwegian dish for our Global Table. The very idea of eating made me weak in the knees. (Tip: Invite a Scandinavian friend over to help get you over those giggle-hesitations). Gravlax is cured salmon, a.k.a. raw salmon that sits in a bed of sugar and salt for three days or until firm and ready to eat. The flavor is typically enhanced with …
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When I woke up yesterday I had no intention of losing my wedding rings. In the morning I hugged Malky the cat and Ava, my daughter. In the afternoon, I did a silly dance with the curtains wide open, daring my neighbors to judge me. Around five o’clock I indulged in a green bottle of bubbly water while sitting by a glittering summer-filled window. I felt the heat (110F in the shade) radiate on my face and I smiled, happy to be inside. I fidgeted with my rings, as I often do whenever happy thoughts cross my mind. Two hours later, Ava’s bedtime arrived. I carefully placed my rings on the coffee table to lotion up my hands. Ava singsonged across the room, her entire body full of giggles, and asked if she could try the rings on. I nodded with a smile and she tossed them on her tiny fingers. She said, while dangling her bejeweled hand out in front of her, “I’m mama. What you want? I cook you something.” I remember laughing and I remember …
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I watch the Olympics on the televisions at the gym. Synchronized divers catch my eye as I rappel down a climbing wall from two stories up. (Really, it’s more of an awkward fall since I’m new to rock climbing). I watch gymnasts flip while pedaling with my heartbeat at 150 bpm. Since I don’t have a television, this is my only option. Here’s what I’ve learned: put five golden rings on a wet noodle and my eyes will well up with tears. I love the Olympics. The very logo has seeped into my subconscious. Just look at our Norwegian menu for this week’s Global Table. I didn’t realize it, but I filled our plates with circles, rings, and even the littlest bit of gold (in the form of lemon zest on the gravlaks). Sure, the cake needed to be made of rings, but the bread didn’t have to be cut in circles. Consider it my fun, accidental homage to all the beautiful athletes in the Olympics. Norwegian Summer Shrimp Party [Recipe] Experience summer like a Norwegian – load up the table with …
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Oh Norway, land of the midnight sun. This is the place to go when the world’s drudgery stifles you… when the world just… sticks to your skin. In Norway, the sky feels a million miles away. The air is crisper, cleaner. Sparkling. I spent a weekend in Stavanger, Norway in 1998, where I pitched our way to first place in our softball championship. I remember just breathing, breathing, breathing as deeply as possible. That air – I will always remember it. The fjords seemed to know what I was experiencing; these bohemouth rock walls scraped up into the sky as if they wanted to stretch into the beauty themselves – to become a part of the crystalline air. And it worked. This was a high school trip so there was also the standard curious experience. Like the odd coincidence that we arrived in late spring when the whole town (or so it seemed) was tipsy. Stumbling, bumbling, tipsy. If I remember correctly, we were told this was a standard part of graduation festivities. I do believe I …
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I press the glass to my lips. Millions of tiny bubbles burst at once; fireworks in my mouth. Zesty fireworks. If the name is any indication, this Chapman is a serious drink. A drink for gentlemen and poker, with a splash of intrigue. A drink suitable for 007 himself. But one sip in and I know – this is a silly, sing-in-the-shower, dance-with-your-towel-on-your-head kind of drink. This is a sit-in-the-shade-and-sing-to-the-birds kind of drink. What’s in a name, anyway? The drink comes from Nigeria, and so – in a fit of boredom one sweltering afternoon – I look into Nigerian naming traditions. As the air-conditioner whines, I lose myself in a group called the Yoruba who live, in part, in Nigeria. According to Yoruba culture, the naming of the child is a decision of the utmost importance. They believe that the child’s name shapes the life of the child because the name is like a spirit, constantly on a quest to seek out fulfillment. This is how, for example, a Yoruba child can come to be named “kokumo,”or “this …
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This is so quick, it’s silly. All you need are a few medium-ripe plantains (as pictured), some red palm oil, and a bit of salt & hot pepper. You can find the red palm oil at your natural grocer or, if you’re lucky enough to have an African market, there. You brush on the red palm oil (back in the day I wrote a bit about this popular west African oil)… Sprinkle with salt and whatever spices you like (think hot, like cayenne… or mild, like paprika)… Grill until tender and charred, but not mushy. Slice and serve… … preferably with crushed peanuts and a sprinkling of extra spices, as desired. This would also be great with minced chili peppers, like jalapeno. That’s it! A quick and relatively fuss-free taste of Nigeria. Adapted from The Africa Cookbook: Tastes of a Continent by Jessica Harris. Here’s what you need… Ingredients: 3 plantains 1-2 Tbsp red palm oil handful crushed peanuts salt cayenne pepper, optional Grilled Plantain spears with crushed peanuts | Boli Bopa Votes: 0 Rating: 0 You: Rate …
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There are four things I love to do in the summer. 1. Flit around pools, lakes, and oceans until my fingers wrinkle and warp. 2. Make mud pies and bake them in the Oklahoma sun. 3. Kiss my husband at the drive-in movie theater. 4. Dance like no one is watching. When that’s all done, I like a good, sweet sipper and a shady spot to drink it down. Thankfully, I just learned about Chapman – a bright, bubbly festival for your mouth. This is a Nigerian drink made for parties – supposedly invented by a Nigerian bartender named Chapman and, although I wasn’t able to find any solid facts on the history, I like the idea that there is a real live person behind the drink. There are as many variations as there are bubbles in Chapman. The general idea is to mix orange soda (traditional would be fanta) with a lemon/lime soda (like sprite). I went with natural izze sodas and later made a version with san pelligrino. Both tasted bright and zesty. Perhaps the most …
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