All posts filed under: Monday Meal Review

Monday Meal Review: Kiribati

THE SCENE I wanted our Kiribati Global Table to go perfectly. I had visions of something out of Norman Rockwell. Loving family, smiles all around, big appetites. My two year-old eating $35/lb lobster and loving it. Yeah, right. “Ava, you want some lobster? It’s like… fish.” “Uhuh” she said. The first bite went in. Is it good? “Uhuh.” Approximately 13.3 seconds later she spit it out. “Weird.” I died a little inside. That teeny bite probably cost $5.50. Okay, maybe only $3.50. As the dinner moved on, Ava never changed her opinion, although she thoroughly enjoyed dipping her rice into the coconut curry. Hey, I’ll take what I can get. As our quiet meal wrapped up, I looked at my husband and daughter, trying to memorize their faces. In the morning, I flew to California for the Homefries retreat with Joy the Baker and her crew. It was my first time away from Miss Ava and while it was only for two nights it was so, so, so, so difficult. Hoping to postpone the inevitable I: – Ate my …

Monday Meal Review: Kenya

THE SCENE “Look Ava,” I said, “You can pick up the meat with your bread – it’s called chaaa-paaa-teeee.” Ava laughed. Then, without blinking, she screwed her face up tight and cried. Then she laughed. Then she threw her head back and tried to squirm out of her high chair. Ava was tired. Really tired. “Watch how mamma does,” I continued, trying to stay upbeat. I tore a piece of the still warm chapati and used it to pinch a small piece of meat between my fingers. Trying to look nonchalant, I offered it to her. “No!” she wailed. I popped it into my mouth and offered her some plain stewed beef instead. She continued to wail without stopping until her little face was beet red. Keith went and shut the windows. On his way back, he scooped her up and gave her a bear hug. Then they sat together, in his seat. Thank goodness. She loves sitting in his lap when she’s tired. On napless days it’s often the only way she’ll eat. But even on …

Monday Meal Review: Kazakhstan

THE SCENE Today is a tribute to my cat who died last week. To non-cat lovers, my apologies. Please return tomorrow for regularly scheduled programming. This week’s comfort food was exactly what I needed. You see, when we finally decided to put Cabo to sleep I was a red faced, crying mess. I didn’t want to be. I wanted to be sure of my decision. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to be free of “what if’s.” Instead I felt horrendous for having such power over life. I didn’t want to decide when he would take his last breath. I didn’t want to break his unfaltering trust in me as his owner. I just didn’t want any part of it. I simply wanted to make him better by ousting the horrendous disease that swallowed him up – feline AIDS. Unfortunately that wasn’t possible. By the time the decision was made, he was a skeleton of his former mega kitty self. He’d developed a tremor in his last days that ultimately brought us into the vet’s office …

Monday Meal Review: Jordan

THE SCENE I had a lot of time to think while caramelizing the four giant onions for the mujadddara. Ninety minutes, to be exact. My eyes were puffy and red from the sharp fumes. The scent clung to my hair and clothes. As the onions burned hotter and hotter, they released their juices until they were swallowed up in their own bubbling oniony swimming pool. It took at least 45 minutes for the liquid to steam off. I thought they would never start browning. As I stood there, stirring the soupy mess, my mind ran over and over the the last few months. One thing kept popping back up. About how I haven’t told you yet. How I’ve shied away from being real with you, my dear, trusting friends (and I’m so glad you’re here). As the onions finally dried out enough to begin caramelizing, I promised myself to to tell you. And not just part of the truth. The whole thing. Because that’s life. It’s real. So, here goes. Keith’s 21 year-old son is going to …

Monday Meal Review: Japan

THE SCENE: Not only does Ava have no interest in tasting sushi, she won’t even touch the stuff. She takes one look at it and just shakes her head, content to nibble edamame. In the past, I’ve tried various techniques to get Ava interested in sushi. I order rolls with nothing but asparagus, cucumber, and avocado – her most favorite veggies. I “oooh” and “ahhh” over how wonderful my roll tastes. I have even taken her to dinner with her little friend Sanya who gobbles sushi down faster than most adults. To be honest, while Ava was transfixed and fascinated at such sushi enthusiasm in a fellow two year-old, at the end of the day peer pressure held no sway over Miss Ava. I was stumped. And nervous. You see, the moment I began this Adventure, I knew that I would be making sushi for Japan. How could I not? Sushi is fun, healthy, beautiful, and authentic. There had to be a way to get Ava interested. “Dip your hand in the water, and pat the …

Monday Meal Review: Jamaica

THE SCENE: My lips started off with a low-grade tingle and then flared up into a fire engine burn. Careful not to touch the jerk seasoning again, I put the lid back on the blender. “So that’s what three habeneros taste like.” I said to the faded photo of my Great Aunt, Lulla Rina. She smiled back at me, as she had for decades. She was holding my brother Damien – a chubby baby boy – in her soft, grandmotherly arms. He’d be 33 if he were alive today. And he’d probably love habeneros. I silently promised him I’d be brave. I’d eat my share. I’ve lived longer without Damien than with him, yet he remains one of the most important, influential people in my world. Life’s funny that way. We remember the shooting stars so vividly, even when the sky is full of trillions of other stars. Looking back at the mixture, I considered suiting up with gloves, goggles, and a clothespin to pinch my nose shut. I settled on just the gloves. As …

Monday Meal Review: Italy

THE SCENE Many things about Italian cooking involve family. Sharing. Loud conversations while laughing over nothing. But this is not always the case. For example, I waited an entire week to tell Keith …. a.k.a. Mr Picky … a.k.a. the man with the most hypochondria ever… about the eggs. The raw eggs. In the tiramisu. It was mama’s lil’ family secret all week long. Hear me out – my logic was sound. First of all, I’d made the thing three times. Each time, it became exponentially more fabulous. My friends at the Girl Scouts practically swooned over the second version – I think the word used was “Luscious” – with a capital L. The third version made our friends Alan and Michelle weep. Well, maybe not weep. But eyes did roll. And thirds were administered to already full bellies. Right before bedtime. The night before a 6 am fishing trip. Considering the tirimisu contained enough espresso and rum to jump start an entire marching band, this was a miracle of miracles. Anyway – back to Keith and the …

Monday Meal Review: Israel

THE SCENE Ava wanted nothing to do with the hummus. She shook her head. She closed her eyes. She even yelled “No!!!!” – in case I didn’t get the message. I took a deep breath and calmly said “Ok.” Little did she know, I had a plan. The very next day I whipped out the food processor. “Want to help mama?” I asked, smiling big. “Okay!” she cheered, with big eyes, anticipating a fantastic treat. “Please drop the chickpeas into the food processor,” I said nonchalantly. “Yes” she said, sneaking one before she did so. “Should we add some parsley?” I asked. “Uhuh,” she nodded, her little hand grabbing a fistful and dropping it in. “More?” she asked “Ok! And what about oil?” “Okay!” And on it went. She loved it. In a final flourish, I let her push the button. “BzzzRRRRRRRRRRRaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah” she exclaimed, laughing as the mixture pureed in a smooth dip. I tasted it, adjusted the seasonings, and let her blitz it again. Proudly, I offered her a spoonful. Ava shook her head no. Then, …

Monday Meal Review: Ireland

THE SCENE There she was, sitting on the rickety bus bench, fiddling with her cellphone. As I drove by I looked at her. She was old – ancient, really. Her head, lost under the brim of her giant camo hat, barely came up over the bench she was sitting on. Not quite four feet tall, her tiny frame was lost in a sea of plastic bags – filled with enough food to last her the week. I’ve watched her for the last few years, the way a busy person observes the changing foliage – in regretful passing. I’ve seen the effort it takes her to do her shopping – 6 bags of groceries, 2 cases of soda… crossing four lanes of traffic at rush hour (never at the cross walk; it’s too much of a detour), steadily carrying one bag at a time. She’d carefully place each bag down on the bench, then shuffle back to the other side of the street to get another. As usual, I was headed somewhere when I saw her – to …

Monday Meal Review: Iraq

THE SCENE Mom smeared the cream cheese onto the shiny black date and offered it to me. I looked up at her, the way only a stubborn seven year-old can, and shook my head slowly. “Try it, you’ll like it,” she urged, popping one in her mouth herself. It looks like a roach, I thought. I watched her chew. “When is dinner?” “Not for a few more hours,” she replied. I wouldn’t budge. There was no way I was going to eat the cream cheese date. My stomach growled. I chewed my nails. I drank some water. Ten long minutes later, I caved. It was sweet. Too sweet. Leathery on the outside, creamy in the center. Roachy, roachy, roachy. I shuddered, barely swallowing what I had in my mouth before putting the rest back down on the plate. “No thank you.” I whispered and never ate another date again. Not, that is, until this week, during our Iraqi Global Table. The glorious, long-standing history of Pistachio Date balls were too fantastic to pass up. When I …

Monday Meal Review: Iran

THE SCENE Beep. Beep. Beep. I was waiting to pay at Whole Foods, watching my food come down the belt with one eye and shooing Ava away from the chap stick display with the other. Other than that, I might as well have been asleep. I’ve been working hard. Lately, that’s all there’s been time for. Working to be a good mom. Working to be a good wife. Working to not melt in the 100F temperatures Tulsa has been sustaining for a month now. And, of course, working on work. My brain was tired, and the steady beep of the scanner only lulled me deeper into a trance. So, when the happy voice said “What’s the pomegranate syrup for?” it took me a few seconds to realize they were talking to me. I looked up, unglazed my eyes, and smiled. “What?” I said, looking vaguely at the bottle in the girl’s hand and then up at her name tag. Farisa, it read. “The pomegranate syrup?” Farisa was bagging my groceries. She was friendly, polite, and interested in …

Monday Meal Review: Indonesia

THE SCENE I threw my head back and stared at the ceiling. “Seriously?” I muttered. With an irritated flick, I tossed the latest item on top of the quickly growing mound of clothing. Just like all the others, this – my favorite baby blue dress – was smattered with dark, oily grease stains. The sad truth had made itself apparent: I cannot be trusted apronless around salad dressing, cooking oil, or butter. Before I knew it, what started off as an innocent attempt to get dressed, quickly disintegrated into rummaging to find even one single top that was spatter-free. Then, I got so fed up with the situation that I took it to the next level of neurosis, and began on an all-out closet cleaning. As in: all out. Only things I loved made it back in. The rest ended up in one of two monstrous piles. Pile A was dedicated to these dirty looking grease-wrecks (destined for spot scrubbing with bar soap), and Pile B was dedicated to clothes I was ready to donate. I was …