All posts filed under: Monday Meal Review

Monday Meal Review: India

THE SCENE On my brother Keith’s last day in Tulsa, in the very last half hour, he said something that will stick with me for a long time. I was sipping my tea, watching him play with Ava, thinking how happy I was. Conversation turned to our next visit and how work always tries to ruin plans. The way they make you guilty for taking even a little time off. How, inevitably, they squeeze as much out of you as they possibly can. Rather abruptly he said: “I won’t cancel, no matter what.” I nodded, and took another sip of tea, appreciating his sincerity. “Three weeks before Damien died I was supposed to visit you two,” he continued, looking off towards the fountain, watching the water tumble into the cool pool. “Work begged me to reschedule my flight – to stay for a big project. Damien was crushed. And I didn’t get to see him before…” He trailed off and grew silent. After a long pause, he quietly added “I’ll never do that again.” I …

Monday Meal Review: Iceland

THE SCENE Careful, Sasha. Let’s get this right. I quietly dropped the blueberries into the measuring cup, then into the pot. The first time I made the ice cream, I’d accidentally doubled the amount of blueberries required, thinking a “clamshell” container of blueberries equaled two cups. Turns out a clamshell actually holds closer to four cups. The result? Icy, icy ice cream all over the counters. Not pleasant. This time I’d get it right. The scent of cardamom wafted up from the bubbling pot, mixing with the sweet blueberries. Intoxicating. If fairies wore perfume, this would be their signature scent. A few hours later the syrupy goodness was chilled and ready to go. I looked at the clock. So was Ava. Naptime. “Hold on sweetie. I just need to get the ice cream churning.” Her eyes got big. “Ice cream?” “Yes, honey. You can have some after your nap.” I smiled, trying to sound convincing. I poured the milk and heavy cream into the machine but, before I could add the chilled blueberries, a sharp …

Monday Meal Review: Hungary

THE SCENE: “No, no, no. That’s not how you make it! You need much more paprika.” I looked down at the heaping tablespoon in front of me. Like, what? Two tablespoons? I asked, raising my eyebrows. “At least.” Mom waved her hand like she was shooing a fly. “As much as you can stand.” She looked down at Ava’s head and wrapped another strand of hair around the soft cotton curlers. In a few short hours they’d have matching curls. I tasted the broth. My eyes began to water. “It’s spicy.” “That’s what the sour cream is for.” “Should I add it now? That’s what these recipes say to do.” “No no no. Where did you get these recipes? Add it at the end. At the end.” She sighed dramatically. Ava looked up at her and sighed a little copycat sigh. Laughing, mom patted Ava’s head. The curlers were secure. An hour later I whisked in the sour cream. “I can’t believe you’re not even going to eat this.” She got up and peeked in the …

Monday Meal Review: Haiti & Honduras

Keith’s parents would be here in just a few hours. I went to the window. Blue and clear. A good time as any to get cooking. I tore open the gelatin and whisked it together with warm water until dissolved. Next, I cracked open the thick white coconut milk, and swirled it with the rest of the ingredients, stopping to dab a little vanilla extract on my wrists. Time for the stove top. I clicked on the burner and let things heat up. After a moment, the smell of summer billowed up. I poured the steaming liquid into the mold and stirred in the tropical fruit. The next day we’d have elegant, grown-up jello from Haiti. Blancmange. The whole thing took less than ten minutes. I smiled at the novel simplicity. Ava would love it. I pushed the dessert into the refrigerator gently, trying not to splash the blancmange around too much. I should have made something like this a long time ago, I thought to myself. I hardly ever make food that wobbles. In fact, …

Monday Meal Review: Guyana

THE SCENE From across the store I could see them – orange habaneros, piled high, glowing like the summer sun. They were small and tender in appearance but, I knew all too well, scary hot on the inside. Like a crab, I sidestepped across the room, handling several cases of produce before I made my way to the peppers. “Ouch,” I thought, thinking of the meal to come. “This is gonna hurt.” I scooped up three small beauties, reasoning that if they can eat six in Guyana, surely I can stretch myself to try three. By the time I got home, I’d lost my resolve. I’d try one, maybe two habaneros in the Caribbean Green Seasoning. I cut up the celery, onions, garlic, and herbs – tossed them into the blender, and plugged the machine in. No more avoiding it. Time for the peppers. I split a habanero down the middle, taking care to avoid the hot juices, and threw one half in. I didn’t so much look at the second half. So much for bravery. …

Monday Meal Review: Guinea and Guinea-Bissau

THE SCENE: I cut into the yucca root, first trimming the ends, then cracking it down the middle. Instead of revealing creamy white flesh, the yucca was speckled and streaked with brown. Rotten. I grabbed the peeler and stripped off the thick skin, exposing even more bruised flesh. Why I peeled that rotten yucca, I cannot tell you, but when I was done, I dutifully cut it into thick sticks and placed them in a pretty pile. I then pushed the pile straight into the trash. Darn yucca. Mocking me again. I looked over at the second and final yucca root, eying the waxy brown skin. It looked exactly the same as the first – no outer signs of distress. No signs of rot. I took a deep breath and cut one end open, swearing I would never ever make another yucca dish if this one wasn’t any good. At the very least I wouldn’t make another yucca dish that day – I had no way to get to the supermarket. As I cracked the knife away from the …

Monday Meal Review: Guatemala

THE SCENE I was happy. I drank frothy hot cocoa. It was rich and sweet and I could see the sun peeking through the grey clouds. The breeze smoothed my hair back like an old friend. And then I looked. The picnic table was moving – marching, marching, marching. I focused my eyes. Ants. Headed straight for the hot cocoa bars. Ready to carry mountains on their backs. Ready to eat sugar until they were too full to fit into their tunnels. Into the cracks and grass and wherever else ants march. I took another sip of my hot cocoa. I thought about cleaning them up. Shooing them away. Spraying, wiping, swiping. But the ants would just keep coming. I looked down at my cup and watched the frothy bubbles pop. I shut my eyes and took another sip. Sweet, sugary goodness. Oh, how it tasted exactly like “good.” All I wanted in that moment was to enjoy the cocoa. It was divine. I peeked over at the ants, now nibbling the chocolate. That’s all they …

Monday Meal Review: Grenada

THE SCENE: I was almost asleep when it hit me. My eyes popped open. “Did you put the Oil Down away?” I asked. “The what?” Keith replied, groggily. “The Oil Down. The stew?” I waited, blinded by the piercing blue glow radiating from my alarm clock. “No?” I shut my eyes tightly and shook my head. Keith always answers my questions with a question when I’m upset. “How long has it been out?” he asked. I didn’t answer. “Is it still good?” “No.” I felt tears well up in my eyes even as I said it. I tried not to blink, hoping they would stay put. This was a first. An entire dish, gone uneaten by Mr Picky and Miss Ava. Sure, I had sampled it earlier in the day, while flitting around the kitchen, but I had saved the bulk of the stew for later, for a time when we could all sit down together to eat as a family. Here we were, hours later – in bed, almost asleep. Several urgent errands had left the …

Monday Meal Review: Greece

THE SCENE: “No matter what happens in the kitchen, never apologize.” – Julia Child, Appetite for Life Thirty-four candles flickered on the stone wall planter around us. Six tealights danced on the table before us. The moon was out of sight, floating somewhere above the trees. I reached for my glass of wine, feeling a warm summer breeze brush my arm, as if to say “hello.” Friday night. Four friends, sharing food in the calm peace that comes with not having to answer to anyone or anything for two whole days. The weekend. We’ve grown so accustomed to eating our food with our hands, we picked up the Greek salad with bits of pita bread, leaving the forks untouched. Even the lamb kabobs were finger food, for Keith and I. The spanakopita – definitely. The night lingered while we caught up on old news. And then, I shattered the moment. I could almost hear Julia Child groan. “I’m sorry for the dessert.” Almost as I said it, I caught myself. “It’s … simple, but I really hope …

Monday Meal Review: Ghana

THE SCENE While I’m usually a pretty casual gal, I adore setting the table for a dinner party. Hours before dinner I begin. First, I put out water glasses and wine glasses. I listen, as with a seashell, for the chitter chatter of a hundred dinner parties in the sparkling glass. Soft, cotton napkins are next – each one tucked inside a beaded stone ring which rustles when you lift it. The tough cloth comforts nervous guests. It doesn’t rip, like paper. The kids can tell. Something special is happening. For this particular dinner – our Ghanaian Global Table – wide soup bowls gleamed on top of honey-colored bamboo mats. Small, mismatched finger bowls were next, for the Red Red. A pitcher of rosy Watermelon Lemonade went out at the last minute. The table was so crammed, I had to choose between the food and flowers for the center piece. Food won. Is it odd to set the table so elegantly for a rustic meal? I’ve seen jeans at weddings and sweat pants at the …

Monday Meal Review: Germany

THE SCENE My friend Amanda has the same philosophy as I do when it comes to kids and food: they’ll learn to love good food if you feed ’em good food. That doesn’t mean it’s always easy. Recently Ava’s been turning her nose up at anything that looks funny – green, purple – whatever. The girl is simply not interested. The other day I made her spinach ravioli and she didn’t want any part of it. After fifteen minutes of practically begging the girl to take a bite, I finally just asked her: “Why won’t you eat it? Because it’s green!?” Ava nodded her head violently. Then she laughed. Then, most incredibly, she took a bite. And, then, another. This week, as I spooned the mustard and pickle-filled beef rouladen and a small pile of red cabbage onto Ava’s plate, she looked skeptical. I thought I’d try the same tactic: to giggle at the unusual until she was curious enough to take a bite. Ava’s Corner: THE FOOD Mini Beef Rouladen [Recipe] What I liked most about …

Monday Meal Review: Georgia

THE SCENE “This is gonna be good,” I told myself, sliding the porcelain casserole into the refrigerator. Two pounds of chicken legs swimming in a bath of lemon juice, peanut oil, and Georgian five spice – they’d have the entire night to chill out and absorb Georgian goodness before hitting the grill. I tucked Ava into bed as quickly as I could, telling Keith to cue a movie, preferably a chick flick. I put on my favorite fuzzy pajamas and crawled under the covers. The opening credits hadn’t even rolled by before the phone rang. “Don’t pick up!” I said, as he brought the phone to his ear. It was work. I rolled my eyes and whispered “tell them you’re busy.” He didn’t say anything, but listened carefully for a few long minutes. I stared at computer screen, at the frozen faces and words, waiting to be unpaused. Moments later, he left to work on the city’s 911 phone system. You can’t say you’re busy when 911 calls. Lives are at stake. I understood but, as I …