All posts filed under: Monday Meal Review

Monday Meal Review: The Gambia

THE SCENE I scrunched up my face, trying to remember. We were standing at the farmer’s market on opening day, people milling about us like ants, everyone grabbing at the last of the produce before the farmers packed their bags. Alexandra tucked 2 giant bunches of shiny green onions behind her stroller – only $3.00 at closing time. I’d paid $2.00 for 1 bunch an hour earlier. “Oh, yes – I can’t believe I forgot!” I said to Alexandra, “The dessert is going to be hot mangoes in custard.” I shook my head, glanced up at the sun, and shifted my feet. My face was already sunburned. How could it be 93 degrees at 11 am in April? Where was spring? Did it totally skip over Oklahoma? And why on earth was I making a hot dessert in these conditions? Alexandra laughed. “You’re making the most awful face.” “I’m trying to remember why I decided on a recipe that involves turning on my stove. The air conditioner will never keep up.” Later, when our girls …

Monday Meal Review: Gabon

THE SCENE Like cold mercury in a hot thermometer, I quickly moved out of my comfort zone. Failure flushed my cheeks. I felt sun burnt from standing over hot flames. I was stifled. Mad. In order to save any semblance of a sane human being, I sat for a good twenty minutes by myself. I could have made 13.3 omelets in that time. Rather, I should have been able to. But I was out of eggs. I was out of eggs because I broke them all. The counters were littered with mistakes. Eggs that browned too fast, omelets that slid off the plate, ones that I pulled too soon, with icky, runny centers. There were even eggs I accidentally cracked over the trash bowl. Misery. The thought of going to the grocery store to get another pack of eggs made me want to kick a tire. I’d already been to the store 4 times in the last two days – not counting Keith’s last minute run to get hickory wood chips. Not to mention, there’s …

Monday Meal Review: France

THE SCENE I didn’t tell Ava on purpose. I couldn’t wait to see the look on her face. When I opened the front door she squealed and jerked her body to the side. She pitter-pattered her feet up and down in a “wobble-wiggle-squat” move, her bulky diaper-butt leading the way. This was her happy dance, like I’d never seen it before. She got so excited she actually fell over. She popped right back up, her tiny body shaking in a hysterical giggle-fit, and toddled out onto our front stoop in her stocking feet. Her arms were open and raised up in the frosty air. “Anya, Anya!” she shouted. There, getting out of the car, was her old friend Sanya (they’ve known each other since they were just a few months old), coming for our French Global Table Adventure. Ava spent the next ten minutes running around the house, shouting in high-pitched, giddy baby-babble, grabbing toys and presenting them to Sanya. She even grabbed the cat, grunting as she tried to lift it across the slippery …

Monday Meal Review: Finland

THE SCENE Rather abruptly, Ava threw up. She was in her room, but we could hear her all the way in the kitchen. Keith called out in a panic: “Sash, could you … come here?” I excused myself from our guests, bracing for what I knew would be a gruesome sight. Little did I know… Blueberries. Were. Everywhere. Ava, strangely enough, didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. She played with her baby doll while Keith and I scrubbed. Five minutes later I went back to the kitchen and assured Ruby and her husband, Nivantha, that things were totally fine. Of course the weren’t, but I what else was I supposed to say? That’s what hostesses who grab random strangers off the street do! Understandably, Ruby and her husband weren’t quite buying it and, out of politeness (and I’m sure a little self-preservation), they left. Finland was most definitely not to blame. Ava had systematically refused the mustard dill sauce and her cup of blueberry milk. She wouldn’t even look at the rutabaga. The only thing she had …

Monday Meal Review: Fiji

THE SCENE: I knew it was time but I secretly hoped to fail. “Can I help you?” the fishmonger asked. He was bright eyed and eager. His apron was starched. “I am making ceviche and need a very fresh piece of Mahi-Mahi.” Please, oh please, I thought, scanning the fish case. Please let him say they don’t have any. “We don’t carry sushi-grade fish,” he said, shaking his head. He looked genuinely disappointed. “Oh, ok. Well, thanks anyway” I turned on my heel, giving Ava a little wink. But, before I could step away, another voice called out – “You don’t need sushi-grade fish to make ceviche.” I cautiously looked back over my shoulder. His name tag said Josh. He was a little scruffier than the first guy, maybe a few years older, and he was definitely not wet behind the ears. I turned to face him. He repeated himself “You don’t need sushi-grade fish to make ceviche. You just need really fresh fish.” He picked up a slab of mahi mahi and brought it right up to his nose. …

Monday Meal Review: Ethiopia

THE SCENE Popcorn. The final frontier. I traced my fingers along the counter tops, navigating between a giant red bowl and a small plastic bag filled with popcorn kernels. I stopped when I reached the spot the microwave was supposed to be. About this time last year, early one Saturday morning, I had a minor meltdown (in my baby blue bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, no less). I was bleary eyed. My head hurt. All I wanted in the whole, wide world was a giant mug of hot chai tea with milk. I walked into the kitchen and literally couldn’t see the counters for the appliances. Stuff was everywhere. I could almost feel all 3.75 walls of my tiny windowless kitchen closing in on me. I started crying. All thoughts of tea forgotten, I hastily unplugged the microwave, my bread machine, and coffee maker. I began taking them, one by one, to the curb. (If I know how to do anything, it is how to be impulsive and overtaken by emotion.) Mr Picky stumbled into the …

Monday Meal Review: Estonia

THE SCENE I walked back and forth, haunting the spot where the rhubarb was supposed to be. The sign read “Rhubarb – $6.99/lb” but the bin was empty, empty, empty. Not even a week ago a mountain of lipstick red rhubarb overflowed from the bins, the first pick of the season. The clerk confirmed my fears. There was no rhubarb – not here, not in the back, not in an upcoming shipment. He explained that he had to pull the rhubarb because it was starting to turn and they couldn’t sell it any more. I was in shock, not simply because it was now gone, but also because I couldn’t believe I had expected it to be there – like mathematical certainty, like the sun would shine, or the earth rotate. Ava was getting antsy. She squirmed around in the sportscar shopping cart, and struggled to reach a package of “booboos” (blueberries). I put the package in our cart and we took off – per the clerk’s suggestion – to the frozen fruit department. I …

Monday Meal Review: Eritrea

THE SCENE “It’s alive!” my sister gasped. I chuckled, shrugging off the suggestion as a joke. “No look!” she said, pointing into the bowl. I brought my face closer. Just wait, she said. Bloop. Bloop. Two bubbles wiggled their way to the surface, making the blackish, scuzzy liquid quiver slightly. The scent of alcohol and yeast clung to the air. It is alive, I said, “and it smells really … strong!” “It’s totally teff” she said. We recoiled, laughing. Neither of us was sure what to do next. I scanned through the pile of injera recipes that littered the counter tops while Elisa sipped her wine. A few of the recipes suggested pouring off the liquid. Several didn’t mention it. There was no question that I would be pouring it down the drain. There was just no way that liquid was supposed to be part of the injera. Not any injera I’d be eating, anyway. As I tipped the bowl over the sink, I had the creepy, crawly feeling that I was about to dump the …

Monday Meal Review: Equatorial Guinea

THE SCENE: A thick strand of ooze connected my spoon to the serving bowl. I wiped it up quickly, before mounding the spiced okra onto Ava’s plate. She looked at the dark green mountain. She looked at me, shook her head, and signed for more fish. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Try the okra, Ava,” I said, cloaking my desperation with a cheerful voice. “Okra. Okra.” I repeated, slowly. I pointed to the plate and smiled. “Try it!” We watched her. We waited. Ava scrunched up her nose and shook her head again. She pushed her food around a little, then squealed with delight. Goldmine! She found another piece of fish, hiding behind the okra. She popped it into her mouth and smiled. One more time I offered her a bite. Just in case. Again, she shook her head but, instead of saying no, she said – clear as day – “Okwa! Okwa. Okwa!” We applauded her new word and encouraged her to say it a few more times. She did, beaming and grinning. She was so happy …

Monday Meal Review: El Salvador

THE SCENE My first mistake was getting out of bed. My second? Thinking I could cook my way through El Salvador on a stomach bug. There’s something inherently ridiculous about stumbling around the kitchen in pajamas, cooking enough food for a party, the very smell of which is hard to process, yet also insisting on taking photos for the world to see. I mean, really. And then, every fifteen minutes, I just had to call my mom about the latest weird gurgle coming from my stomach. She did a decent job of calming me down – she said it was all going to be ok, just eat some yogurt. You know, to help build up my tummy’s “live active cultures.” Which sounded terrible, yuck, no good… but, hey, it works. Hours later I’d survived El Salvador but – when the last pot was put away – I was pretty sure I’d never get out of bed again. Eventually, however, I did get out of bed again. Why? To eat the leftovers. After all – stomach bug or not – …

Monday Meal Review: Egypt

THE SCENE We huddled together on the couch – three big geeks – faces glowing in the flickering light. It was Mr Picky, myself, and our friend Janine. Ava was asleep for the night. In fact, she’d been asleep for hours and hours and hours. The coffee table was loaded up with platters of Ful Medames, White Coffee, and a box of kleenex – just in case. Now, before you get the wrong idea, I should state that I’m not normally a TV person. I was raised without it. My mother kept hers in the closet. My foster parents had a no-TV-unless-you’re-on-vacation rule. Times were tough. Today? I live wild and free, by my own rules. And my own rules clearly state that I am allowed to occasionally stream Netflix to my otherwise functionless TV. So there we were, living wild and free, watching our biggest guilty secret, Roswell. Have you heard of it? It’s a show about teenagers, romance, and aliens. In no particular order. From 1999. So, why Roswell? I love watching the characters strain towards …

Monday Meal Review: Ecuador

Happy Anniversary! This is our 52nd meal for our Global Table Adventure! Our celebration post will be up in a few hours. THE SCENE: “Hurry!” I muttered to myself, zipping around the kitchen. We had a date. A date! Actually, not just a date. An extravaganza. First, we were scheduled for a couples massage (thanks to a generous gift card from friends) and then, a movie (thanks to my dear brother who sent movie passes with our Christmas card). I can’t count the number of times we’ve been on a date since Ava was born. Because we haven’t. That’s right. Before Saturday it had been more than 1 1/2 years since we’d been to the movies. And, well, a couples massage was a total first. But before my romantic evening could commence, I had to clean up the remnants of our Ecuadorian Global Table. I looked at the clock – the baby sitter would be here any minute. Stacks of dishes covered the counters and crumbs littered the floor. Flour dusted my face. I pushed up my sleeves and …