All posts filed under: Monday Meal Review

Monday Meal Review: Nepal

THE SCENE Slowly, slowly I fold the momos, turning them into little moons. I am relaxed. My fingers work, awkwardly at first, but gradually pick up a gentle, gliding smoothness as my muscles memorize the steps. Folding these dumplings feels like meditation. Whenever I try to rush the process, everything collapses and the folding becomes a source of frustration instead of peace. So I keep my movements measured and slow. I keep a towel under my elbows, to catch stray bits of filling. I continue, remembering that the process is as important as the final dish. This night we share dinner with our friends Annie, Scott and their daughter Bea. We eat with great relish – while the kids go crazy for the dhal baht and besan burfi, we adults fixate on the momos. They taste gingery and cabbagy and bright. We dunk them in sauces and smile. Eventually we move outside to sit in the starlight, by the flickering chiminea. Conversation turns to our children and the choices we make to give them the …

Monday Meal Review: Namibia

As Ava scuttles off to the zoo with her grandmother, I stay behind to wrangle alligator for the first time. While she walks between the lanky giraffes and prowling tigers, seeking a tail-slinging alligator of her own, I coat ours with a bright layer of lemon piri piri sauce and pop it in the refrigerator for a few hours. As she watches the lions, padding their way around their enclosure, scanning the perimeter, looking for a way out – wondering where the rest of Africa is – I place a loaf of Veldt bread in the shimmering oven. Ava looks at the animals curiously but not exactly afraid. Not like she would be if she ran into them in the actual wilderness. She is an observer but not a participant in the scene. But things could be different. Last week I was confronted with a sordid, disturbing tale called The Veldt by Ray Bradbury from the 1950’s written about the veldt in southern Africa. The term veldt is a lot like the term outback – it’s the way-out-there land, …

Monday Meal Review: Myanmar

Ava runs past me as I place the last clothespin on the line. Our blue sheets undulate with the breeze. Parting them with a quick swipe of her hands, Ava runs behind them and calls out: “Mama, come on! The big bad wolf is coming. Let’s hide!” She points at Malky, our cat, who slouches on the grass, licking his leg. “Oh, is he the wolf?” I ask, chuckling despite myself. Together we hide behind the sheets and every time the breeze blows the soft cotton towards our faces we squeal and say: “Not by the hair of my chinny, chin, chin.” Malky continues his first bath of the afternoon, unconcerned. Soon the game evolves into random singing and arm waving; the rudimary performance of an almost-three-year-old. And, yet, in this glorious moment, she’s not a toddler. She’s a queen and I, a guest in her magical Kingdom. This isn’t surprising, really. Children conjure up entire worlds with nothing more than a sparkle glinting off of a ray of sunlight. But what is surprising is that Ava has second kingdom. This …

Monday Meal Review: Mozambique

THE SCENE: Recently Tulsa was blown over by some pretty mighty winds. Trees scattered their branches – the old, the cracked, and the decrepit littered the neighborhood streets. The next day I walked with Ava while she rode her tricycle. Every few minutes I stooped over to the pavement, gathering small twigs and branches until my hands were full. I would use the firewood in our chimnea. While I hate to see something good go to waste, I still felt a twinge of shame when the occasional car passed us by. I was that lady. Picking up sticks for no apparent reason at all. The weird lady. Ava pedaled happily along, occasionally pointing out another stick for me. Her simple, unquestioning willingness to help me, her mother, moved me. Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought of the jaded years to come. I silently looked to the sky and said a few words of thanks for the child. Thank you for not judging me with jaded eyes. Thank you for helping me with eager hands. Thank …

Monday Meal Review: Morocco

As I set our Moroccan Global Table I know something is wrong. I know because I’m doing it on purpose. The table sits outside, under a tree, covered by dappled shade and a soft cotton cloth. I tuck the benches right up to the table, so Ava can eat without a giant void between her and the table. I look at the clock; Ava’s friend Isabel, her sister Emma, and her parents will be here any minute. After a moment of hesitation, I make my decision and quickly place seven dinner plates on the tablecloth. This is where I go wrong. This is what I should not be doing. To make matters worse, I continue by placing seven sets of silverware on the table and seven cups. The table is loaded to the brim. If I were living the traditional Moroccan way I would not be using all these dishes. We would tear off pieces of bread and use it to scoop up the lamb from the communal tagine, straight into our mouths. In fact, Moroccan …

Monday Meal Review: Montenegro

I’m at the grocery store, eyeing shelf upon shelf of neatly stacked packages of noodles. There are about 25 brands – each boasting some variation of regular, whole wheat, gluten-free, or loaded-with-spinach pasta. Three feet over there’s another 5 brands sitting pretty in the chiller. These are the fresh pastas. The ones that taste like you made them yourself. The ones that cost $10 for two servings. Hello. I feel my anxiety mounting. Deep breath. It’s just pasta. It’s just pasta. How difficult can it be? But it is difficult. So. many. choices. And yet, between these 30 brands of pasta, I cannot find anything labeled buckwheat – the noodles I need for my Montenegrin Global Table. I inquire and a kind grocery clerk leads me over to the international aisle, where I find another 15 brands of pasta. Rice noodles and squiggly ramen fill most of the shelves. The clerk gestures on the bottom row, just by my ankle. There it is – three brands of buckwheat noodles. The clerk casually adds that there …

Monday Meal Review: Mongolia

THE SCENE This week my brain is stuck on Mongolian nomads. I am obsessed. While I sip my hot, salty tea I think of their fierce loyalty in brutal winters. While I nibble the tangy carrot slaw, I imagine how hard it must be to move five times a year – so often that you cannot keep a veggie patch. So often that even a basic carrot salad would be a major treat, normally reserved for city folk. I take so much for granted. But what really hit home is how these nomads (who live so many places) are never homeless. Never alone. When something (good or bad) happens in their lives, nomads from other Gers (the portable homes they live in) show up to help. They come out of nowhere, from miles away. From over the hills. Through the vast emptiness. And they chip in to help however they can. While it can seem like each family unit is isolated in nothing but a giant expanse of blue sky and crusty grass, nothing could be farther than …

Monday Meal Review: Monaco

THE SCENE We have this crazy obsession, this culture of ours, with recording our memories. You’ve seen it before: a waiter delivers a beautiful meal to the table and, instantly, four cellphones fly up to “capture the moment.” A minute later the photos are uploaded to Facebook. Suddenly, no one is paying attention to their beautiful dinner anymore – instead they’re busy checking for likes and comments on Facebook. It’s as if our experiences are somehow not valid if we don’t snap a quick picture to immortalize them. It’s as if we can no longer sit in the present and simply enjoy “being.” I’m as guilty of this as the next person. This week my good friend Chad came for a visit. We’ve been friends for the better part of a decade – from way back in my pre-Okie life. We weren’t expecting his company but, then again, no one ever expects Chad. He blows in like the wind. We had three days notice – he was just driving through from one big city to …

Monday Meal Review: Moldova

THE SCENE Two days before I cooked Moldova I was invited to Tulsa’s local United Nations annual meeting. While there I listened to very intelligent people talk about things which are generally beyond the scope of my daily duties – being a good mother, working hard, and playing harder. Let’s just say they talked about how to solve problems on a global scale. And it was amazing. Still, even as cheerleader to the world, I felt out of place. Not because I’m not interested, but simply because I feel that I don’t know enough to contribute intelligently. For the topic at hand, an almost 200 year of history had to be summarized before the discussion could even begin. There’s no way I know that much history about anything (except for my rogue obsession with Arthurian legend). But then it hit me. As I watched serious people explore serious issues in the world, I realized that my feeling of isolation in the discussion was probably not unique. I believe there are millions of people like me who are …

Monday Meal Review: Micronesia

THE SCENE Ava’s at a funny age. Literally. Everything is all giggles and “that’s so funny, mama.” It adds a breath of fresh air to my reality of taxes, tornadoes, and keeping the car clean. All equally impossible to deal with. This week Ava chuckled when she saw the silly straw in her Pineapple Papaya Coco Smoothie. And she loved the fact that there were oranges in our Micronesian Orange Coconut Cake. She laughed and laughed about that one. And, of course, I laughed watching her laugh. (Although I must admit I’m still not sure what exactly was so funny). But the point is, it didn’t matter. We were laughing. We were happy. Oh, if the world could just… stay this simple. If everyone could laugh more. Share smiles over good food. Giggle from the heart over nothing at all. Since Ava was feeling so silly, the Orange Coconut Cake gave me the perfect opportunity to teach Ava her very first joke. “Knock knock” “Who’s there?” “Orange” “Orange who?” “Orange you glad to see me?!?!” I should …

Monday Meal Review: Mexico

THE SCENE: I wipe the sweat from my forehead. “Why is it 92 degrees in March?” I ask the cat. Malky draws his back up into a leisurely stretch, pads lightly onto the floor, and lets out a startlingly abrasive meow. Apparently he doesn’t care. He is ready to go outside. I crack open the door enough to smell the humidity and watch his tail flick out into the sunshine. I shake my head and get back to work. The blender cranks into high gear as I buzz together the homemade rice and almond drink, called horchata. This summertime sipper will chill all afternoon in the refrigerator, along with a bundle of fresh strawberries, cinnamon and vanilla. And the joyful purpose of this drink is fulfilled in Ava’s happy slurp. Pure delight. In the afternoon I’d wind the blender up again to blast the mole into smooth submission. In mere minutes, 24 million ingredients would become one – a symphony of flavor so complex I’d have no way of understanding it. I simply would have to listen to …

Monday Meal Review: Mauritius

THE SCENE: Photography Teaches I step up onto the soft seat cushion and bend my head under the low ceiling. Time to snap some pictures. I hold my breath, teetering over the banana tart, willing myself not to fall. That’s when Keith pops in the room (he’s home to help care for our sick, feverish daughter) and snaps a picture of me (see above). As I swivel my head to see what he’s doing I almost fall over, right onto the lattice work grid. But before I can turn my head, he’s gone. Finding myself in such a precarious situation gets me thinking about the lessons I’ve learned from photography. Over the last few years I’ve learned that taking interesting photos is a lot like living a good life. Every once in a while we must get new perspective – see the world through fresh eyes. We must let the “light” in. We have to care enough to try (again and again), even when things aren’t going the way we want them to. For example: I recently had a …