Serves 2-4 Ah, the glories of simple love. Simple food. Simple summertime breakfasts in Hungary. My mom has been making palacsinta under the guise of crêpes for decades. Despite being half Hungarian, she even calls them crêpes -I suppose because it’s easier to say. Still, like any good Hungarian, she’s made an art of rolling them up with fruit, yogurt, and nuts. Today – in her honor – we make the simplest preparation of all: smeared with apricot jam, sprinkled with crushed walnuts and stacked as high as we can handle. It’s like a Hungarian hug on a plate. Start this recipe the night before you need it. The next morning you’ll have thin, delicate palacsinta, perfect for wrapping up sweet or savory food (you could even wrap up chicken paprika in it). Some will tell you to keep the batter thin – it should pour about like maple syrup. You can thin it as needed with extra milk. Ingredients: 2 cups flour 2 cups milk, plus extra as needed 2 eggs 1 1/2 tsp …
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Ava calls my mom Grammie Sue, but it really comes out more like “miss you,” which is exactly how we’re feeling today. Living far from my family was okay when I was single, but became excruciating once Ava was born. It’s like Keith and I have a home filled with starlight and each day she glows and smiles and spreads joy all over the place. Not being able to share that on a regular basis feels like a crime. After a completely lovely visit, Mom flew back to Boston in the “ahww-pwane,” as Ava calls it. We’re all sad to see her go, but the memories of this happy meal – straight from our Hungarian heritage – will keep us until the next time. What would you like to try? Chilled Cherry Soup [recipe] Traditionally served as an appetizer in Hungary, Chilled Cherry Soup is tart, slightly sweet, and rounded out with earthy cinnamon and the slightest hint of red wine. Chicken Paprika [recipe] Chicken stewed with loads of paprika, chopped onion and finished off …
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I’m Italian-Hungarian on my mother’s side. Which is like saying I’m wet-dry. Hot-cold. Tall-short. In our family, the Italian side is loud, boisterous and in each other’s business. On the Hungarian side no one talks about anything. Discussions rarely surface and, if they do, they begin and end with “just forget about it.” I rather like the combination. It makes for interesting family gatherings. When I quizzed my mother about our Hungarian heritage, she said “I don’t know. It wasn’t like the Italian side, where we got together every Sunday to have a big fight.” The only story I ever heard my Hungarian Grandpa tell was how he would ring the chickens’ necks for dinner. It consisted of two sentences: “I wrung their necks. Your grandmother cooked ’em.” I had to really probe to get this tiny tidbit. My mom only found out what her grandpa, Lajos, did for a living a few years ago. The story? He was in construction. She asked for details. “Like building houses?” “Yeah, something like that.” End of story. The Foppiano …
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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, …
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Makes 1 large bowl If you’ve never had jicama or chayote, you’re in for a real treat. Jicama is watery and crunchy, a lot like water chesnuts, but mildly sweet. Chayote is in the squash family, and you can taste it. When dressed with a splash of lime and orange juice, the salad brings together the tropical flavors of Central America. Ingredients: 1 jicama, peeled and sliced into matchsticks 1 chayote, sliced into matchsticks 2-3 large oranges, segmented 1/2 large red onion, sliced thinly 1-2 limes, juiced fresh cilantro, to taste olive oil salt & pepper Method: Welcome to a pantry of fresh flavor. Of deliciousness. Of happy salads just waiting to be made. Slice everything up, nice and thin. Segment the orange – meaning cut off the skin and use a sharp knife to cut wedges out from between the segments. Sprinkle with plenty of lime juice. Realize your salad bowl is much too small to do any ingredient tossing. Pile everything into the largest, reddest bowl you can find. Douse with a splash …
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Makes 5 cups I like to float around in easy, breezy sundresses all summer long. I also like to wear my hair short and laugh really loud at silly jokes. Finally, I like to eat ice cream by the gallon while squeezing my eyes really tight and imagining I’m on a Caribbean island. This is best done while nibbling on a cold spoonful of creamy coconut ice cream, made even sweeter by the fact that I didn’t have to turn on the stove – not even for one second – to make it. Call me a glutton for punishment, but I think this ice cream should be served with warm Baked Brown Sugar Bananas, another wonderful Caribbean treat. Ingredients: 2 1/2 cups half and half 1 1/4 cups sweetened condensed milk 1 1/4 cups coconut milk Garnish: Toasted, shredded coconut Method: Before we get started, let’s give a nod to how coconut ice cream is traditionally made in the Caribbean. First, a beautiful coconut would be hacked open and shredded for deeply rich coconut ice …
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Welcome to the wonderful world of “I didn’t know that!” Haiti Take a stroll through the Haitian markets. Soak up the sights and smells. See that lady selling jars of brightly colored liquid? She’ll tell you “All the medicine you’ll ever need is in a jar of rum.” She’s not selling just any rum, this is the Klerin pharmacy, a.k.a. the white rum pharmacy. All manner of goodies are added to her jars – from spices to bark, fruit to leaves. A few sips of this trempé and you just might find your tummy woes gone. Or eyes feeling better. Or that growth on your face suddenly shrinking. Who knew? Honduras Honduras, like many countries in the Americas, enjoys a good smoothie. Pineapples and melons, outrageously heavy with sweet juices, get whirred up into licuados, meaning latin smoothie. The fun thing about licuados is you can have your breakfast cereal right in your drink. Locals particularly love granola, oatmeal, and cornflakes. Try it with your next drink – toss in a small handful and give it …
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Makes 8-10 Imagine. It’s the height of summer. You spend all day roughhousing with the ocean. When every muscle in your body is heavy, you lay down in the sand for an impromptu picnic with a package of street food – tortas. In less than a minute you make several cheesy, crispy, fried plantain tortas disappear into your happy belly. After the last bite, you lick the salt from your fingers and drink a tall glass of water. You stretch out for a nap, still warm from the glow of a little too much sun. Did I just find one of the secrets to a happy Honduran childhood by the seashore? I sure hope so. What is it about summer and fried food? While I don’t normally include loads of oil in my daily line-up, there’s nothing like a big bite of crispy fried goodness to cap off a great day in the sun. Play around with this recipe – make it your own. Our tortas simply contain cheese, although beans are traditional as well. Ingredients: 4 …
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Hi friends. I have something to tell you. There were some questions yesterday about why I was combining Haiti and Honduras this week. I told you it was because I was building in sick time and vacation. That’s true. What is also true is that my mom is coming this weekend, all the way from Boston. She’d like to help with our Hungarian menu. I’d like her to help with our Hungarian menu. It’s our heritage. Hungary runs through our veins. We’re also hungry all the time, but that’s a story for another day. The problem? Mom accidentally booked her flight a week too soon – thus, I had to double up Haiti and Honduras to make her dream come true. Either that or pay hundreds of dollars to rebook her flight. She hasn’t seen Miss Ava since last August (!!), so we’re very excited for her visit. So there you have it. The whole truth. Doesn’t that feel good? Meanwhile, let’s dabble in our happy little menu for Haiti and Honduras. First off, just look …
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This week we’re tackling Haiti and Honduras so as to build in a little vacation time later this summer. First up, Haiti. I have a new neighbor. His name is Jonathan. Five minutes into our first conversation I learn that he has been to Haiti. A pretty great stroke of fortune, if you ask me – right up there with the lady from Belarus working at Dillards, the door-to-door salesman from Bulgaria, and Ava’s playmate who’s daddy has been to Ghana. Most excellent. Well, the first Hatian dish Jonathan suggested was spaghetti with ketchup and mayo on top. Suddenly, I wasn’t so excited. I begged him to dig deeper. The thing is, food in Haiti is really simple. Spaghetti with ketchup and mayo on top is about as typical as it gets. Other than that, street food includes basic, affordable dishes like beans and rice (a.k.a. peas n’ rice) [recipe] or plantains – fried, mashed, boiled. Jonathan states: I remember the fried plantain fondly. You would buy them from street vendors (well, you bought everything from …
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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. …
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