Category Archives: food and cooking

Grandchildren are growing up.

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I recently had two of my grandchildren staying with me for nearly a week. Most of the days and nights I had either Ivy or Jamie, but one day and night in the middle of the span I got both of them together. It was the first time we’ve had so much one-on-one time in a short period, and now that they are 10 and almost 13 years old, our options for how we spend our hours are expansive. We never ran out of books to read together, music to listen to, or things to talk about — including those books, and the music.

For example, Jamie and I listened to The Story of Beowulf, and The Eagle of the Ninth; sometimes he drew pictures while listening. Ivy played her favorite U2 songs for me, and I showed her videos of her late Grandpa Glad singing — she was only two when he passed.

We took many walks near and far, and shopped and cooked together, making lemon curd, boba tea, Greek tzatziki, and plum cobbler.

Stirring tzatziki.
Chai boba tea

They both helped me in my big project of removing gravel from the plot where I’m going to plant my new manzanita McMinn. And the day we were all three together, we went to the beach, where it was overcast and 60 degrees all afternoon.

Greater Moon Jelly with sandy great toe for perspective.

Twice Ivy and I walked as far as the library and on to the grocery store, and with Jamie I went on a long lake stroll for which we drove a half hour to the trailhead. They both liked just rambling along the nearby creek almost daily, and remembering all the times they have done that before. Jamie wanted to find the rope swing that has been down there “forever,” but we never found it, and on the way back when we saw my neighbor watering his garden, he told us that the city always takes it down, and someone always puts it back up, but no one has put it up again for a few years.

We visited my friends and their chickens, went to church, painted, did housework together — and played Bananagrams more than once.

Ivy’s winning board

One thing we didn’t do was sleep overmuch. School does not start for them until after Labor Day, so they can catch up over the next couple of weeks. I don’t feel bad about neglecting sleep, as we were taking advantage of our unhurried and summery time together, which will never come again. It was restful to our souls.

I fancy the Iranian gheysava breakfast.

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I haven’t tried this New York Times recipe yet, because I don’t have dates in the house at the moment, but I want to share a link to the recipe in case any among you readers are kindred spirits of the palate; you might be wowed and inspired as I am. Dates and walnuts are a tasty pair however you put them together, and I’ve long been in agreement with the idea that “everything is better with butter.” It’s lovely the way one can make a meal out of a salad or pretty much anything by adding an egg or two on top. Most of these ingredients are commonly found in my kitchen and often on my plate, but I would never have imagined combining them in such a striking way: Gheysava

Busy, with mouse.

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Getting things done. It’s so much fun to check off a few boxes on my “After Greece” list. One of the tasks was to get the fountain leveled. Just before the stonemason was going to come to do that, the pump motor died; I’m glad that happened just before, not after, the leveling. The man who always cleans my fountain when I let it turn green, about once a year, got me a new motor and installed it while I was out one afternoon. That was easy! The stonemason leveled it last night, and gave it a more secure brick-and-mortar base.

I returned from Greece two weeks ago but haven’t got back in the cooking groove. Part of the reason is, I hadn’t made it to the store to buy supplies, and was trying to assemble meals with whatever I could find in the cupboards and freezer. This morning I took my one onion, a can of tomatoes, a small container of mixed sauteed vegetables I’d stored in the freezer, and my home-grown fava beans also stored in the freezer, and made a really nice soup. “Before Greece” I’d roasted all the peeled garlic cloves in the fridge, which was a giant bag — I threw a bunch of those in, too. The soup was good hot, and also cold, as I found out later when the day had warmed up and it didn’t seem necessary to warm up dinner as well.

Recently I decided I wanted to mulch my vegetable plantings with rice straw the way I did ten years ago. So this morning I drove to the feed store where I hadn’t been since then, and was pleased to park next to the shed where baby chicks were peeping. While waiting for the bale to get loaded in the back of my Subaru, I noticed that they had not only rice straw, but rye, wheat and teff as well. The fibers of the teff straw were different from all the others, appearing to be fine and fluffy; I’d like to try that for mulch sometime.

In the past it was a hassle to keep the straw bale dry in the winter and at the same time prevent the rats from bedding down in it and chewing on the tarp that was protecting it, so I thought I’d keep it in the garage this time. Problem was, there was no space for it, unless I would get rid of the plastic storage bins that have been piling up in there as I empty them one by one. So I took them all out and put a notice on our parish email list asking for takers.

My goddaughter Esther came over midafternoon to get some lavender to use in cosmetics. I loaded her bag with rosemary, oregano, and yerba buena herb as well. She said that everything she cooks, if she puts oregano in it, it tastes better. And she’s not even Greek!

I have several types of English lavender growing here; she thought the small, darker purple blooms had the nicest scent, so I made her a couple of bundles of those stems only.

While she was still here, another parishioner stopped by to get some bins. She took almost all of them, and later another person took the remainder.

After the first batch of bins was gone, Esther and I were still standing in the driveway when I saw a field mouse run past. What? At that time of day one doesn’t expect to see such a critter, and I actually haven’t seen a mouse around here in ages, at any time of day, though we are always battling rats that come up from the creek. I could only guess that the mouse had been inside the bale of straw. Uh-oh. Now I am not sure about storing it in the garage.

Son Pathfinder has a new house, with new-to-him plants scattered around it. So he texted me a photo of one of them, wondering if I knew what it was. I had seen an almost identical one on my neighborhood walk the other day, but my Seek app couldn’t identify it correctly. We kept looking up plants and trading ideas back and forth for an hour via text (we’re very slow texters), and finally figured out that it is a yucca: “The flowers are edible and have a peppery flavor. Fruits can be roasted or dried and are sweet and fig-like.”

Here, the bees are finding the teucrium to be full of their favorite sweet food.
And with that I will say good-bye for now.

 

Olive oil: the body.

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“If the dish you are cooking doesn’t have meat, olive oil is especially needed to give body to it. Today we are making chicken with potatoes so we only need a little olive oil.”

So our teacher explained as she poured a few more generous glugs from the bottle over the raw ingredients in the pan.

We were attending a cooking class taught by a Greek woman named Stella, and in the company of eight or so other visitors to Paros, in this case all Americans. We were to learn quite a lot, not only about olive oil but about feta cheese, baklava, the mastic tree and the local farmers. It was more enjoyable than I could have imagined, because our host and instructor was so real, and obviously liked people.

She only uses oil from olives grown on Paros Island — and she used one whole liter bottle and half of a second bottle for that one meal’s dishes. Also, according to Stella, the creamiest, tastiest feta is made on Paros — and that I can believe.

We stood around a big table wearing our blue-and-white aprons, and took turns chopping, stirring, frying and tasting. We got a tour of her garden, and at last, though all that tasting had blunted our appetites, we sat down to a feast.

At some point as we were cooking Stella mentioned the herb mastic, and later while we were enjoying the food we’d prepared, I was pleased to tell our teacher that Pippin and I had seen mastic bushes on the Byzantine Road the day before. At least, that’s what our Seek app said it was, Pistacia lentiscus, and our research online seemed to agree…

Maybe it’s not mastic.

But Stella assured us that in Greece mastika (Μαστίχα) only grows on the island of Chios, though farmers are always trying to cultivate it elsewhere. We could tell she was a bit defensive at my proposing a conflicting story.

One thing Stella did confirm for me is that the best baklava is made mostly with sugar for sweetening, though she includes a very small amount honey in her recipe.

Garlic truck

In addition to the taste experiences of our class, my girls and I sampled in restaurants lots of different foods, or new presentations of familiar ones. The Greeks want very much for their guests not to miss out on any of the dishes they are proud of.

Orzo with cuttlefish ink.

Today I met up with a Greek friend I knew from my parish in California, when she lived there for several years, and she was typically eager to feed me something I might not have tried in the last two weeks. So she took me to a Cretan restaurant.

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that the people of Crete have their special ways with the typical ingredients of the Mediterranean.

Some of the dishes I tried were: Potatoes With Goat Butter; Fennel Pie; and Rooster Baked in Wine, Served on Cretan Pasta.

Potatoes with Goat Butter

Almost always the platters of each dish are enough to serve 2-4 people, so it’s wise to agree with one’s friends on what you all like, so you can share. But so far, my dining companions are absolutely unconcerned about there being too much food on the table. Being a proper host almost requires it.

It’s a good thing I’m doing so much walking 😀