I’m no Jiro, but I do love sushi.
Formative years in Massachusetts cemented an appreciation for high quality sushi made with care and attention to detail. Over time, I’ve even gained dexterity with chopsticks and confidence about choosing pieces. So why not make some at home?
Read MoreFor the most part, this summer has felt like spring, and not in the full-of-flowers way. Unseasonably cool and rainy weather. Constant construction. A head cold. You’ve probably been there.
No better time to revisit a recipe that originally caused me grief at the start, but has since become part of our regular warmer weather rotation: the French classic clafoutis. Or clafouti. Let’s not be pedantic.
Read MoreThis was my own fault for raising expectations. “There’s a special noodle dish that we get,” I said as the four of us headed to the Thai restaurant. “Such amazing flavor. It’s messy, though. You practically need a bib.”
Guillaume and I regularly order “khao soy,” a Northern Thai dish with a spicy, tangy coconut curry soup base. The bowl comes piled with veggies and a nest of fried egg noodles on top. But when I inquired about a vegan version for our friends, the waitress said the base contained seafood.
Never had the words “shrimp paste” been so disappointing.
Read MoreThe tower of eggplant slices rose ridiculously high. I’d miscalculated the time required to make three full pans of moussaka — two with beef and one vegan — and was rushing around my narrow kitchen in Queens.
Marie, visiting from France, made her miraculous chocolate mousse and tried to keep me calm as I worked on the béchamel and roasted eggplant discs like a madwoman. We prepared enough salad for an army. My Big Fat Greek Dinner Party of early 2009 was living up to its name.
Although everyone seemed to have a fun time and enjoy the food, the one thing that still irked me years later was the vegan moussaka.
Read MoreThis is it, I thought. This is how we’re going to die — a fire inside a church on Greek Easter in Astoria.
My parents and I watched in horror as the priest walked down the aisle holding out two giant bundles of lit candles, one in each ham-hock hand. The people in the pews lunged, trying to get their candles lit directly from him. For good luck? Who knows.
Large men in leather jackets jostled. The cologne and perfume were overwhelming. Mom smelled burning hair.
Read More“Mention deep-frying anything at home, and many cooks panic. Hot oil requires care, of course, but doughnuts are simpler to make than you might think.”
That’s Mark and Michael Klebeck’s advice from their cookbook “Hand-Forged Doughnuts: Secrets and Recipes for the Home Baker.” Who could imagine I’d ever worry about something in the kitchen? Especially involving hot oil?
Read MoreWe’d already punted on lunch by going out to eat. And, well past dinnertime on a weeknight, grocery shopping felt overwhelming. While debating picking up a pizza, we peered into the fridge.
Despite our need for essentials, the fridge looked full. This is ridiculous, I thought, before spotting the sizable tub of white miso paste.
Read More“Look! Medjool dates!”
I was way more excited about this Manhattan discovery than my good friend Gina. She just chuckled. This was eons ago at the Whole Foods near Columbus Circle, and I remember eagerly forking over my hard-earned money for the plastic lidded container.
Maybe I ate one or two dates as a snack, but the rest went into Yiayia’s date pinwheel cookie recipe. My family isn’t sure where she originally picked it up since the recipe was so different from her Greek pastry repertoire. Wherever she found the inspiration, the smell of these cookies baking always brings me right back to her warm, sunny apartment.
Read MoreDuring my first spring living in Colorado, I opened a box that my dad had overnighted from Vermont. After opening the flaps, I breathed in the most glorious smell of fresh Greek bread. Dad sent me two of the precious loaves he’d made.
Our family’s recipe for Greek bread makes four loaves or one large braided vasilopita — a special New Year’s version covered in powdered sugar that hides a lucky coin. When my mom typed it up ages ago, the recipe spanned multiple pages. Since then, more notations emerged.
I’d never attempted it. This holiday season, however, I asked Dad to teach me how. This lesson would be his present to me. So, on my birthday, we got to work.
Read MoreMom texted me from the liquor store in Vermont. They had three bottles of a mastiha liqueur brand that had become impossible to get in Colorado. Did I want one? We’d finished off ours during the “house cooling” party to send off the old apartment.
What is mastiha? After a few minutes of trying to describe the crystalized Mediterranean tree resin that generally comes from the Greek island of Chios, I’d just remove the stopper so guests could smell the unusual ingredient.
To me, the slightly woody and citrusy flavor is synonymous with joy. It reminds me of how the whole house smells after my dad bakes his famous Greek bread. Tasting the liqueur recalls the refreshing cocktail my mom created. Everything about mastiha says, “Slow down. Relax. Let’s just sit here a while.”
Basically the opposite of how I felt in Vermont when finally holding the white bottle that Mom had given us for Christmas and pondering how to get it back to Colorado.
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