Twitter?

I am definitely NOT good with technology, but I decided to join Twitter, just in the off chance that I could figure it out and keep you guys updated about all things Greece. So I'm crossing my fingers that this TechnoPhobe can learn enough to keep you informed about everything I see, taste, touch.

Anybody wanna go to Greece?

We Interrupt this Blog for...

A life. I know, you thought I didn't have one, did you? And most days, weeks, months of the year, I would completely agree with you.

But this May? My life is completely jacked up.

The Good:

Hubby and I leave for Houston tomorrow night, where we'll drop the kiddos off with some very energetic, very nice grandparents. And then we head to New York and then Athens. I am praying that we do not contract the swine flu on our brief layover in New York. That would be a total Buzzkill, wouldn't you say?

The Bad:

After our Greece trip, hubby and I split up in New York. He flies home to work for the next week. I fly to Houston to help with the preparations for my sister-in-law's wedding. The helping I don't mind. The wedding I don't mind because SIL is really happy. The bad is the timing of the thing and the fact that it's an Indian wedding (well, half of it is) and, if you don't know this about Indian weddings, those things last for DAYS. And Indian weddings are also HUGE. And I don't know any other people at this wedding other than my sister-in-law and my in-laws. And unfortunately for me, I hate people.

I do. It's a most unattractive trait and it's humiliating to admit but people and I? We just don't do well together. And I have to wear a sari, which is fine except that I feel ridiculous in one. We pale blonde folk look stupid in saris. Indians look great, but not us. And I'll be wearing a bindi on my forehead. And no, I will not be posting any pictures of how ridiculous I look.

The Ugly:

After the wedding, we are home for 4.5 days and then the entire family is off...to DisneyWorld. Amusement.Parks.Suck.Ass. Enough said.

And My Point, And I Do Have One, is:

I started this damn blog and now I'm going to have to abandon it, in essence, for several weeks. And I've gotten kind of attached to my new bloggy friends and my favorite bloggy sites and I'll miss you. I will try to check in and update but it's going to be pretty lame and pretty thin for a bit. Please, please hang in there with me. I'll be back.

Hopefully with some kick-ass stories about Athens/Santorini/Crete and The Big Fat Indian Wedding and......Hades.

And if your May is half as crazy as mine and you feel like you never can catch a break--or your breath--click on one of these links and escape to Greece with me. I'd love some company.

Athens

Santorini

Crete

Gourmet's Chicken Divan

For my wonderful, kind friend Ink, who was chagrined to learn that she brought White Trash Food to Christmas dinner last year.

This recipe comes from Gourmet's 2oo4 Cookbook, which is a compilation of their favorite recipes from the past 60 years. Ink, bring this version to dinner and nobody will laugh--they'll be too busy scarfing it down.

Gourmet's Chicken Divan

Wrong-Ass Food

When I was in the third grade, my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer and given a 2% chance of survival. As you can imagine, she was in the hospital for some time. My dad travelled extensively for business and so my sister and I were basically at the mercy of hordes of visiting relatives. Aunts, uncles, grandparents, second cousins--you name it--everybody got a turn.

It was a pretty rotten time, and I hardly remember anything about that year, actually. But I do remember the week when my Wild Uncle Johnny was in charge of us. Uncle Johnny (my mom's older brother) was a glamorous dude. He was a world traveller, linguist, art collector, genius and unabashed gourmand.

The week he took care of us, Uncle Johnny had just come off a trip to Europe, and he declared it "International Food Week" at our house. Every day my sister and I hustled home from school, anxious to see God-Knows-What Uncle Johnny was whipping up in the kitchen. We did our homework at the kitchen table, watching him saute, braise and fricassee and in turn, he regaled us with stories of the exotic lands he'd seen. It was way better than the Travel Channel, believe me. He also introduced us to some pretty interesting food.

Under his tutelage, we tried vichyssoise (cold potato leek soup...delicious, by the way), steak tartare (my sister barfed for hours after that meal), real Texas tamales, oysters Rockefeller and spaghetti carbonara, to name a few. That blue-eyed rascal mesmerized us, that's all I can figure, because getting a third grader to happily sample cold soup and raw beef and shellfish with spinach on it is no easy task.

On the third day of his visit, I opened the refrigerator and almost peed myself. There, on the top shelf of the refrigerator, loomed a gigantic glass jar of--what the Hell was that floating in the jar, anyways?

"Pickled pig's feet," he replied nonchalantly, reaching into the refrigerator for a beer. "Absolutely delicious, mark my words. You'll love it."

The rest of the afternoon, I kept sneaking back into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door and gawking at that enormous jar. I was so small I had to crane my neck back to even see it properly and even then, I couldn't believe what I was looking at. Pig feet. Cut off. Floating in brine. It was then I realized: there is some wrong-ass food in the world.

I can't remember if I tried the pickled pig's feet. My guess is probably not. I can't ask Wild Uncle Johnny about it because he died last year. And now that I'm older and have seen more of the world (and the supermarket), I realize that just about every country has some item of wrong-ass food in it.

Haggis. Admit it, that is wrong-ass food, you Scottish freaks. Lutefisk. Hello? Norwegians? Don't you know that lye kills people? And you're soaking your fish in it? Head cheese. You Brits are crazy motherf*#kers, you know that, right?

And don't get me started on Asia. Asia is an entire Continent of wrong-ass food. Asians put stuff in their mouths that I wouldn't look at in a zoo. Balut (duck fetus, boiled, served in the shell). Sea slugs. Bull Penis. Fried spiders, crickets, grasshoppers, you name it.

Even places famous for their good food have wrong-ass food. France? Sweetbreads and calf brains. Italy? Cibreo (cock's combs...you know, that spongy wattle-y stuff on a rooster? Yeah, that.) Spain? Bull testicles.

Wrong-ass food is on my mind today because hubby and I leave for Greece in a few days. I am beyond excited to see, smell, touch and taste a place I thought I'd only ever see in my dreams. I am also compulsive as Hell because I've read three guidebooks and I still don't think I know enough. But I do know enough to have written on the inside cover of each guidebook: Dana, whatever you do, do NOT eat patsa or podi.

Patsa, that clever dog of a dish, sounds a hella lotta like pas-ta but it ain't, I tell ya. What menudo is to Mexico, Patsa is to Greece. And I don't care how quickly it's supposed to cure a hangover--I am not eating lamb innard soup.

I'm almost tempted to order Podi just for shits and grins. In Greek, the word podi means "foot." And what you get, if the guidebooks can be trusted, is a glutinous bowl of soup with a cow's foot floating in it. Now that is a tempting photo opportunity. Still, I think I will pass. Podi's got wrong-ass written all over it.

And if you think I've forgotten the good old U.S.A., you are wrong. I am an Equal Opportunity Crap-Slinger. Yes, my darling America, you too have plenty of wrong-ass food. Shall we start with, oh, I don't know......meat loaf?

***A Note to Uncle Johnny: Okay, you know I'm an agnostic and so you probably, if I think about it, can NOT hear this or see this right now, but here goes. You know that week you were here? That was one of the most memorable weeks of my life. All that cooking and CRAZY food and those nutty stories that probably had an ounce of truth in them? They swept me away. And now that I'm an adult, I understand exactly what you were doing. Thank.You.

White Trash Food: A Confession

My sister-in-law is getting married this month, which is a good thing. Now my mother-in-law can find something else to keep her up at night. The other day, I got a bridal shower invitation from a friend of my SIL's reading: Please bring your favorite kitchen gadget and 3 recipes for the bride's new recipe box.

Recipe Box? Do people even still have those things?

I loved riffling through my mother's recipe box as a kid. Most of the recipes were splattered with some kind of detritus or crumpled slightly or water-marked. But mom's recipe box was a bone-fide historical document.

The recipe for our annual Christmas butter cookie? Given to my mother by one of her students in 1964 after my mother confessed she couldn't bake (this whole baking disorder is genetic, obviously). The recipe for vichyssoise? A gift from my uncle during one of his brief flirtations with French cuisine. Chocolate cake? Aunt Lou. Fancy spaghetti? That lady in North Dakota whose kid was a biter. Pasta primavera? A relic from my college days when I flirted with vegetarianism.

All of my mother's recipes were lovingly handwritten and passed along by someone kind enough to share. My mother could go through that box and name every person behind each smeared card, and every card had a story to tell.

I keep my recipes in very organized 3 ring binders and a lot of them have sleek pictures from magazines accompanying them, but the charm just isn't there. As I was flipping through my binders, trying to figure out which 3 recipes would make the cut, I stumbled upon a musty old recipe card from my childhood. I must have gotten it from my mother at some time, or stolen it outright--I have no idea.

This particular recipe was for a dish I loved, loved, loved growing up. And it looked like a lot of the other recipes in my mother's collection; in short, it was White Trash Food. Now c'mon there, you know what I'm talking about and don't pretend you didn't eat and love a few White Trash delights of your own growing up.

White Trash food, at least for me, is some kind of casserole containing soup. And maybe some Velveeta cheese. And some bread crumbs or fried onions on top. And as much as I cringe today at recipes that read: Add a can of cream of mushroom soup, some of those casseroles were kinda tasty.

I didn't include my White Trash recipe when I filled out my 3 recipe cards. Stuff like that just doesn't cut it today. Paula Deen can get away with cooking crap like this but she has that whole Irresistible Southern Charm thing going on. And I certainly don't think I'll be serving this to my husband because say the word Casserole and he turns green around the gills. I guess Indian people (dots, not feathers) don't do casseroles. And that's fine by me.

But I think even the most hardened Food Snob has a soft spot for some kind of White Trash food. It's a little slice of the past, served up with reverie, that takes you back to Mom and the warm kitchen of your childhood.

My favorite part of this recipe is the last line, written by my grandmother: Delicious as an accompaniment to meat loaf with a tossed salad. You think I'm shitting you, but I'm not.

Broccoli and Rice Casserole (serves 8)

Cook 2 cups of rice according to directions.
Cook 1 package of frozen chopped broccoli and drain.
Heat up 1 can cream of mushroom soup and add 1 jar of Cheez Whiz.
Chop 1 can of water chestnuts.

Mix everything together and put in a buttered casserole dish. Cover and bake at 350 for about a half hour.

Note: Like most White Trash recipes, there aren't really any detailed directions eg: size of the jar of Cheez Whiz/package of broccoli and I haven't eaten it since about 5th grade, so I can't help you out there.

And no, I'm not going to make this and report back to you. Some things are better left to the fuzzy lens of memory. But if you'd like to share your childhood favorite with me, I'd love to hear it.

Cooking Together: Bull's Eyes

When I was little, my mother would cook big weekend breakfasts--to order. Yeah, I was that spoiled. My sister usually wanted eggs or french toast. My father, bacon and toast or sometimes sausage. Me? I always ordered the same thing: a big bowl of Uncle Ben's converted rice with loads of butter and salt. Once and always a Carb Queen.

My mother never missed a beat; she fixed me my rice and I was happy, until my sister would look across the table at me and mouth the word Freakshow. I never told on her though, because deep down, I knew my breakfast of champions was, indeed, odd.

Three decades later, I'm still eating weird crap for breakfast. I don't do cereal, yogurt, waffles, pancakes or any sweet food, for that matter. My ideal breakfast usually looks like this.




Yeah, that is leftover hot and sour soup from 2 nights ago. But it's great at 6:30 in the morning, although my husband walks by and gags when he sees what I'm eating.

Most people who claim to hate breakfast food just hate breakfast period. They don't wake up hungry and the idea of eating first thing in the morning leaves them cold. But that's not me. I wake up ravenous. Always have. But I don't want any of that sugary dreck that passes for breakfast food.

And don't get me started on eggs. I used to eat them once in a while (usually in some cheesy Perkins or IHOP at 2am, in a stupor) but now I can't. I had morning sickness when pregnant with Miss D. and just the smell of a cooked egg sent me running to the toilet. To my credit, I still made eggs for my husband then (and I do still now) but not without a running commentary about my sacrifice and devotion and "damn, I'm a good wife" martyrdom. The smell of eggs, for some reason, is still unbearable.

Perhaps to spite me, both Miss D. and Miss M. adore scrambled eggs. Miss D. likes hers so runny that I know she's at risk for salmonella poisoning, but that's the way she eats 'em, so that's the way I make 'em. Miss M. puts enough salt on hers to kill a garden of slugs. They love eggs...but just scrambled. I've tried frittatas, quiches, soft-boiled, poached, coddled--you name it. Nope. Scrambled it is, and scrambled it has been about 3 or 4 days out of the week since the girls started solid food. I grin and make them and valiantly try not to inhale.

This weekend, Miss D. and I were looking through a cookbook for kids penned by Paula Deen and we stumbled upon the recipe for Bull's-Eyes. "Lets make this tomorrow morning, okay?" Minx said, and since she gets to pick sometimes (and boy was I glad to dodge the yeast bullet) I said okay.

Then I had the incredible savvy and brilliance to drink at least an entire bottle of wine by myself the night before the egg project. Granted, it was over a time period lasting from 4pm until midnight, but that's still a buttload of wine and I woke up feeling severe imbiber's remorse.

I lurched into the kitchen and Miss Perky was bright eyed and bushy-tailed, ready for the egg project! I needed a Bloody Mary like nobody's business and there wasn't a drop of Snap E Tom in the house. Shit.

So I feigned enthusiasm and we made Bull's Eyes for breakfast. I sort of knew what they were; I recall a scene in the movie Moonstruck where Olympia Dukakis does something similar , with the addition of sauteed roasted red bell peppers. We didn't do the peppers routine, but the method is pretty straightforward:

Melt a pat of butter in a small nonstick skillet over low heat. Using a knife or a cookie cutter, make a hole in the center of a piece of bread. Note: We added an element of challenge by using, Gasp! Wheat Bread. Which my kids will not touch, not ever, no way. Hello Mommy! It's brown! You expect us to ingest brown food? Well, I ask it of their father, so why not them?


Place the cut-out slice of bread in the skillet and crack an egg into the hole in the middle. Since this was a Miss D. and Mama cooking together enterprise, it took a little longer than planned, and the bread got pretty toasty, but that's okay. Cook until the white of the egg is beginning to set, about 2 minutes. Using a spatula, flip the whole shebang over and cook 2 more minutes.

I don't know if it was my cast-iron skillet or my flipping technique or what, but our Bull's-Eyes drooled a little.



Luckily, the girls thought that was Supercool! and did not make me cook more eggs, which is a good thing, because I wanted to throw up in my mouth. Hangover+cooked egg smell? Mommy is NOT feelin' it this morning, let me tell you.

I gilded the lily and added a big shake of salt. Those little minxes ate it right up. Even the wheat bread, even the drooling yolk. They got to use their own plastic forks to cut it up and they felt all Rambo and grown up. Or as grown up as you can be when running around without underwear because potty training is not going well.


My Awesome Stepkid R likes to eat his like this.



Which sent me out the door, to the grocery store, in search of tomato juice.

Next Day Fried Rice

serves 4

2 tablespoons peanut or canola oil, divided
1-2 cloves garlic, minced (or if you are lazy like me, about a teaspoon of the bottled minced kind)
1-2 teaspoons minced bottled ginger (lazy)
1 shallot, minced
6 oz. of your favorite protein (I usually go for shrimp or chicken, but your call)
3 cups COLD cooked leftover rice, I like basmati or brown, personally
1 cup assorted chopped veggies--I usually do 1/2 cup shredded carrot or diced red pepper and 1/2 cup snow peas or thawed frozen peas
1 cup bean sprouts
2 eggs, beaten
2-3 tablespoons low sodium soy sauce
1/2 teaspoon sesame oil
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)
2 tablespoons sliced scallions (optional)

Heat 1 tablespoon oil in a large non-stick skillet over medium heat. Add garlic, ginger and shallot and saute 1 minute. Add your favorite protein, sliced thinly (if it's chicken, beef or pork) and stir fry until just cooked. Remove from pan and set aside.

Heat remaining oil in skillet, add veggies (not bean sprouts) to the pan until just beginning to soften, about 3 minutes. Add sprouts and cold leftover rice. Cook for 2 minutes or until rice is coated and sprouts are just beginning to wilt. Make a well in the center of the rice mixture and pour in the eggs. Using a spoon, move the eggs around until just scrambled. Add the protein back to the skillet and drizzle with soy sauce, sesame oil and red pepper. Toss to combine, heat through 1 minute and serve, topped with scallions if you so desire.

Recipes and Re-cap: Family Dinner #1

Against my better judgement, I did eventually emancipate the inmates. They set the table (still sniffling) and hustled back outside.

"Harryboy" Chicken Lollipops
serves 4

1 pound jumbo chicken tenders
2 tablespoons low sodium soy sauce
2 tablespoons Mirin (japanese white wine)
1 teaspoon bottled fresh chopped ginger
1 teaspoon honey

Combine all ingredients in a large plastic zip-top bag and shake to coat. Marinate in the refrigerator for 2 hours or on the countertop for 30 minutes. Thread each chicken tender onto a skewer, satay-style. Grill for 3 minutes per side or until cooked through. Our grill currently has a wasp's nest in it, so I just popped ours under the broiler. Which worked fine, but I missed those cool grill marks on the chicken.

Peanut Dipping Sauce on the Side

1/3 cup smooth peanut butter
1/3 cup reduced sodium soy sauce
3 tablespoons rice vinegar
2-3 tablespoons honey (depending on how sweet your peanut butter is)
1 tablespoon Sriracha chile sauce (for the adult version only--I left it out of the kiddo's)

Whisk all ingredients together and put into small bowls for dipping.

The verdict: Miss D. really liked Harryboy Chicken. She declared the dipping sauce nasty and her sister, of course, followed suit. In fact, she trumped her--I believe Miss M. said nastynastynasty. Still, I was pleased, because both girls ate their chicken and it wasn't fried!



We adults liked our sauce just fine, by the way.

Sesame Stir-Fried Snap Peas
serves 4

1 8 oz. bag sugar snap peas (de-stringed in my house but it's up to you)
1/2 cup shredded carrots (I also get these in the bag...lazy!)
1 teaspoon sesame seeds
2 teaspoons peanut oil plus 1/2 teaspoon toasted sesame oil
salt and pepper to taste

In a large nonstick skillet over medium heat, heat the combined oils. Add snap peas and carrots and stir fry until just crisp tender, about 3-5 minutes. Toss with sesame seeds, salt and pepper.



The verdict: Both girls picked at the snap pea mixture until Miss D. discovered that if you open up the snap pea, Viola! There are little tiny baby peas inside! Supercool! So they ate them, although they picked out the carrots and weren't that jazzed about the sesame seeds. Again, I am happy--my kids+green vegetable? Awesome!


The basmati rice was an experiment. I usually make mine on the stovetop, and it always comes out great. A fellow (much more competent) food blogger called The Wednesday Chef had posted this recipe for basmati rice, which begins cooking on the stovetop but finishes in the oven. I was intrigued, so I tried it. I used butter instead of oil, because let's face it, butter is delicious. I also used chicken broth instead of water, because I think it adds flavor. This recipe makes a lot of rice, so be warned. However, I love using leftover rice for fried rice the next day, so I was psyched.


The verdict: Miss M. scarfed this rice and asked for more. I wasn't surprised, because she is Carbo Queen...alas, so is her mother. Miss D. took a few bites and decided that rice is NOT her favorite prom date. Which is what she always does with rice. I cannot believe that girl is half Indian.

The rice turned out well; however, if you use the method above at high altitude, I might add a couple of minutes on to the cooking time. The grains were rather firm.

Breakdown of the Whole Family Dinner Experience:

I think we got a C. It was too gorgeous outside and the girls were decidedly un-psyched to be called inside to sit and do such a mundane thing as eat. But we toasted before the meal and felt (at least me) grateful to be together.

Miss D. decided to be Cruise Director and asked everyone, "So, how was your day?" Which is how I learned that gross-a-rama, somebody barfed in the middle of math class today.

Approximately 12 minutes into the meal, Miss D. squealed, "Omigod, guys, there's two bunnies outside!!!!" And Family Meal #1 was pretty much over. But there were flowers to smell and bunnies to chase, and nothing can compete with that.

Prelude to Family Dinner #1

Okay, it wasn't that bad. Things look better the morning after...sort of like an awkward first date.

I don't know about the rest of you, but in my world, the hours between 4 and 7pm are like the eighth ring of Hell. They really are that amazingly hideous. Minx has barely managed to contain her ADHD jitters and jabbers during the very long school day, so the minute she hits home plate, she is rocket-powered. That girl is ready to par-taaaaaay, and don't y'all be tryin' to do things like sitting her down for homework or attempting to entice her into the bath. Uh-uh.



Minxette is 3--which is probably enough information right there--but she is also intent on giving up her nap, so by 4pm she is in a mood. And she really thinks her sister's screaming, running and inisistence upon chasing her with sharp objects is annoying as shit.


You want those two critters as your dinner guests? I didn't think so. I don't want them either.

Originally, I had planned to have Miss D. help me make dinner, which would have killed two birds with one stone. Family Dinner Night, check;Cooking one thing a week with Miss D.,check. Which, technically, is cheating. I'm supposed to do those things separately, aren't I? Who is this lame-ass Loser who just started a blog and is already planning to cheat? C'est moi. But you knew that I was lame and incompetent and lazy, so you're not too surprised, are you? Me neither.

The Karma Gods had their priorities straight, though, and my mission was doomed from the get-go. Miss D. had zero interest in helping me prepare dinner and Mother Nature had produced an incredibly gorgeous Spring day. Thus, Minx and Minxette were free, so they happily rattled out the back door and I got down to business.

Just planning what to fix for Family Meal One was a nightmare. It had to be something challenging, but not too scary as to scar the children for life. It had to be something they normally wouldn't eat, but nothing so repellent as to trigger a gag reflex. See the dilemma?

After several days of thought, I came up with a menu. And I admit that I sort of cheated. Gee, what a surprise there. I was watching the Food Network (aka: crack for the Stay-at-Home-Mom) and up popped Rachael Ray--that perky, chimpmunk-cheeked hag--and of course I had to watch. I can't ignore Rachael Ray any more than I can help gawking at a car crash, I'm sick that way.

And Rachael perkily insisted that children love eating food on a stick. It's just so much fun!! So I believed her and decided to make Chicken Lollipops! Okay, that's what I called them and looking back on it, it's so cutesy and devious that it makes me want to barf, but I'm guilty, so I'll admit it. Chicken Lollipops were, in essence Chicken Satay with Sauce on the Side. Sauce on the Side is critical in my house. If Sauce Isn't on the Side, it's a freak show, I tell you.

Partners in crime to the Chicken Lollipops were Sesame Stir-Fried Snap Peas and Basmati Rice. Nothing too out-there, I thought. As I was threading the marinated chicken onto the skewers, Miss D. whizzed into the kitchen for a drink. She saw me skewering the raw chicken, stopped dead in her tracks and eyed me suspiciously. "That's for Harryboy, right?" Harryboy is the cat. Sigh.

I explained that No, this was not for Harryboy and that Yes, chicken looks rather suspect when it's raw, but that trust me, chicken is delicious when it is cooked. EVEN if we don't bread it and fry it. She shot me a distrustful look and then whizzed back outside.

I started the rice, took the little strings off the back of the snap peas (a fussy and ridiculous practice, but my kids do not do strings. Just ask last summer's rejected corn on the cob) and started making the Sauce on the Side. Things were humming along.

Ring! Telephone, hubby's been delayed a bit. Deep breath, no problem, nothing's really been started yet, no honey it's okay rea.... "YAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHLLLLL!!!" There is a hideously loud, feral howl coming from the backyard. Minx is attempting to decapitate Minxette in a frenzy of rage.

"ShehidmyunicornintherocksinthebackyardandnowIcan'tfinditit'sgoneforeverandIhateherIreallydoshe ruinseverythingthatunicornwasNEWandI'llneverhaveanotheronelikeitandIhateher!"

"I realize that you are angry but it is not okay to attempt to rip your sister's head off."

"BBBBAAAAAAWWWWWWAAAAAGGGGGHHHH! She said she hate me! Hating not okay! You said nobody get to say hate you in this family mommy!" Great. Minxette is now hysterical also.

In a moment of motherhood brilliance, I stomp my foot and yell, "I've HAD it! Both of you, go to your rooms NOW!" The wailing gets subsequently louder and doors are slammed and I am going to have to resort to this to get me through the night. And dinner hasn't even started yet.

Family Dinner Night #1

Family dinner night was...really craptacular. More later. Must.Go.Drink.Shiraz.And.Suck Thumb in a Corner.