The Long Way Home


Government cheese and other foods from my childhood
I love to read about food. I read cookbooks, food history books. I pour over recipes, repeating words like ‘asparagus’ and ‘orzo’ because they are beautiful to my ears. I love to eat bowls of buttered egg noodles with pepper while I read articles in Gourmet and Saveur. It gives me comfort to be eating one of my staples from childhood while reading about grilled mahi mahi with capers in lemon dill sauce.
But I’ve wondered why I don’t see articles about the foods that nobody wants to talk about. I  grew up eating dishes such as city chicken, that tasty concoction of veal and chicken, lightly battered and panfried. I loved sloppy joes made in a creamy sauce of mushroom soup instead of tomato sauce. It was muddy-looking, like something stuck to the bottom of your shoes. But smothered over yellow potato bread offset the uglines of it so you could enjoy your after-school feast. The beginning of the month marked food stamp time, so we could get good lunch meat, like cappicola, fresh mozzrella cheese, or bratwurst for saurkraut. As the month went on, we were left with Kraft slices and pickles between regular white bread. Nobody wanted to swap lunches with my sister and me then. Government cheese made the best grilled cheese sandwiches because it melted so quickly, like Velveeta, but not as orange and not as waxy.
I don’t remember going to the welfare office for the block of cheese, or if it came in the mail. It just seemed to appear in our fridge, half of it left over until we’d get another block the next month. What did President Reagan expect us to do with all that cheese? A 3-woman household surviving on buttered noodles and pepper that lasted week till the first of the month. Reading about rack of lamb, or coq au vin helped to make the butter in the noodles taste richer, the pepper spiking my tongue with flavor. It was my first experiences with denial, or what I like to think of as imagination – that some foods we are taught aren’t so sophiscated can be really, really good.


Hurka and other food discoveries

I read fancy cookbooks with complicated recipes while I eat simple foods such as ramen noodles (doused in Sriracha sauce), or buttered egg noodles with pepper. My friend Roya calls it ‘food pornography’ because it is fantasizing  about and longing for the dish on the page while eating something comforting and familiar. It is the best of both worlds. And when I can’t have either, I think about the foods that have shaped my eclectic palate.

1. hurka (pronounced ‘who’r-kuh’)

This is a Hungarian water-cooked sausage filled with various pork offal, rice, and onions. It was a staple in my grandmother’s kitchen, although I don’t remember the taste of it or even what it looks like too much. My mother said I loved it though, and would split open the casing and dig out all the rice and piggy products, drowning them in ketchup. Years later in my 20s, I met another Lisa of Hungarian descent who not only remembered eating hurka, but also dowsing it with ketchup. Ketchup may be the only way to make hurka palatable to a kid.

2. pickles and cheese sandwiches (worst sandwich)

When the food cupboard was bare, my mother would whip up this little number for a lunchbox treat: sliced dill pickles, Kraft American cheese slices, and white bread. I tried trading these with other kids in the lunchroom, but nobody wanted to eat them.

3. Prekmurje ham sandwich (best sandwich)

In 2003, Bill Fulmer and I did a cross-country trip to the Prekmurje region of Slovenia with our friend Tamara. We stayed at the Flisar family farm. Our rooms overlooked vineyards dotted with thatch-roofed sheds. The mailman only stopped once a week on his bicycle to pick up mail. We didn’t have time to eat breakfast the next morning because we were headed to Lake Balaton in Hungary, so the owner packed us a lunch: fresh baked bread, ham made straight from the pigs on her own farm, and a poppyseed gibanica, a seven-layer strudel popular in that region. We didn’t find all these goodies until later, when the three of us sat by the shallow water of Lake Balaton eating what she had given us: bread, ham, butter, and tomato. A really simple meal that I still crave.

4. lima beans and milk

Not necessarily together (although that would be my nightmare). I don’t like lima beans because of their texture – squooshy, like I imagine beetles would be if they were crushed between my teeth. I will pick them out of my meal if I spot them in there, which I know is childish, but they really gross me out. I will cook with milk, and drink chocolate milk, but regular white milk is disgusting. I declared my war on this foul juice when I was five years old, and it continues to this day.

5. egg noodles with butter and black pepper

Simply the best comfort food ever. My mother would make this often when were kids, when she was too tired to cook after working all day. It also tastes good sprinkled with poppy seeds, making it Hungarian comfort food.

6. McCountries and mini hamburgers

I know McDonalds is widely disputed and considered evil, but I really grew fond of this Eastern European pork patty version of the Quarter Pounder. When I desperately needed something “American,” I’d get this “Menu’ item (Croatia’s equivalent to “Value”). Pecs, Hungary has a bakery near the old pharmacy that sells mini-hamburgers, which are tiny versions of the McCountry: pork patty, lettuce and mustard on a freshly baked lilliputian bun, 2 for $1 USD. Perfect for wrapping in a napkin and eating on the go.

7. my sister’s chocolate chip cookies

She could win a bake-off with these babies. She has been baking them since she was 10 years old, so she has a lot of practice. The secret to her cookie is just the right balance of salt and sweet, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. The perfect cookie.

8. muttar paneer

My favorite North Indian meal of  peas and cubes of tofu-like cheese. I used to eat this dish for many a dinner when I was a sophomore in college (sometimes 3 or 4 days in a row) since I worked at Delhi Grill. I love the sweetness and slight bite to the peas with the chewy paneer following right after. I could eat a whole shit-load of this stuff right now.

9. mussels

These made me a more adventurous eater. When I was first introduced to them, I swallowed them whole because I was afraid to bite into the little suckers. But now I can’t imagine them without plain garlic butter on a warm summer night (sorry, Jeff, I know this is killing you to read this part, ever since you ate a bad one and spent the one night wondering whether you should puke or sit on the pot all night. One bad mussel is dangerous indeed).

10. Jeff’s fried chicken

He has made the recipe his own: something with panko crumbs, cornmeal, buttermilk and fried in canola oil. I don’t know the exact recipe and if I did I wouldn’t tell anyone, but then he puts a few shakes of buffalo sauce on top and it’s amazing. It reminds me of why I married him in the first place.



Travel books that aren’t necessarily about travel

Some books to read when you can’t go anywhere

The Moon by Night by Madeline L’Engle

Madeline L’Engle is better known for her science fiction rather than her spiritual writings in the Episcopal church, but it’s her non science fiction chronicles that make me love her writing so much. The church I attended as a kid was chockfull of her young adult books,  and The Moon by Night was one of my favorites. In the second book of  the Austin family series, Vicky Austin confronts growing pains and first love while traveling cross-country with her family in a ramshackle camper. While the thoughts of traveling with my own family would have me running for the hills, I always thought it would be so cool to live in a house on wheels, and I loved the groovy 1970s bookcover, and the interconnected world of L’Engle characters.

Nancy Drew Mystery Series

Who the hell knows which state River Heights actually exists, but it’s in close proximity to New York City and Chicago, as well as Shadow Ranch, Moonstone Castle and the ghostly Blackwood Hall. I was always envious that Nancy and her chums were lucky enough to encounter mysterious mannequins in Turkey, or solve crimes in such exotic locales as Japan and Scotland. They had all the time and money in the world. It wasn’t until I was an adult who could afford her own travels that I asked, how did Nancy do it? When I want to escape to the Forgotten City, I think of eating tea sandwiches at roadside inns, lunch always interrupted by the next adventure.

Culinaria Hungary

This beautiful cookbook is more travelogue than recipe collection. With its stunning photography and detailed historical research, each region of Hungary comes to life through the pages. It makes me want to climb into the book and emerge from Budapest on the other side.

The Oblivion Seekers by Isabelle Eberhardt

Isabelle Eberhardt was a late-Victorian female traveler who spent much of her time primarily in Algeria. She dressed in men’s clothes, converted to Islam and traveled through the North African deserts alone. Unlike Isabella Bird or Gertrude Bell, women travelers who made a living through their travel writings, Isabelle was addicted to morphine which often clouded her judgment as well as hampered her writing ability. The Oblivion Seekers, translated by Paul Bowles, is more a collection of diary-like pieces rather than short stories. Most of her journals were washed away in a flash flood, which killed her at the age of 27.



All Roads Lead to Buffalo
April 14, 2009, 12:50 pm
Filed under: New York, United States | Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

 –which sucked because Jeff and I never made it to Rochester. Our plan was to tour the George Eastman house and spend the night in a seedy motel (the Towpath, which may charge us a whole night’s stay for cancelling without 24 hour notice, the bastards!), then spend Saturday in Jeff’s hometown of Allegany.  But in Dunkirk, about 54 miles outside of Buffalo, the toll booth lady instructed us to take the next exit. I-90 was closed for 105 miles because of a freak snow storm that hit the city area. Long rows of semi’s stretched on the side of the road like the trucks you’d see at border check points going into Hungary or Croatia, or anywhere in Eastern Europe. We exited and pulled into an Aldi’s parking lot, studying the map for an alternate route. Wind rattled the car windows, but the sun made it warm enough for us not to have our jackets. Sunny and clear, and only an hour from Buffalo. There had to be another way. There was nobody in Aldi’s who could help us, so we trekked across the highway to a gas station attendant who couldn’t help us either. What about Route 39? I said to the woman, highlighting the pink line to show her. It might go to Rochester, she said. But I don’t want to take you the wrong way.

Doesn’t anyone know where they’re going in America?

We decided to hit Allegany/Olean on the way back to Pittsburgh. Imagine part of Monroeville about two hours away from the nearest city. And the nearest cities were Buffalo and Rochester. Welcome to Allegany/Olean. It is rural. It is like most forgotten parts of America, bruised and swinging on its hinges from a dying industry. I kept asking myself, what do people do here now? When you don’t see the hustle and bustle of a city, it’s as if you’re trespassing into private property. You get a glimpse of people’s lives, walking along the main streets, or in the mall, which is now mostly a vast space of empty store fronts. We played skee ball to kill some time, which Jeff used to do when he was in junior high. We took pictures of the house where Jeff grew up. The red door is now a natural wood color, and the backyard is filled with a pool. Everything had changed. I could feel it, even though I had never been there before.

On our way out of town, we took pictures in front of the church where Jeff was an altar boy. I scored a great find at the St. Vincent de Paul, a Spanish souvenir doll from the 1960s, which we got for a buck. Driving back, there was lots of wind and pending snow, cheap cigarettes on the Salamanca reseravation, and a horse and buggy hitched to a sign post outside of a convenience store. We had a pink sunset, and later, a full bright moon that we were lucky enough to guide us home.

(10.16.06)