Omelets and Opera

Sunday mornings were sacred growing up on 26 Bettswood Rd.  We were church going folks, but we always hit mass on Saturday night so that we could have our Sunday mornings.  Sunday after Sunday after Sunday as kids we would be awoken to the sound of opera.  Cranking.  On the stereo.  Loud.

We hated it as little kids, at least I did,  especially when we had the downstairs bedroom.  Bleary eyed, we'd head into the kitchen where Dad, towel draped over one shoulder, Sunday NYT puzzle in reach, would ask, "want an omelet?" 

My parents loved the opera.  They were season ticket holders to the Metropolitan Opera House in NYC, a rare extravagance for them.  And they got my Uncle Brian hooked, too, so for years and years Uncle Brian would drive down from Boston and the three of them would head into the city to see La boheme, Rigoletto, La traviata, you name it. In those days the translations were not projected above the stage so there was always some boning up on whatever libretto was in play.  My parents even signed up for a class in Italian at Norwalk Community College one year.  (I remember mom telling me she hated it, dad loved it.  She never did the homework and prayed she didn't get called on.  Of course Dad did the homework.)

So Sunday after Sunday we passively took in this music, usually with some protest, but eventually singing along at the top of our lungs in some approximation of whatever aria was being sung.  The grand march of Aida became a family favorite; a favorite high school memory was marching around the kitchen with pots and pans, clanging in time to the cymbals.  I had that piece performed at our wedding as we walked back down the aisle.  So, despite youthful protests, these operas became imbedded in our brains.  They are a part of me and the soundtrack to the Sundays of my childhood.

Operas and omelets.  It's a tradition that Doug and I have carried on and, I suspect, so have some of my sisters.  We swapped omelets for scrambled eggs and we dash out on Sunday mornings to go to church, but our Sunday morning soundtrack has always, always included opera, and then it was MY kids who would protest.

Until this weekend.

Corey sings in an a capella at Wash U but also in the chamber choir.  This past Sunday, the choirs, together with the Wash U symphony orchestra and two professional soloists, put on a concert.  The theme?  19th century opera favorites.  It.  was.  spectacular.  From the moment the first notes started, so did my tears.  Hearing these incredibly familiar arias, watching my kid up there singing them, I just couldn't stop.  Corey later said, 'it was so fun to watch you, mom, because I knew you'd be crying the whole time."  I thought constantly of my sisters, my mom and my dad.  I thought of the pride my dad would be bursting with if he was there, watching his beautiful granddaughter sing "Va, pensiero".  

Va, pensiero, do you know it?  I bet you do:  it's a very familiar piece of music.  Here's a snippet.  Can you spy Corey?

The program also contained its story, which is fantastic.

Verdi's opera Nabucco has seen many full performances since it first opened at La Scala over 150 years ago, but perhaps the most recognized number from the opera is the dramatic chorus "Va, pensiero".  Nabucco is set in a romanticized biblical past, where the Israelites await the advance of Nabucco, the kind of Babylon, and his army.  The Babylonians invade, and the displaced Israelites sing of their homeland and their longing for it with Va, pensiero.  "Va, pensiero" went on to represent much more than the opera scene from which it emerged.  At Verdi's funeral, the assembled crowd is reported to have sung "Va, pensiero" in honor of the composer,  likely because of the song's association with political upheaval in Italy.  Often under the control of various foreign powers, the Italian states in early 19th century were fragmented.  During midcentury, a nationalist movement called the Risorgimento eventually led to the unification of Italy in 1861.  "Va, pensiero" became a patriotic and nationalistic song after 1861, supposedly expressing a longing for a united Italy.

"Va, pensiero" continues to hold national symbolism.  Indeed, in 2011, following severe budget cuts to the arts in Italy, conductor Riccardo Muti was astonished when concertgoers at the Teatro dell'Opera in Rome shouted "Viva l'Italia!" immediately following this chorus, interrupting the opera.  Muti, hearing them behind him, stopped the opera to give an impromptu speech on the importance of the arts.  The audience rose to their feet and sang "Va, pensiero" together with the singers on stage. "It was a call for a united fatherland," Muti later remembered, "in Verdi's name. I thought I was dreaming...(it was) a moment of outstanding Italianess"

They continued on with hits from La boheme, Rigoletto, Die Fledermaus and, finally, Brindisi from La traviata.  As the director said, if you haven't heard Brindisi from traviata, you haven't lived. 

Judge for yourself.  I'm a fan.  Viva l'Italia, indeed.    What a special day.   

Sundays, Omelets and opera!  You can't go wrong.

Sláinte

52 Kendall St, Brookline, Mass.  I searched for an image of it today and look what I found!

Grammy's house.  In which she gave birth to and raised 13 children.  That house, with its scary basement and one bathroom and the wonderful smell of Grammy's Irish soda bread baking. 

I remember walking in that side door to the right (the one to the left was an extremely mysterious situation:  dark and leafy and foreboding to this pipsqueak), which led right into Grammy's kitchen, and right to Grammy, waiting for us to arrive.  That tiny kitchen, with the washing machine  next to the sink, that cool old white stove, Ivory dish soap on the sink to wash the dishes by hand.   Grammy would make her Irish soda bread in a cast iron skillet and we'd eat it with sugary tea at her kitchen table.  We'd wander through the house, imagining our mom growing up there amidst all those brothers and sisters in that modest house with one bathroom.  How did they do it? 

Margaret and Patrick Flatley

Grampy died the year before I was born.  Mom says he was quiet, moody, strong, and he played a mean "squeeze box."  I wish I had known him.  But my Grammy?  Grammy we knew.  And we loved.  She exuded warmth and love, with her sweet Irish brogue and her easy, hearty laugh.

Born Margaret Kelly in Bekan Parish, Ballyhaunis, County Mayo, Ireland.  She married my Grampy, Patrick James Flatley, on April 25, 1927 and they left the next day for Boston.  The letter announcing their arrival, to her brother, arrived on the boat with them.  It's unimaginable to me, all of it.  Leaving the country you grew up in in search of opportunities, leaving everything you know, never seeing your parents again.  They bought that little house on Kendall Street and they brought up their 13 children there and they made a life and left a staggering legacy of spirit, faith and the importance of family.

Take a look.  These pictures are beyond awesome, aren't they?

Bill, Peggy, Fran, Elda (first in-law), Jim, 

Tom,  Paul, 

Moni, Grampy, Grammy, Ellen (mom), 

Brian, Kevin, Ginny, Kitty & Mary

My Aunt Moni got her BA from BC years after her children were born.  She went back to school and studied Irish history and interviewed my Grammy for a class called The Social History of Modern Ireland.  She shared that paper with us and I re-read it yesterday and was blown away reading about the life my grandparents lived, and left behind, in rural Ireland.  Grammy's dad died when she was three and her grandmother raised her, to give her widowed daughter some relief.  She sounds like quite a woman, my great-great-grandmother: she raised 9 children of her own and her seven sons then emigrated to Australia. She worked the family farm but also acted as the village midwife, leaving the house at all hours to deliver neighborhood babies.  When my great-grandmother  remarried, she and her new husband maintained their own farms so they could hang onto them and, eventually, pass them on to one of their children.  School was taken quite seriously but there was no high school:  you finished in 6th grade then went to work on the farm full time.  Grammy felt fortunate to have been able to stay through 8th grade.  Church was the center of life in rural Ireland in the early 1900's.  Grammy and her siblings were delighted when their grandfather was able to buy a sidecar so they no longer had to walk the four miles to church.  Four miles!

It was a life full of hard work but simple joys.
Aunt Moni wrote: "She often talked about how the little pleasures they had in life -- sometimes even a Christmas orange - meant so much to them.  She often mentions feeling sorry for the children of our times who seem to need so many material things in order to be happy."

One passage of Aunt Moni's paper that struck me, and slayed me, is this:
"The strength of the Irish woman -- especially the Irish mother- had to have been sorely tested by the tragedy of the emigration of the young.  I cannot recall ever hearing of another society in the world where the young were brought up to emigrate. My mother speaks of the pain of the parting with her mother - whom she never saw again - and I think of the pain of the mothers of the entire rural Ireland who labored long and hard to bring up their families and yet had only enough farm land to offer one child."
 

I've talked of my amazing, huge Irish family before.  Of Thanksgiving dinner and the joy and delight of getting the 66 cousins together every year, of the lovely traditions this group fostered.  But when I think of this amazing family now, I think of the character of its members.  Caring, strong, joyful, faithful, resourceful, resilient.  Not wed to material possessions.  Supportive.  And fun.  So very fun.  I'm so grateful to Grammy and Grampy for having the gumption to get on that boat.  Would I have been that brave?

 I'd like to think so.  I'm Irish. 

Grammy's Irish Soda Bread (dictated to my Aunt Kitty Peters on 2/13/77)

"stick of butter the size of an egg"
"almost" 1C. sugar
1 tsp. salt
1 "heaping" tsp. baking powder
"flour and milk" (about 1.5-2C. each)
"Beat butter and sugar, salt, baking powder and egg. Add flour and milk alternately until the batter is thick. Add 2 handfuls of raisins.
Bake at 375 for 20 minutes, and then at 300 for 10 minutes."

Grammy's Irish Soda Bread (c/o my Aunt Monica McIntyre in 1998)

2 1/4 C. flour
1T. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
2T. softened butter
1 1/2 C. milk
1C. sugar
1 large egg
1 1/4 C. raisins coated in flour
1T. caraway seeds
Beat egg, sugar, butter together in large bowl. Blend flour, baking powder and salt in separate bowl. Add this and milk alternately to the first mixture. It will be very thick, do not overbeat. It should remain really doughy, not soupy.
Spray pans, but keep below 1" of the pan. Bake at 325 for 1 hour.

Happy St. Patrick's Day, everyone.

Sláinte

spring break and SCP

Corey is home for spring break!  Yeah!!

I picked up my girl and her friend, Angela, from Union Station Monday afternoon.  This is a picture from last month but you get  the idea of it all.  Isn't she lovely?

Anyway, it is SO nice to have her home!! And now her friend Michelle is here, too, so the male/female energy is finally - and fleetingly - balanced.  It's just so nice to see this woman.

She started texting me with menu requests last week.  Here are the requests:

Fish Tacos
Pulled Pork
Linguine with clam sauce
Slimy Chicken Pasta.

The last is not an official recipe name, of course.  It's Chicken Piccata Pasta Toss, c/o Rachael Ray. But Dylan dubbed it slimy chicken pasta years ago and it's a family favorite so last night that's what we ate.

 Take a couple breasts of chicken (about 1-1/2 lbs) and cut them into tenders.  salt & pepper them liberally.  Heat a  tablespoon of oil in a skillet on med/high and cook tenders until golden, about 5 minutes

 Cook up a point of ziti or penne, drain

 When the chicken is done, remove it from the skillet and put in serving bowl.

 don't you love these ingredients more than life itself?  well, at least a lot?

 Add another tablespoon of olive oil and a tablespoon of butter, heat up.

 Add about 2 cloves chopped garlic and 2 small chopped onions.  The recipe calls for shallots (2 chopped) but I didn't have any and the show must go on, right?  Cook until onions are soft, about 5 minutes on med/high heat.

 Crack out your favorite lemon juicer and juice up a couple lemons

 Meanwhile, back at the skillet, when the onions are soft and lovely, add 2 Tbsp flour and stir for two minutes, making a lovely thick roux-type situation.

 Then the magic happens.  Add 1/2 cup of  white wine and stir for a minute, till liquid is a bit reduced.

 Whisk in the juice of 1 lemon and  1/2 cup chicken broth

 Stir in 3 Tbsp capers and 1/2 cup chopped parsley

 Add the chicken and any juices that have accumulated back into the pan, stir to incorporate and let it simmer a couple minutes so the chicken heats back up. 

 Pour it over the pasta, stir, add a little more broth or lemon juice if it seems to need it.  I always do.  Let it sit a bit so the flavors mix. 

 And there you have it!!

Chicken Piccata Pasta Toss

 Corey and Angela

These girls really appreciate a home cooked meal. And fruit.

Dylan and  Noah.  Noah is channeling his inner zoolander.

See you next week, y'all!

ode to the fish taco

It's cold here in the midwest.  And unless you've lived under a rock for the past couple months, you know that the east coast's (read: Boston's) snow totals this year are positively biblical.  So on a freezing February evening, one can dream about summer and make oneself a fish taco and some spicy cole slaw.  One almost always feels better doing so.  





Make the cole slaw first.  If you have time to make it in the morning, better yet, because the longer it sits the more pickled and spicier it gets.  I've blogged this cole slaw recipe before:  it bears repeating because it it really stinking good. Recipe below.




For the tacos, take a few fillets of tilapia. Cut  in half along the midline and then once across, so you have four pieces per fillet.  Dry them with some paper towel, salt them and let them sit for a few minutes.  Mix up a magic potion of cumin, corriander and paprika (for four fillets use 1/2 tsp paprika and 2tsp each the other) and coat each piece generously in this yumminess.  Put some flour on a plate and press each side of the fish into the flour and set aside.   Heat up some vegetable oil in a large fry pan on medium high.  When it's hot, add the fish and cook about 3 minutes per side, until it's cooked through and golden brown.  Take out of the oil and set aside. 

 Heat up a couple tortillas, cook up some brown rice or quinoa,  assemble the whole yummy mess on your tortilla, take a bite, and think about summer. 

I swear, it's coming.  Right?

Fish Tacos and Spicy Cole Slaw -  from Ten Dollar Dinners  by Melissa d’Arabian.
Serves: 4
Preparation time: 20 minutes
Cooking time: 15 minutes

Ingredients
for the slaw
½    small red cabbage, halved and sliced crosswise into thin strips (about 3 cups sliced cabbage)
¼    red onion, thinly sliced lengthwise
1    small jalapeño pepper, thinly sliced crosswise
2    tablespoons roughly chopped fresh cilantro
1    lime
½    cup white vinegar
1    teaspoon sugar
1½    teaspoons kosher salt

for the tacos
2    6-ounce tilapia fillets
1    teaspoon kosher salt
1    teaspoon ground coriander
1    teaspoon ground cumin
¼    teaspoon sweet paprika
2    tablespoons all-purpose flour
2    tablespoons vegetable oil
8    6-inch fresh corn tortillas

To make the slaw: Place the cabbage, onion, jalapeño, and cilantro in a medium bowl. Slice the lime in half lengthwise and then cut one half into 4 wedges; set aside for serving. Juice the remaining lime half into a small bowl. Add the vinegar, sugar, and salt and whisk to dissolve, then pour the vinegar mixture over the cabbage mixture. Toss and squeeze with your hand to combine and set aside. Stir and squeeze the slaw every 5 to 10 minutes while you prepare the fish.

To make the tacos: Divide each tilapia fillet in half along its center seam (so you have 4 long pieces) and then halve crosswise so you have 8 pieces. Set the tilapia on a plate and blot dry with paper towels. Sprinkle both sides of the 8 pieces with the salt. Mix the coriander, cumin, and paprika together in a small bowl and sprinkle the spices over both sides of the fish, patting them on gently. Place the flour on a plate and lightly coat both sides of the fish in flour.

Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the fish and cook until golden and crisp on both sides, 4 to 6 minutes total. Use a spatula to transfer the fish to a plate and set aside.
Heat a medium skillet over medium-high heat and place a tortilla in the pan. Cook the tortilla until it’s warmed through and pliable, 30 seconds to 1 minute, turning it over midway through. Place the tortilla on a kitchen towel–lined plate and wrap loosely, folding the edges of the towel over the tortilla to keep it warm. Repeat with the remaining tortillas, stacking and covering them as you go. Place 1 piece of fish inside each tortilla, top with cabbage slaw, and serve with a lime wedge. 

To India, with Love

I am obsessed with Indian food lately. What's not to love?  Fragrant, exotic, spicy foods prepared with long marinades and slow cooking.  It's all so flavorful and gorgeous and delicious, I can't get enough.  We're lucky  to live close to Devon Ave., Chicago's amazing ten block stretch of mostly Indian restaurants and shops.  We took our kids there for the first time years ago and they were all positively wide eyed. It was like stepping into another world. And they loved the food. So when we go out as a family, Devon is a regular stop.

Recently, Doug and I saw the movie The Lunchbox.  Have you seen it?  Lovely, lovely little  film that takes place in Mumbai, in which the food plays a central role.  (And Tasneem, this season's gorgeous villain in Homeland, is the star!)  Then, the next night, we watched The One Hundred Foot Journey, another fantastic film, and another in which Indian food plays a central role.  Perhaps that's what started this kick, trying to make yummy Indian food that doesn't require too much time or expertise.

Last week I made a crock pot version of chicken tikka masala.  It might horrify a legit Indian food connoisseur, but my people and me? We loved it.  Garam masala is the key to it all and it can be found at any decent grocery store (and definitely at Village Market.) It smells like heaven.

Slow-Cooker Chicken Tikka Masala

15-ounce can crushed tomatoes

1 medium onion, chopped

2cloves garlic, chopped

2 tablespoons tomato paste

2 teaspoons garam masala (Indian spice blend)

kosher salt and black pepper

1 1/2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken thighs (about 8) (I used chicken breasts)

1/2 English cucumber, halved and thinly sliced

1/4 cup fresh cilantro leaves

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

1 cup basmati or some other long-grain white rice

1/2 cup heavy cream 

In a 4- to 6-quart slow cooker, combine the tomatoes, onion, garlic, tomato paste, garam masala, ¾ teaspoon salt, and ¼ teaspoon pepper. Place the chicken on top of the vegetables, cover, and cook until the chicken is tender, on low for 7 to 8 hours or on high for 3 to 4 hours (this will shorten total recipe time).

In a small bowl, toss the cucumber and cilantro with the lemon juice and ¼ teaspoon each salt and pepper. Cover and refrigerate for up to 8 hours.

Twenty minutes before serving, cook the rice according to the package directions.Just before serving, stir the cream into the chicken tikka masala. Serve over the rice with the cucumber relish.

THEN, as luck would have it, we had dinner at our friends George and Sarah's house Saturday night.  George and Sarah were both born in India. Theirs was an arranged marriage!  Seriously!  And they love eachother!  And both have PhDs!  And three lovely and brilliant daughters!   We have had many dinners at George and Sarah's over the years, and every so often they serve full on Indian, and this weekend was one of those lucky nights.  It was SPECTACULAR.

they served:

Butter Chicken Masala
Saag Aloo
Ghee Rice
Papads ( wafers made from Chick pea flour)

Pickle (insanely flavorful and spicy topping) 

(per Sarah:  the one thing found in common across all of the subcontinent, though the taste and materials can vary wildly)

To wrap up the Indian food experiment, I made Mark Bittman's "Chicken Curry in a hurry". 

It was very easy and quick and tasty.  I'll definitely make it again, but next time I'll pound out the chicken or cut it into cutlets to infuse it with more flavor and cook it faster.

• 1 tablespoon vegetable oil
• 1 medium onion, sliced
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 1 1/2 teaspoons curry powder, or to taste
• 4 skinless, boneless chicken breast halves (1 to 1 1/2 pounds)
• 1 cup sour cream
• Minced fresh cilantro or parsley for garnish

• Put the oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. When hot, add the onion, sprinkle with some salt and pepper, and cook, stirring occasionally, until translucent, about 5 minutes. Turn the heat down to medium, sprinkle with about half the curry powder and continue to cook for a minute or two.
  
  
  
  2. Meanwhile, season the chicken with salt and pepper to taste and sprinkle it with the remaining curry powder. Move the onion to one side of the skillet and add the chicken in one layer. Cook for about 2 minutes per side; transfer to a plate.
  
  
  
  
  3. Add the sour cream and stir constantly over mdeium-low heat until the mixture is nice and thick. Beturn the chicken to the skillet and cook for 2 more minutes, turning once.
  
  
  
  
  Garnish and serve with plenty of white rice.
  
  
  
  To India, with love.  
  

dad, ellie's kidney and rachael ray

I've been trying for months to blog about my dad.  I haven't managed it to date.  It's just been too hard.  When will it ever be less hard? 

But today I vowed to try again, because I dreamed about Dad the other night.  I woke up with his voice in my head, and it was just so nice to hear him again.  It's been almost five years since I've  called and heard that warm, smiling voice exclaim, "Janie girl!"

As those of you who knew my dad know, my sisters and I won the dad lottery.  My dad was an insanely capable guy.  He was a surgeon, an old school doc who loved what he did with a passion.  He was an amazing dad and husband.  And a kick ass handyman and woodworker.  And warm, and funny, and smart, and respected, and silly and he loved life.  He was the bomb diggity and I miss him. every. single. day.  But I digress.

Seven years before his unexpected and untimely death, my dad underwent a kidney transplant.  My sister Ellie was his donor.  Dad had been in kidney failure for a couple years and had gotten so, well, old in those years.  He slept a lot. He was spacey.  His energy level, which had always been reliable (albeit with an enviable power nap habit), was flagging.  We all sort of thought that's what Dad was going to be like from there on out and, after a couple serious health scares in that period, we were just glad to still have him.  Then he got Ellie's 39 year old kidney transplanted into him and what transpired thereafter was miraculous.  We got him back.  (Here:  you can read about it in Ellie's blog.  It's an amazing story.)   The recovery was slow and frustrating, but little by little, day by day he recovered to not only his pre-transplant level but he recovered to his regular Dad level.  He was BACK, baby!

For that first month of recovery, dad watched a lot of tv.  And he got hooked on cooking shows.  And he fell a little bit in love.  With Rachael Ray.  My dad had never really cooked.  He was a great grill man. Briefly, in the 70's, when woks became a thing, he decided he would be a wok man, too.  Once a month or so he would make the infamous "east west stir fry", taking over the entire kitchen and chopping and measuring every item with a surgeon's precision.  But that was short lived, and the cooking fell almost entirely to mom.  Until that post-transplant summer of 2003 when dad, laid up on his easy chair day after day,  discovered Rachael Ray and decided to give cooking a try.
I think the precision and the science and the immediate gratification of cooking really appealed to him.  So when he got back on his feet they took him right to the kitchen, and to the market, and for those next 7 years, while he was retired and my mom was still working as a nurse at Bedford Middle School, their roles were reversed and it was she who would come home to the world's most adorable cook, waiting with a drink and a hug and a meal at the end of her work day. 

For Christmas that year, Dad gave us all a cookbook written by his muse:  

 I don't consult Rachael nearly as often as I do Ina, but there are a few recipes from the above in solid rotation.  Like this one; you can tell from all the debris on the page.

Supreme Pizza Pasta Salad.  It's a winner.

  Cook up a box of wagon wheels pasta.

Chop up 2 tomatoes, 1/2 red onion, 1 bell peper (recipe calls for green but I only had red and it's fine) and some mushrooms if you have them.

 Chop up a pound of fresh mozzarella and a stick of pepperoni.

 Tear or chop about 20 large basil leaves

 Mix it all together. 

 Make a dressing of 1 tsp garlic salt & dried oregano

1 tablespoon tomato paste (I usually use 2)

2 Tbsp red wine vinegar

about 1/3 cup olive oil

lots of pepper

 Add it in, stir it up.  If you can, let it sit a bit to absorb the flavors. 

 and voila!  Thank you Rachael for the inspiration.  Thank you Ellie for 7 extra wonderful years.

 And thank you Dad. For everything.