THE BOOK:

Louise Penny has taken the mystery to a higher level in this, her latest Three Pines novel. I was totally drawn into the story from the beginning, only putting the book down to eat and sleep during the twenty-four hour period that it took to reach the satisfying conclusion. The book begins with Armand Gamache, the Chief Superintendent of the Surete de Quebec (a post he had previously turned down twice) testifying in court as a witness for the prosecution in a murder case. The story is told back and forth in time, between the trial and the events that led to the defendant’s arrest. The case against the defendant in the courtroom scenes slowly reveal the evidence indicating culpability and gives the reader a perspective similar to that of  the jury.  The scenes describing the events prior to the trial lead the reader eventually to the conclusion that there is something else at play here, that elements of the two vantage points don’t mesh to form a clear picture. More information is needed. More than other mysteries I’ve read, I felt empowered  here, to solve the mystery myself. Penny seemlessly revealed the facts, and the feelings of the characters, leading me to questions that I felt needed answering in order to figure the whole thing out.

One thing I love about Penny’s writing is how she illuminates themes, or character traits with excerpts from literature, or history.  One of those quotes was from Shakespeare’s Henry VIII, “I feel within me a peace above all earthly dignities, a still and quiet conscience.” Gamache illustrates a point he wants to make to his team at one point, by talking of Churchill and the German bombing of Coventry in World War II. I love when there are literary and historical allusions that I recognize, but I also love identifying those that I’m not sure about by googling to get more information.

When Gamache needs to think through something important, he frequently takes  long walks around Three Pines, and usually ends up at a bench on a hill above the village. The bench is inscribed with the words, “Surprised by joy,” which I loved without knowing a context for the quote, but I figured there must be meaning  in it, so a quick Google search revealed that Surprised by Joy is the title of C.S. Lewis’s (Clive Staples) autobiography that describes his journey through life as a Christian in his youth, an atheist in his middle years, and his return to Christianity as he tries to find joy later in his life. I’m not sure what that means relative to this particular story, or to the village of Three Pines in general, but I’ve added the book to my WTR (want to read) list.

Finally, the ending of the book was perfect: heartwarming and thoughtful, and produced such a warm feeling of well-being in me, that I forgot for a moment that our current state of affairs has an imminent launch of an ICBM missile by North Korea.

THE BEAUTY:

“But the tiny, achingly beautiful Magdalen Islands were the sweet spot.” This location was an important one in the ongoing investigation of the drug cartels by Gamache’s team. The photo below is the red cliffs made of red sandstone, a sedimentary rock made of quartz which is covered with iron oxide. Wind, waves, tides and thaw join forces to erode the extremely crumbly rock faces sculpting them into spectacular shapes.

image by lucyneatby.com/image/madeline.jpg

THE FOOD:

I’ve been thinking about trying my hand at a baguette for quite a while. My husband’s attempt years ago yielded what he refers to as “dough baseball bats.” So when the baguette played such an important role in this book, I had to give it a try.

Dan Leader’s 4-Hour Baguette
Makes 3 baguettes

Author Notes: This recipe is the aggressive, no-more-excuses shove that you need to start baking your own bread. It will only take you 4 hours of intermittent attention, and won’t require a starter nor any equipment you don’t already own — and it will rival your favorite bakery’s.

1½ C (12 ounces) tap water, heated to 115° F
1 tsp (⅛ ounce) active dry yeast
3¼ C (14⅔ ounces) all-purpose flour
3 tsp (⅜ounces) Diamond Crystal kosher salt (note: if using a fine-grained salt like table salt, fine sea salt or other brands of kosher salt, you will need to use a smaller volume)
Canola oil, for greasing bowl
½ C ice cubes

Whisk together water and yeast in a large bowl; let sit until yeast is foamy, about 10 minutes. Add flour, and stir with a fork until dough forms and all flour is absorbed; let dough sit to allow flour to hydrate, about 20 minutes. Add salt, then transfer dough to a lightly floured work surface, and knead until smooth and elastic, about 10 minutes. Transfer dough ball to a lightly greased bowl, cover bowl with plastic wrap, and place bowl in a cold oven or microwave. Let dough rest until doubled in size, about 45 minutes.

Transfer dough to a lightly floured work surface, and shape into an 8-inch x 6-inch rectangle. Fold the 8-inch sides toward the middle, then fold the shorter sides toward the center, like a T-shirt. Return dough, seam side down, to the bowl. Cover with plastic again, and return to oven. Let sit until doubled in size, about 1 hour.

Remove bowl with dough from oven, and place a cast–iron skillet on the bottom rack of oven; position another rack above skillet, and place a baking stone or upside down or rimless sheet pan on it.

Heat oven to 475° F. Transfer dough to a lightly floured work surface, and cut into three equal pieces; shape each piece into a 14-inch rope. Flour a sheet of parchment paper on a rimless baking sheet; place ropes, evenly spaced, on paper. Lift paper between ropes to form pleats; place two tightly rolled kitchen towels under long edges of paper, creating supports for the loaves. Cover loosely with plastic wrap; let sit until it doubles in size, about 50 minutes.

Uncover; remove towels, and flatten paper to space out loaves. Using a sharp razor, knife, bread lame, or scissors, slash the top of each baguette at a 30–degree angle in four spots; each slash should be about 4 inches long. Pull out the oven rack with the stone or baking sheet on it and, using the corner of the parchment paper as a guide, slide the loaves, still on the parchment paper, onto the baking stone or pan. Place ice cubes in skillet (this produces steam that lets the loaves rise fully before a crust forms). Bake the baguettes until darkly browned and crisp, 20 to 30 minutes; cool before serving.

I am happy to report my baguettes were a raging success!

THE BOOK:

I ordered this book prior to publication in the US because my trusted literary advisor, Simon Savidge, gave it 5 stars on Goodreads, (also, it was shortlisted for the Bailey’s Prize, now known as the Women’s Prize for Fiction). Simon’s recommendation was more of a selling point for me because I usually like the books he recommends, and have a history of not liking the books nominated for major prizes. It turned out to be well worth my time and effort. Since the book was primarily about how culture affects personal lives and choices, I learned a bit about Nigerian culture, particularly as it relates to marriage and parenthood. The names in the book were Yoruban, so I assumed that was the basis for the cultural circumstances presented in the book. The main character, Yejide, is happily married to Akin, who adores her. They attempt, unsuccessfully, to have children. After a couple of years, Akin’s mother starts to pressure him to take a second wife in the hope that she will provide the much-revered grandchild. This presents problems for the couple, as one might imagine, and the book proceeds to explore how Yejide and Akin and their family navigate their way through this difficult situation. There was a point where I was having trouble buying in to some of the plot directions and had to remind myself that I was not familiar with Nigerian culture. I did a little online research and found that in the context of that culture, the things that I had difficulty with were perfectly plausible.

And then there was the writing, which was at times, breathtaking, as in this passage, where Yejide is thinking about the things she has packed for her move to Ife and her new life there: “The things that matter are inside me, locked up below my breast as though in a grave, a place of permanence, my coffin-like treasure chest.” Like poetry!

Chapter 16 was one remarkable piece of fiction. Akin had started going to church again after his daughter was born. On that first day back, the vicar was preaching about the Lord’s Prayer’s cry for God to “Deliver us from evil.” As he looked out upon the congregation while listing the evils to which mankind succumbs, he paused at Akin’s face and looked into his eyes at the word drunkenness. Akin spent the rest of the chapter reflecting on the few times in his life when he had been intoxicated, finally deciding that drunkenness was not an evil that he personally needed deliverance from. Just when I thought I knew where the whole passage was going, Bam! Metaphorically socked in the face by the last line in the chapter. When an author can surprise you like that, you have to pause and say, wow!

Finally, Akin reflects on how quickly a life can change in this passage: “As I watched the milk stain spread downwards, I realized that the ground under our feet had just been pulled away, we were standing on air, and my words could not keep us from falling into the pit.”

This author is 29 years old. I hope she is a prolific writer, because I am looking forward to the emotional journey I will embark upon with her next book.

THE BEAUTY:

Moomi, Yejide’s mother-in-law, fears that Yejide’s child is an abiku, a child that dies before puberty only to be born again and again. This poem by John Pepper Clark, a Nigerian poet, beautifully sets out the experience of the abiku’s family.

Abiku
Coming and going these several seasons,
Do stay out on the baobab tree,
Follow where you please your kindred spirits
If indoors is not enough for you.
True, it leaks through the thatch
When floods brim the banks,
And the bats and the owls
Often tear in at night through the eaves,
And at harmattan, the bamboo walls
Are ready tinder for the fire
That dries the fresh fish up on the rack.
Still, it’s been the healthy stock
To several fingers, to many more will be
Who reach to the sun.
No longer then bestride the threshold
But step in and stay
For good. We know the knife scars
Serrating down your back and front
Like beak of the sword-fish,
And both your ears, notched
As a bondsman to this house,
Are all relics of your first comings.
Then step in, step in and stay
For her body is tired,
Tired, her milk going sour
Where many more mouths gladden the heart.

The first lines, “comings and goings these several seasons” refers to the child dying and coming back several times, frustrating families who think the child is there to stay, only to have him die. When Clark says “Do stay out on the baobab tree,” he’s begging the child to stay in the spirit world, for the baobab was thought to be the meeting place for spirits and witches and wizards who do their work in the night, and “follow where he pleases his kindred spirits.”  Then Clark describes the modest surroundings the child has been born into, as an explanation perhaps for the child wanting to leave this world. The “knife scars” refer to the practice of scarring the infant so that he is so ugly, the spirits will not want him. With his scars, he will be recognized by his kinsmen as one of theirs when he is reborn. Finally when Clark asks the abiku to “step in and stay” he’s talking about the mother who bore him who is now so tired with his many reincarnations that her milk has gone sour, yet has nourished other children who have remained in the world to “reach the sun,” or grow up to adulthood.

THE FOOD:

The recipe I selected was Moin Moin, a Nigerian steamed pudding that Yejide served often for breakfast. I found several recipes and was concerned about removing the skins from the black-eyed peas, so I watched a couple of YouTube videos showing two different ways to remove the skins. In the first, the man removed them after soaking by rubbing the peas together in his hands, and dipping them into a pot of water to free the skins. In the other video, the woman soaked them, and then pulsed them in batches in a blender. Turns out, I was right to worry about this step in the recipe. I had no luck with either method, and had to go back to the book to search for another recipe. While no one in the book served a vegetable soup like this one, there were lots of meat stews and most everything had yams in it. I love vegetable soups, and this one was so different from anything we’ve had before, I decided to make it. The recipe called for palm oil, but I left it out because I didn’t have any. (Left out the quinoa, too, because one of us is not a fan.) Also, the scotch bonnets I bought were not, nor were they hot, so I used my homegrown jalapeños. Delicious!

VEGAN PEPPER SOUP
serves 4-6

8 cups water, use enough to cover the vegetables
4 large slices of yam, cut into small chunks
1 red bell pepper, cut into small chunks
1 green bell pepper, cut into small chunks
1 scotch bonnet pepper, chopped
½ head cauliflower, cut into small chunks
½ eggplant, cut into small chunks
3 garlic cloves, chopped
2 T chopped ginger, chopped
2 bay leaves
2 vegetable stock cubes
1 T curry powder
1 T dried thyme
4 T quinoa, optional, but adds a lovely smoky flavour
Salt to taste

Place the chunks of yam, peppers, cauliflower, eggplant in a large pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil as you add the rest of the ingredients (herbs and spices).

Simmer on low heat for 35-40 minutes. Check on it to make sure the water doesn’t dry out and give it a good stir from time to time. Uncover and bring to a boil for a further 10 minutes.

Remove bay leaves and serve.

THE BOOK:

As a former teacher of ancient history, albeit the sixth grade version, I was intrigued by a retelling of the story of Clytemnestra, in Oresteia by Aeschylus. I wondered why a literary talent like Colm Toibin would go there: what did he hope to add to or illuminate in the story? What I found was a kindred spirit, someone who, like me, found this connection to the ancients endlessly fascinating and relevant to our modern lives. The first chapter, Clytemenestra’s story, is chilling. “I have been acquainted with the smell of death. The sickly, sugary smell that wafted in the wind towards the rooms in the palace.” Prior to reading, I had no expectations, only excited anticipation, but reading those words left me goose-fleshed, and curiously, understanding of the wave of emotion that preceded those words. I don’t think I’ve ever had a murderous thought in my life, yet I completely understood what Clytemnestra was feeling at that moment, when her only focus was to eliminate the husband who shattered her existence by his betrayal. The one who, by lying to her, made her complicit in the death of their daughter, Iphigenia, who was sacrificed to appease the gods, to win their favor, and win a war. In what universe are those acts noble?

As I read, I was struck by Electra’s self-righteousness as she plotted her mother’s and lover, Aegisthus’s, deaths. Electra believed herself and her cause to be noble, because she had consulted the gods, unlike her mother, Clytemnestra, who had acted alone in the murder of Agamemnon, proclaiming that the time of the gods had past. Is this so very different from the news that consumes us daily, except that it is more personal because it is a single family’s story? Killing in the name of one’s god is so very timely in real life. And yet, in fiction, it seems crazy.

THE BEAUTY:

The first trip I ever took abroad was to Greece when I was 34 years old. The whole experience was magical to me because I was teaching sixth graders about this ancient society at the time. One of the side trips I took was to Mycenae, home of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra. I remember the Lion Gate and the Treasury of Atreus. Sadly, I could not locate my photographs from the trip, but the pictures here recall my memories of this inspiring place, where my feet trod in the dust of the ancients. Magical!

 The Lion Gate is the main entrance to the citadel,  named for the relief sculpture of the two lions or lionesses above the door (their heads are missing). It is the only surviving example of Mycenaen sculpture. It was so well-described in the writings of antiquity that it was known among archaeologists  in modern times.

 The remains of the ancient city of Mycenae were found by a native Greek and professional archaeologist, Kyriakos Pittakis, in 1841. Pittakis discovered the Lion Gate, but the real excavations would come 35 years later by a complete amateur, Heinrich Schliemann. Schliemann had already made his mark in the field of archaeology by discovering the remains of Troy in what is today Hisarlik,Turkey. In excavating Mycenae, he wanted to prove that world of Homer was based on archaeological remains.

Schliemann discovered a funerary mask which he mistakenly applied to King Agamemnon and signs that he couldn’t identify. Although he committed many blunders, archaeologically, Schliemann helped shape early understanding of the Mycenaean civilization, one that was around hundreds of years before Homer.

THE FOOD:

There wasn’t much mention of specific foods in the book, so I tried to think of what the ancient Greeks might have eaten based on my knowledge of contemporary Greek food. I imagine that tsatsiki is a very old dish, but I’ve already included that recipe from the book, A Separation. So, I chose a lovely, cooling summertime gazpacho using Greek flavors, based on an Ina Garten recipe.

Greek Gazpacho
serves 4

2 thick slice day-old bread           1 red onion, chopped
3 lg. cloves garlic, chopped          1 small cuke, peeled, seeded, chopped
1 T fresh oregano                           4 lg. ripe tomatoes, chopped
1 T flat leaf parsley, chopped       ⅓ C kalamata olives, chopped
3 T red wine vinegar                      1½ C tomato juice
3 T olive oil                                       2 tsp Kosher salt
½ red bell pepper, chopped          ½ tsp freshly ground black pepper
½ yellow pepper, chopped            4 oz feta cheese, small dice

Process bread, garlic, oregano and parsley in a food processor until everything is finely chopped. Add the vinegar and olive oil and process until smooth. Place the mixture in a large mixing bowl.

Process the peppers, red onion, cucumber, and olives separately in the food processor until very coarsely chopped. Add to the mixing bowl. Add tomato juice, salt, pepper and stir well. Taste for seasoning, cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least three hours. Stir in the feta before serving.

THE BOOK:

This is an engaging book about one of my favorite subjects. Shapiro begins with a well-worn Brillat Savarin quote, “Tell me what you eat, and I shall tell you who you are.” Laura Shapiro found her way into this book through insomnia. Hoping that a visit to the Lake District in a biography of Dorothy Wordsworth would lull her to sleep, she had an “aha” moment when she read that their cook was feeding them black pudding for dinner. Here was a woman that Shapiro thought she knew, one devoted to her brother, William, leaving him the time and space to create his poetry. As she researched what the Wordsworths ate and how Dorothy cooked, she began to find someone different from the portrait that had become conventional wisdom about Dorthy Wordsworth, and that was the seed of an idea that grew into this book.

Focusing on six women from different continents and time periods, Shapiro tells their stories through the lens of food. After all, food is with all of us every day, and has a lot to say about who we are and what we value. The other women are Rosa Lewis, an Edwardian-era Cockney caterer who cooked her way into high society. Edward himself loved and sought out her cooking. Eleanor Roosevelt, whose time in the White House was grim, culinarily speaking. When guests were invited to a meal at the White House, they were advised by those who had been there, “Eat before you go.” Eva Braun, Hitler’s mistress, who reportedly ate very little in order to maintain her slim figure, was the consummate hostess, “a man’s woman,” according to Albert Speer, Hitler’s Reich Minister  of Armaments and War Production for Nazi Germany, meaning that she was undemanding and passive. I found it the least interesting vignette, because there was more Hitler in it than Braun. Barbara Pym, who Thomas Otto of “The Readers” podcast loves, and who I never read, but soon will, whose reputation as an author was summed up as “depicting drab spinsters pouring tea for the clergy while life dwindles quietly away.” This was my favorite chapter, probably because there was so much about Barbara Pym’s books in it. The final chapter was about Helen Gurley Brown, to whom I had difficulty relating. She didn’t eat much, because all she really aspired to was being thin. I also think her husband was kind of a jerk. But in spite of that last chapter, I really enjoyed this book.

THE BEAUTY:

In doing some googling, I found that there is “The Barbara Pym Society,” an international society devoted to her work and legacy. They have an annual general meeting at St. Hilda’s College, Oxford University every summer; a conference in Boston every spring; a spring meeting in London; and other events. There is an afternoon tea at The Church of the Advent in Boston November 4, 2017 at which Laura Shapiro is going to speak! ( I’m going to try to go. Hopefully, more on that later.)

THE FOOD:

When I read about the black pudding in the Wordsworth chapter, I knew I wasn’t going to make that! There was so much to choose from, I really had to pare down my choices. The ones that I considered were: Rosa Lewis’s croquettes or Baisers de Vierge (dessert made of meringue, vanilla cream, crystallized white rose and violet leaves, and spun sugar); Barbarbar Pym’s risotto or chicken tarragon. The recipe below was inspired by Pym’s diary of what she served for company. “For the most part she chose honorable dishes from the best-tablecloth tradition of British cookery… including salmon timbales.” I had a recipe for a salmon loaf that I’ve been making for years, but I searched for timbales, and am so glad I did. This recipe is excellent.

SALMON TIMBALES

1 can salmon (16 oz.)
1 med. onion, chopped
½ C bread crumbs (I used panko)
¼ C plain yogurt
¼ C mayonnaise
1 egg, slightly beaten
pepper

Preheat oven to 350º degrees. Grease 4 custard cups. Microwave onion for 2 minutes. Combine salmon, onion, bread crumbs, yogurt, mayonnaise, egg and pepper in bowl; stir well. Divide into cups. Pack well. Bake at 325 degrees for 30 minutes. let sit for five minutes before serving. Run a knife around the salmon to loosen it, hold over a plate and gently shake to release. Serve with Cucumber Dill Sauce.
The can of salmon I used was only 14 oz, so the 4th custard cup was a bit light.

CUCUMBER-DILL SAUCE:
½ C mayonnaise
¼ C sour cream
¼ C plain yogurt
¾ C finely chopped and seeded cucumber
¼ C finely chopped onion
½ garlic clove squeezed through a press

Mix all ingredients for dill sauce. I served it cold, but you can warm it gently on the stove, stirring for a couple of minutes. This was excellent, but we love tsatsiki, so next time I make this, I’ll make a lot of it so I can use some on the salmon and have leftover tsatsiki the next day.

THE BOOK:

I’ve wanted to read this book for a long time, as it comes up frequently when podcasters  talk about books with twisty plots, so I was prepared to really like it, which I did- it was definitely a page-turner. The story is told in a series of letters from Eva to
Franklin, her husband. Franklin and Eva have one son, Kevin, who has committed an atrocity against his schoolmates. (No spoilers here, it’s all on the book jacket.) Through the writing of the letters, Eva reflects on her family in an attempt to understand and process all of the horror, so the reader only gets Eva’s point of view, which is perhaps why I found Franklin so unlikable. His staunch support of Kevin beginning in infancy seemed unrealistic and at times unnatural, begging the question, what is Franklin trying to prove? In order to consider himself a good father, must he view everything Kevin does in a positive light? Or given the opportunity, would Franklin have told a different story? It is questions like these that make the book such a good candidate for discussion. It reminded me of Defending Jacob by William Landay, and The Dinner by Herman Koch. All three books explore nature versus nurture and the lengths to which a parent will go in protecting their children. The reflective nature of the narrative in We Need to Talk About Kevin made it a more ponderous read, but also a deeper, richer examination of lives in turmoil. I highly recommend it.

THE BEAUTY:

When Eva first learns that she is pregnant, she surprises herself when she bursts into song- not showtunes, but Armenian folk songs that her mother used to sing to her and her brother when they were children. Her mother was shocked, but pleased when Eva called to ask her the words to a favorite, “Soode, Soode.” According to the book, the words mean, “It’s a lie, it’s a lie, it’s a lie, everything’s a lie; in this world everything’s a lie.” The irony of these lyrics make this the perfect, double-edged source of beauty and pain in the book.

On a historical note, this song was purported to have been written by Armenians in America. This style of music is referred to as the “kef” style, meant to be enjoyed at parties for dancing and general merriment. With the increase in the Armenian population in the United States after the Armenian genocide, the style continued to be played and also evolve, as it took on influences from other cultures and incorporated new instruments and compositions. Start this video at the beginning. After about the 1 minute mark, after the dancers have cycled through, the melody repeats itself, so you’ll get the flavor of the music in this small portion of the clip.

Published on YouTube June 21, 2015, it was recorded at the St. James Armenian Festival in Watertown, Massachusetts.

THE FOOD:

When Kevin was ten, Eva and her mother were in the kitchen making khurabia, Armenian sugar cookies, while Kevin, in another room, was systematically cutting up the custom Christmas cards his grandmother had just finished making for a wealthy client, transforming hours of work into ragged paper snowflakes. Having just posted another Armenian recipe, I find these accidental coincidences of topic curious. I certainly did not set out to explore Armenian culture, but here I am, exploring Armenian culture.

Khurabia (Armenian Sugar Cookies)
Makes:  about 3 dozen

1 ½ cups (3 sticks) salted butter (about)
1 cup granulated sugar (process in food processor for about 1 minute to break down granules)
2 cups flour

Clarify butter: Melt butter over low heat in a heavy saucepan without stirring. When the butter is completely melted, skim the foam off the top and discard it. You will see a clear oily layer atop milk solids. You can buy ghee at some grocery stores, but at my local one, it was $12.95 a jar, so I opted to make my own.

Slowly pour the clear liquid into a measuring cup, leaving the milk solids in the saucepan; discard them. Measure 1 cup of the clarified butter and put in refrigerator until it’s hard (solid) enough to beat.

In bowl, whip butter until it’s almost white. Add sugar and whip until mixed. Add flour, mix in with a spoon and then knead it with your hands, like kneading bread dough. This incorporates all of the flour into the mixture. It takes about 3 to 4 minutes. The sugar granules will break down a little bit, and you should be able to roll it out with your hands and the dough will all stick together as one ball. This kneading process allows the sugar crystals to become less grainy, to disintegrate, and in the end the khurabia will be more delicate and melt in your mouth.

Depending on the environment, humidity and weather, you might have to put in an additional spoonful of flour and mix it in. If the dough gets too soft, you also may put it in the refrigerator for a few minutes to make it more workable.

Preheat oven to 325º degrees.

Take a handful of dough and roll with palm of hand on a cutting board into a rope until it is the diameter of a nickel.

Cut into about 2 inch pieces, on the diagonal, and put on an ungreased cookie sheet. Leave room between the cookies as they will expand a little in the oven. If desired, use a fork to make little hatch marks on the top of the dough for decoration. Bake in preheated oven 15 minutes. Remove cookies from oven but leave them on the sheet to cool. Do not remove from cookie sheet until they are cool. Khurabia may be stored in the freezer. They were light, fluffy with a delicate taste to match. Delicious.

THE BOOK:

I had seen this book on a list of anticipated debut novels for 2017, and remembered it because of the cat in the title and the cover drawing. I’ve talked so much about book covers recently, that I’m pretty sure this is a banner year for them, at least among the books I’ve read. That cat has more style than me! When I picked up a hold at the library the other day, I went to the shelves of new books conveniently situated near the exit, where this book was displayed with the front cover facing out, so of course I had to go back and check it out. After reading the second chapter, where Bekim purchases a boa constrictor and all of its accoutrement, I didn’t know if I wanted to continue with the book. I have an intense loathing of snakes, and don’t even like saying the word. But I persisted (I need an emoji for irony) because I hadn’t yet met the other protagonist who had been introduced in the blurb. I was immediately rewarded and drawn completely in to the story as I read on.

When Bekim meets the titular cat in a gay bar, the cat is singing along to Cher’s “Believe”  playing in the background. The cat is so comfortable and self-possessed that Bekim can’t take his eyes off him. They leave together and head for Bekim’s home where the cat spends the night and beyond, perhaps overstaying his welcome. The cat is rude, selfish, obnoxious, and airs his prejudices proudly. I can only guess that Bekim was so charmed by this talking creature that he put up with the abuse. I am happy to report, however, that the boa constrictor behaved himself, making it possible for me to continue reading, as he played a minor role early on. The other story is of a young Muslim girl in Yugoslavia, whose arranged marriage flourishes with five children. Emine and Bajram’s marriage takes a turn after their initial infatuation- or were they both just playing roles, only revealing themselves to each other after the marriage rituals were concluded?

There is much history about the Balkans, of which I know very little, although I have heard of all the places mentioned, sometimes in their actual historical context. This story is primarily about the chaos in Yugoslavia after president Tito died in 1980. Serbs grew more powerful, and tides turned against Albanians, making it dangerous for them to continue to live there, prompting Emine to muse, “I wondered what was happening to this planet. At what point had humans turned into beasts that mauled one another, that held their neighbors’ heads beneath the water?” Finally, Bajram decides that he must take his family to Finland (he didn’t have enough money to get to either Australia or the US) to insure their safety. When that happened, the story became an immigrant’s story, with all of the attendant rejection of the newcomers whose culture is different from the host country, creating an underclass. In all of my immigrant/outsider reading this year, the word that consistently comes up is “nationalism.”

I was fascinated by the wedding traditions of Albanian Muslims as presented in the book. The marriages were arranged, so the couple did not know each other before the wedding. The wedding festivities lasted several days and included the whole community. One of the traditions that seemed kind of lovely was on the wedding night, the sisters and aunts of the couple sing outside the door of the marriage bedroom: if the bride is pretty give us some sweets, to which Bajram responded by opening the door and handing out a bag of sweet confections. Alone with his bride, he throws a bowl of raw white beans in the air and they scatter all over the room. The bride’s job is to collect them all by crawling around on the floor to retrieve every last bean, giving her groom the opportunity to “observe her movements,” thus getting to know her body.

Finnish people apparently love cats, and keep them as pets, where the Albanians from Kosovo find them dirty and disdain them. Albanians eat their pite (spinach pie) with their fingers, which Finnish people consider crude, at least according to the book. I’m sure the list goes on and on, but it underscores why the two groups disrespect one another. Finnish people expect the Albanians to blend, and then won’t hire them because their Finnish language pronunciation isn’t good enough, and on and on in a circular pattern of not fitting in for one reason or another.

I’m still trying to sort out the metaphor of the cat. The title indicates perhaps that the cat was named Yugoslavia, although the name is never mentioned in the book. And if that were the case, wouldn’t there be a comma after the word cat in the title? The fact that Bekim met him in a gay bar and that the cat says he hates gays must have some significance. Maybe he represents those members of society that do not accept LGBTQ people, or are disdainful of the group, but more tolerant of individuals. Or, maybe the cat represents the old Yugoslavia that died with Tito: one that was more accepting of different ethnicities and protecting of human rights in general.

THE BEAUTY:

The cat is such a character, I can say that’s the reason I like him in spite of his xenophobia and homophobia. Once, when Bekim left the apartment hurriedly, he was relieved when he returned, to hear the cat, still in the shower, still singing Bruno Mars’ “Grenade,” not quite mastering the English lyrics, despite his self-proclaimed “citizen of the world” status. I love, love Bruno Mars. When I dance to “Uptown Funk” in the kitchen, my dog, does not like it. Not only does he bark, he does this bow-y thing where he goes into downward facing dog, and then barks on the uptake as he stands back up on all fours. And because George doesn’t like my singing either, I’m pretty sure his vocal editorial comments are about me and not Bruno Mars.

THE FOOD:

There’s a lot of talk about unnamed sweets in the story, so I decided to include a recipe for Turkish Delight, as that could have been the sweet provided to the female relatives by the bridegroom on his wedding night.

Microwave Turkish Delight

¼ C powdered gelatine
2 cups sugar (put in food processor in two batches to make granules more fine)
¾ C corn flour
1⅓ C confectioner’s sugar
¼ tsp cream of tartar
tsp rosewater
1 to 2 drops red food colouring
3 oz chocolate

Lightly grease an 8 x 8 inch pan. Line base and sides with parchment paper, allowing a 1 inch overhang on 2 sides to aid removal from pan.

Place 2½ cups hot water in a large heatproof, microwave-safe bowl. Sprinkle gelatine over water. Using a fork, whisk until the gelatine dissolves. Stir in 2 cups of sugar. Microwave, uncovered, on high for 5 minutes. Stir well. Microwave, uncovered, on high  for another 4 to 5 minutes until mixture is thick and syrupy.

Whisk corn flour, icing sugar and cream of tartar together and whisk into gelatine mixture. Microwave on high for 3 minutes. Stir in rosewater and food coloring. Pour into prepared pan. Refrigerate until firm.

Remove Turkish Delight from pan. Using a hot knife (place knife blade in a glass of very hot water for i minute), cut into  squares. Remove squares to a new sheet of parchment.

Place chocolate in a heatproof, microwave-safe bowl. Microwave on high for 1 to 2 minutes, stirring with a metal spoon every 30 seconds, until melted and smooth. Spoon chocolate into a ziplock bag. Snip off 1 corner. Pipe chocolate over squares. Stand at room temperature until set. Serve.

As you can see from the photo, there is no drizzled chocolate. That’s because what I thought was an opened package of Nestle’s Semi-sweet morsels turned out to be an opened package of Dark Rye Flour! I need a light in the pantry. (Or get my eyes examined.)

THE BOOK:

One holiday, thirty year-old Ruth Young spent Christmas with her parents and decided at the end of the visit that she wanted to come back to live with them for a year. So she does. During this time, she keeps a diary, recording things that happen, her memories and reflections of her childhood, and of her family’s history. She learned that her father, Howard, had begun a journal himself, starting when she was small. Initially, the reader sees only a few snippets of what Howard wrote, but as more and more are revealed, the reader is treated to a precious view of a father’s love for his funny, quirky, intelligent daughter, reflected in his observations of her. Here is the first entry:
“Today you asked me where metal comes from. You asked me what flavor are germs. You were distressed because your pair of gloves had gone missing. When I asked you for a description, you said: they are sort of shaped like my hands.”

There were many random facts in the book that sent me googling nearly every page. If the information sticks in my brain, I will have learned a great deal that should help if I’m ever on Jeopardy. The first fact was revealed when Ruth met a trucker named Carl on the road. He was transporting endive and they happened upon one another at a gas station. As they were saying their goodbyes, Carl handed Ruth a pamphlet entitled “Cookery by Carl.” He said that someone told him there’s a tradition in Thailand that before you die, you compose a cookbook that is then distributed at the funeral. Later on, when someone is looking for something to cook and they crack open your book, not only to they get a recipe, they get to think about their old friend, Carl. Lovely gesture from a foodie!

The book was so many things. A story about family, about love and loss, and the decisions we make, or don’t make. In spite of the sometimes seriousness of the plot, the tone of the book was light, witty, and entertaining. I loved the characters and experienced that sense of loss that happens when a book ends and you’re not going to be able to spend time with the characters any more. Mine was a library book, but I loved it so much, I’m going to have to buy it, because I want to savor it again, knowing that the book in my hands is mine.

THE BEAUTY:

Ruth drives from San Francisco south to her childhood home to visit her parents. As the San Gabriel Mountains come into view, Ruth reflects on her conviction as a child, that it is a picture-perfect vista. So picture perfect, in fact, that she not only thought that it looked like the posters you affix to the back of a fish tank, she believed it was a photograph of those specific mountains. “That other mountains existed didn’t dawn on me until embarassingly late in the game.” This photograph is “San Gabriel Moutains at Sunrise,” by Alex Cameron. I found it on Pinterest

THE FOOD:

When Ruth visits her uncle, John, her father’s brother, he makes her mackerel baked in foil for lunch. When she teases him about not getting the memo about using foil, (her mother believes that food cooked in aluminum foil or aluminum pots and pans is harmful to one’s health) “Your mother is nuts,” he says. That reminds Ruth of her mother’s quest to make homemade Cheetos when Ruth 9 or 10, because Ruth had become obsessed with them. They took a tour of the Frito-Lay factory in Bakersfield where they sampled Cheetos fresh off the conveyor. A few weeks later, Annie produced an impressive Cheeto for Ruth. While there may have been more meaningful and healthier foods I could have selected, I loved this story, and hope I’m not nuts for wanting to recreate Annie’s act of love in a homemade Cheeto.

Cheese Curls
Yield: 3-4 dozen cheese curls

4 T chilled unsalted butter, cut into ½-inch cubes
½ tsp kosher salt
⅛ tsp garlic powder
1 C unbleached all-purpose flour
1½ tsp yellow cornmeal
4 ounces Monterey Jack cheese, finely shredded (about 1 cup)

Cheese Coating

2 T Cheddar cheese powder
½ tsp buttermilk powder
½ tsp kosher salt
½ tsp cornstarch

MAKE THE CHEESE CURLS: In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter, salt, and garlic powder at medium-low speed for 1 to 2 minutes. Scrape down the sides of the bowl and add the flour, cornmeal, and shredded cheese. Stir together at low speed until a firm dough forms. Shape into a disc and place on a large sheet of plastic wrap; wrap tightly and refrigerate for 1 hour.

Preheat the oven to 350˚F. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper or Silpat liners.

Pinch off small pieces of the chilled dough and gently roll between your palms and fingers to form lumpy logs roughly 2 to 2½ inches long and ¼ to ½ inch across. Place on the prepared baking sheets—you can space them fairly close together because they won’t puff up while baking.

Bake for 12 to 15 minutes, until the pieces are no longer shiny and are just beginning to brown around the edges. Transfer to a wire rack and let cool completely.

ADD THE COATING: Place the cheese powder, buttermilk powder, salt, and cornstarch in a spice grinder or mini food processor and whir for 10 to 15 seconds to blend evenly. I couldn’t find cheddar cheese powder, so instead I used Nacho Cheddar Popcorn Seasoning from the snack aisle in the supermarket. (Do not add the other coating ingredients if you use the popcorn seasoning.)

Transfer to a large zip-top bag. Add the cooled Cheetos, seal, and shake gently to coat evenly.

They are best comsumed the day you make them. The leftovers on the second day started to get a little limp. Restraint was the only thing preventing me from eating them all on that first day. They’re not the healthiest snack, althought they would have been worse if I’d used a recipe that deep fried them. I loved this salty treat. (They’re very filling!)

THE BOOK:

The epigraph in The Changeling gave me goose bumps: “When you believe in things you don’t understand then you suffer,” from Stevie Wonder’s song “Superstition,” and so it was the perfect way to set the stage for this remarkable story that defies description. It’s a fairy tale, as the author tells us on page one, and it’s also a very well-written book that has elements of horror, fantasy and romance. But at its core, it is about parenthood and family.

Apollo Kagwa’s father, Brian West, disappeared without a trace when Apollo was 4 years old. His mother Lillian, originally from Uganda, raised him alone in the 1980’s, working as an administrative secretary at a law firm in midtown Manhattan. When he was a junior in high school, there came an insistent knocking on the door to their apartment, and Apollo, thinking it was his father coming back for him, as he had secretly wished all those years, was disappointed to find no one at the door, only a cardboard box on the threshold. I still can’t figure out how it got there, but it contained ordinary things his father had saved, like the movie ticket stubs from his first date with Lillian, a rental agreement to an apartment in Jackson Heights, the bill for an overnight stay at a hotel on Ninth Avenue, and a marriage certificate for Brian West and Lillian Kagwa. At the time, Apollo couldn’t understand why a man who would save such things, would leave his family and never contact them again, but it remained a mystery. Apollo became quite an entrepreneur in the used book business as a teenager, and instead of going to college, he pursued his passion: combing estate sales and used bookstores for that one incredible find that would make him a millionaire. In pursuit of this to the detriment of his social life, Apollo, at the age of  34, awoke to an unbelievable longing for a a close relationship one day as he was  examining the books of deceased couple who had clearly loved each other and shared something that no one, not even their children, could appreciate or understand. And that’s when he met Emma Valentine, librarian extraordinaire. There the adventure begins.

THE BEAUTY:

One of the items that was in the box that so mysteriously turned up at Apollo’s apartment was a well-worn children’s book called Outside Over There by Maurice Sendak. The book begins, “When Papa was away at sea.” Apollo tried to imagine his father reading it to him, but could not conjure up an image from memory, and his father’s face was also lost to him. But the memory of this book stayed with him well into adulthood. In this panel from the book, Ida is intently playing her wonder horn to still the baby to sleep, while goblins came quietly to replace the human child with an ice one. Disturbing imagery: absent adults not minding the child. Maurice Sendak’s contribution to children’s literature is a thing of beauty!

THE FOOD:

When Emma’s childhood friend, Nichelle comes to New York to visit, they meet at Bouley restaurant on Duane St. for dinner. We ate there in August of 2007, and the note I made in our journal was “Best lunch ever!” I wish I had kept a record of what we ordered, but I do remember the foyer with the shelves lined with apples that so impressed Apollo. At their Bouley dinner, Emma was 38 weeks pregnant, Apollo had just purchased a book he thought he could sell for $250, and Nichelle was drunk. Thinking he’d be the one to pick up the tab, Apollo only asked for more bread instead of ordering an entree, while Emma had lamb and Nichelle had the duck, which is legendary at Bouley. (So they say. Not a duck fan.) For dessert, Emma ordered the Amaretto flan, but it immediately sent her off to the ladies room. Minutes later their waiter sprinted to the table yelling, “Your wife needs you,” and that’s when things really started getting interesting. So the recipe here is in honor of Baby Brian. And by the way, Nichelle paid the bill, as she had intended when she invited them there.

Individual Amaretto Flans
Yield: 6  6 oz. ramekins

½ C sugar
2 T water
Cooking spray
⅔ C sugar
⅛ tsp salt
3 large eggs
2 large egg yolks
2 C whole milk
¼ C Amaretto

Preheat oven to 325°.

Combine 1/2 cup sugar and 2 tablespoons water in a small, heavy saucepan. Cook over medium-high heat until the sugar dissolves, and continue cooking 5 minutes or until golden brown (do not stir). Immediately pour into 6 (6-ounce) custard cups or ramekins coated with cooking spray, tipping quickly until caramelized sugar coats bottoms of cups.

Combine 2/3 cup sugar, salt, eggs, and egg yolks in a medium bowl, stirring well with a whisk.

Heat milk over medium-high heat in a small, heavy saucepan to 180° or until tiny bubbles form around edge (do not boil). Gradually add hot milk to egg mixture, stirring with a whisk. Stir in liqueur. Strain mixture through a sieve into a bowl, and discard solids. Divide mixture evenly among prepared custard cups. Place cups in the bottom of a broiler pan; add hot water to pan to a depth of 1 inch. Bake at 325° for 40 minutes or until flan centers barely move when custard cups are touched. ( I had to cook mine an additional 20 minutes, so monitor their progress carefully.) Remove cups from pan; cool completely on a wire rack. Cover and chill at least 8 hours.

Loosen edges of flans with a knife. Place a dessert plate, upside down, on top of each cup, and invert onto plates.

THE BOOK:

This was a disturbing read. It follows Alexandra, a captive in the sex trade industry, from her kidnapping as a young teenager in Armenia to her arrival in Bronxville, New York as a stripper at a bachelor party in a private home. It is a heartbreaking story, but also a testament to the human spirit’s ability to survive. While fiction, it is based on actual stories  researched by the author. In an interview he suggests that there is much nonfiction in the world to better address the issue of sex trafficking. He hopes that his book shines a light on human trafficking in a way that nonfiction might not be able to by prompting an emotional response as the reader connects to these very real, very human, very flawed characters. He also wants the reader to be invested in the two remarkable female characters in the story and the breakdown of a marriage.

One of the aspects of the novel that struck a chord with me is how when a person’s freedom has been taken away, instead of rebelling against their captors, the captives seek their approval. This phenomenon has so many applications in all relationships where the balance of power is unequal: parent/child; teacher/student; boss/employee; marriage where one person’s earnings far exceed their spouse’s, et al. The cruelty that was leveled on these poor girls (and they all were just girls) left them with nothing. They survived by doing what was expected of them to the best of their ability, in spite of the fact that none of that got them any closer to “normal” relationships. Their normal was living in an abusive environment. As revulsed as I was by what they were made to endure, I was filled with respect for their ability to survive. I found myself angry at the men in the novel, mostly the captors and enforcers, but also the privileged white men who paid for the girls’ services. The latter group never once thought about why these clearly young, some underaged, girls were engaged in this activity. I felt at times as close to physically sick as a reader can become by just reading a book. So much of my reading recently has been about man’s inhumanity to man, here, women. The inequities of the world are about power. But I wonder why it is that power feels so good when it’s used to keep others down. Is a world where all human rights are universally upheld even possible?

THE BEAUTY:

Two female characters in the story behave in a way that subjugates their personal feelings, wants, and desires, compelling them put the needs of those who have suffered the most before their own, even their family’s own. It made me ask myself, what would I sacrifice to do the right thing, provided I could even figure out in the first place what that was?

THE FOOD:

The food is a Middle Eastern sugar cookie called a ma’amoul. Alexandra had a dream near the end of the novel where she is being fed a maamoul by a trusted adult. The innocence of this imagery summarized the book poignantly, and provided a comfortable “hook” for me to come to terms with my feelings about the characters in a very satisfying way.

I bought a ma’amoul mold online because I liked the way the way the cookies made with one looked. When I opened the package when the item was delivered, I was surprised to see where it had been made.

Ma’amoul Date Cookies
Yield: 2 dozen

Dough

3 C farina
½ C All Purpose flour
2 T granulated sugar
½ tsp salt
1 C ghee, clarified butter (regular butter works too)
½ tsp active dry yeast
½ C lukewarm water
⅓ C whole milk

In a small bowl, mix yeast in water and allow to stand for 3 minutes. In a stand mixer with paddle attachment, mix together farina, AP flour, salt, sugar and butter. Add the yeast and water and milk to the bowl and mix until dough forms. Allow dough to rest for 10 minutes.

Filling

3 C dates, pitted
¼ tsp ground nutmeg
¼ tsp ground cardamom
1 tsp orange blossom water
1-2 T coconut oil or vegetable oil

Blend dates together in a food processor with spices and 1 tablespoon oil until smooth. Add orange blossom water. Roll 1 tablespoon dates into 24 small balls and reserve on a baking sheet.

Assembling the cookies

Preheat oven to 400º.

Use a level tablespoon of dough. Flatten it in your hand to make a 3″ circle. Place a ball of filling on top of the dough. Bring up the edges of the dough to meet and press them together to seal the filling. Place the filled dough in the mold and press down to etch the imprint on the dough. Gently tap the mold on a clean surface until the dough releases. Place on the parchment lined baking sheet. Bake for 15 minutes, or until golden brown. Cool on a wire rack. When cool, dust with confectioner’s sugar.

THE BOOK:

Ann Kingman recommended this one on a podcast, not her own, of course, she was a guest on Episode 15 of Book Cougars. She said it was like nothing she’d ever read before. I was pretty sure I was going to love it, from Ann’s brief summary, and I was not disappointed. It actually did remind me of another book I loved, about a deteriorating marriage, Jenny Offill’s Dept. of Speculation. The two books are similar in tone and humor, but very different in structure. I marvel at Wang’s story arc, because it’s so not linear, and consists of somewhat random thoughts strung together in a way that makes perfect sense and renders the characters fully dimensional, real and engaging. Wang explores the dysfunction of her family frankly and gently, never descending into whining about all that her parents got wrong in raising her. Her wry humor lightens a story that could otherwise be maudlin, but somehow never is. The ending was gasp-worthy for me, in a small way. I wasn’t expecting it, and it took me a while to process, but what a satisfying way to tie things up!

The unnamed narrator is a PhD candidate in Chemistry at Harvard. She has reached the  point in her research where she needs that spark of inspiration that leads to the fundamental truth of her work. When it doesn’t come, and she begins lying to her parents about it, things become strained with her significant other, too. Eric’s story is the reverse of hers, having completed his degree with little stress. When Eric secures a teaching job at the University of his choice in Ohio, the narrator has to decide whether or not she will accompany him there. At this juncture in the story, the narrator is only able to express her true feelings to Eric when he is asleep. “Please stop just for a little while and let me catch up, she whispers,” in a heartbreaking nocturnal soliloquy. Ultimately this is a story of a young woman’s quest to find herself, her passion, and her self worth. I loved her, the way she viewed the world, and the way she expressed herself: a brilliant, quirky, witty woman. This excerpt is a vignette into the workings of the narrator: “But it is the Chinese way to not explain any of that, to keep your deepest feelings inside and then build a wall that can be seen from the moon.”

Since I have been commenting recently on book covers, I’ll continue in that vein by saying that while I love this one, it would have worked better for me if the atom’s orbit had been at the figure’s heart on the graphic of the woman, because the resolution to the narrator’s problem came not from the knowledge in her head, but from listening to her heart.

THE BEAUTY:

There’s a lot of beauty in this book; the writing, Eric’s devotion to the narrator, passion about chemistry or teaching. But the beautiful and endearing thing in the story is the dog. When Eric and the narrator first moved in together and talked about getting a dog, there were so many questions; what kind, big dog, small dog? The narrator did not have a preference. “How about just adorable?” so one day Eric brought home a 45 pound goldendoodle. A dog who loves people, but is afraid of everything else: the hairdryer, an empty box, the fan. If he was never groomed his hair would continue to grow and he’d look like a blond bear. Adorable!

THE FOOD:

Spicy burrito! Eric’s favorite food. Another thing Eric got right in my humble opinion, as Mexican is among my all time favorite foods.

Spicy Bean and Cheese Burrito

1 T vegetable oil
½ C yellow onions, diced
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
2 T pickled jalapeno, drained and chopped
½ tsp cumin
½ tsp chili powder
2 15 oz cans pinto beans, rinsed
¾ C Mexican beer
1 14.5 oz can diced tomatoes, rinsed
2 C corn kernels, rinsed and drained
1 tsp salt
4 large flour tortillas
1½ C shredded Monterey Jack jalapeno cheese
sour cream (optional garnish)
guacamole (optional garnish)
Salsa (optional garnish)

In a 12” saucepan, saute onion in oil for about 5 minutes until soft, not brown. Add the garlic and cook until golden, about a minute. Add jalapenos, cumin and chili powder and stir to combine. Add 1 can of drained pintos and cook, mashing the mixture with a potato masher until most of the beans are mashed. Add the second can of pintos, and the beer and continue to cook until thickened, mashing more beans, but leaving some whole beans in the mix, about 10 minutes. Stir in the corn and tomatoes, stirring until heated through, about 5 minutes. Set aside.

Warm the burritos in a non-stick skillet, about 30 seconds a side. Lay the tortillas on a work surface. Sprinkle the cheese in the center and spoon a heaping ¼ cup of bean mixture on top. Places several rounds of jalapeno on top of bean mixture, to taste. Fold the tortilla burrito-style. Heat the nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Place the burritos folded side down in the skillet and cook until browned, about 1 minute on each side. Serve with preferred garnishes.