Saturday, September 20, 2014

Disaster? Or opportunity?

I like to cook. And I like to read cookbooks, just for fun. (I got that habit from my mom, I guess.)

I subscribe to various cooking magazines, Cook's Illustrated and Cooking Light chief among them. Truthfully, though, when you're overseas, those magazines are just so much p0rnography sometimes - it's all pictures of things you can't possible make, because you can't find tempeh, or fermented black beans, or habanero chiles, or whatever it is you need to make that delicious-looking dish on the cover.

When I come across a recipe that looks promising, I tear it out of the magazine for safekeeping. I can't possibly keep years' worth of magazines, but I can keep the recipes I want to try. I have a stack of file folders, all carefully labeled (appetizers, soups, breads, main course, desserts....) according to what's inside.

Or, at least, I had a stack of file folders.

Today I decided to make a chocolate chip cake, because damn if it isn't the best dessert out there, and if you're going to have dessert, go big, people. I went to my kitchen bookshelf, my favorite bookshelf in the house, and broke out the file folders for the first time since we got here, looking for the recipe, which I happen to know is in the middle of the dessert file, scribbled by a young Donna Scaramastra on a scrap of lined notebook paper, the other side of which has information pertaining to the bookstore at the University of California. That's how long I've been making this cake.

The file folders were there on the shelf. So were the recipes. But for some reason, the movers must have decided to un-file the recipes. They were all stacked up outside of the folders, which were stacked separately, empty of all contents.

And I had a lot of recipes in those files.


Page after page after page, all jumbled together.

Honestly, I could make this cake without the recipe at this point. But I sat there on the floor and started rifling through the pages, in search of that one small scrap and lamenting the loss of my system more than a little. It seemed like a minor disaster, right there in the moment.

It turned out to be kind of a nice thing, though. In the hour that it took me to find the recipe, I found all sorts of other things I'd forgotten. The mustard greens recipe my friend Sam gave me back in college - can't get mustard greens overseas, so I haven't made it in ages. The chicken curry recipe my Pakistani student gave me at USC - he called his mother in Karachi and asked her to write it down for me because I love curry. The chili recipe from our DCM in Yerevan. The chocolate tarts from the Ambassador's chef in Amman. Bart's grandmother's half moon cookie recipe. The turkey recipe I use every Thanksgiving. My sister's taco soup recipe. My mom's/nona's spaghetti sauce recipe, with my dad's funny comments right on it.

It turned out to be a nice little trip down memory lane. But it was also a good reminder of why I like to cook so much - I like the way my kitchen ties me to the people I love. (I wrote an article on the topic years ago, for the Washington Post - you can read it here if you'd like.)

My kids are old enough to help out in the kitchen sometimes. More than that, they're old enough to remember their own favorites. I love when they ask for specific dishes sometimes, or talk about meals they've had in the past. I like how Ainsley tells people my food is so good because "the secret  ingredient is love." (I told her that, once, in an unsuccessful bid to get her to taste something, and she remembers it still...) I think that, some day when they get together as adults and talk about their crazy old mom, they'll remember the food I used to make for them, both good and bad. I like to think that, anyway.

It turned out to be a nice little break, sitting there on the floor of my kitchen, flipping through recipes. I didn't attempt to sort them out again. Maybe another day. For today, it was enough just to look through them.

The cake is cooling in the fridge, waiting for Bart's return to Moscow. It really is delicious.

Friday, September 19, 2014

Today

A warm(ish) sunny day in Moscow today - here's the view from my street:

 That right there is one of several buildings collectively known as "Stalin's teeth." He had a few of them built around town, back in the day. This one looks right down into my front yard. My phone camera doesn't do it justice - the sun was glinting off the metal top, and the sky was so very blue. It's hard to stay down when the sky looks like that.

It's amazing what a sunny day and a healthy set of lungs will do for your outlook. I'm feeling much more cheerful today, now that I'm crawling out from under my illness and all four kids are (for the moment) healthy.

It also doesn't hurt that the amazing Mrs. P sent these in the mail today:

 (You might remember Mrs. P from this blog post. Everyone needs a Mrs. P in their lives, don't you think?)

So, what did I do with my first healthy day? Why, it was school conference day for the elementary kids, so once again I braved both bus and metro to get the girls to the school - kids are required to participate in the conferences here.

While Ainsley had her conference, Kyra sat in the hallway in her formal school uniform, knitting away on her "secret" project. (She won't tell anyone what it is, only that it is going to be a Christmas present for somebody.) When I came out of the conference, a Russian mom was oohing and ahhing over her knitting skills, and I had to confess that she didn't learn from me - it's all her Nana's doing. A few other women also stopped her to compliment her work - she was absolutely glowing with pride.

Ainsley was excited to show off her part of the display board outside of her classroom. Heck, near as I could tell, Ainsley was excited about every single thing today. I don't even know how many teachers she hugged. Even if she forgot their names, they still got hugs. ("Technology Teacher! Hey! Technology Teacher!" she shouted down the hallway as she chased some random guy down....).


My takeaway from the teacher conferences? My daughters are both brilliant, of course. Prodigies, amazing in every way, just like their mama. Seriously, though, the school is great - every teacher I met impressed me today, and they know my kids well already - always a nice thing. Also? Ainsley is madly in love with her PE teacher. Madly.

And now? It's 5:30 pm already, and although I've been waiting ever so patiently, dinner has not magically appeared in my kitchen. I guess it's up to me.

Happy Friday everyone, wherever you are!

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Doing it Right

It's been a rough few days, if I'm being honest.

There are days when you walk around your new post just absolutely kicking ass: finding the stores, making the friends, doing it all right.

But if ever you have one of those days, be forewarned: it's usually followed by a few grim ones, when you just can't catch a break.

First one kid got sick, then another. Then I got sick, too. Kids home from school = no routine. No grocery shopping. No going to the gym. No meeting your writing goals. No leaving the house and having big adventures. Just you, sitting alone in the house, listening to coughing kids and wondering how long it takes to figure it all out. And if you're sick, too? Well, the dog still has to be walked. The dinners made. The laundry washed. All the mundane stuff piles up and threatens to swamp you and that lump in your throat either means you're feeling really sad or you've got walking pneumonia, neither of which is an option you care to dwell on much.

Everyone goes through this, you know, whether healthy or sick. In Beijing, we used to call it the "Ten Day Freakout," because it hit everyone right around the 10 day mark. You could see it on the faces of the newcomers, and you just knew what they were going through. They didn't know it was normal. But we did. If we liked them, we pulled them aside, clued them in, helped them past it, told them our own Ten Day stories. (My brand new neighbors Candace and Tracy got me through my Ten Day Freakout in Beijing, and though we've long since lost touch, I'm still grateful to them for that.)

Here, I'm the new person. It's been a month, so it isn't quite the ten day freakout, but still. Sometimes, you can't help looking around and thinking everyone else is doing it right, whatever "it" is. You think you're the only one still wandering aimlessly through your days, searching for both your future friends, that tribe of people who is going to carry you through the next few years, and a jar or two of creamy peanut butter, the kind without added high fructose corn syrup. After all, is that too much to ask of a post - friends and a decent sandwich?

I'm a creature of habit, but I've lost all of my habits. I prefer to be busy, too busy to think, too busy to stop. I get up and drop straight into my routines, moving from kitchen to work to gym to store to kitchen to bed. I like to lament my lack of time. I like to be too busy, with too many things to do, things that I know how to do.

It's safe to say I'm not there yet. Oh, I'm busy. Just trying to track down working transformers and decent lettuce gives me plenty to do. Add in a job search and an attempt to organize the house, and I have more than enough to fill my days. But I have no routine yet, and it's the routine that makes me feel like I belong in a place. Friends are nice. A paycheck is lovely. But the routine - the knowing every day what you're supposed to be doing, and how - that's what I really need to find.

Hopefully next week I'll have four kids back in school and a husband back in country and all of the pieces will start falling in place.

Meanwhile, it helps to remember that behind all of those other doors live other people with their own small dramas. Nobody's doing it right, after all. Not here; not anywhere.




Sunday, September 14, 2014

Fall

And did I mention my husband left me?

That's right. We arrived in Moscow in mid-August. We moved houses twice before we landed in our "real" house. We accepted our air freight. We accepted our sea freight.

And then, after a few days of unpacking, my husband fled the country.

(To be fair, he did an awful lot of the unpacking himself before he left. But still.)

Then my son got sick, and I got to figure out how to get to his school (and back again) via metro and bus. Then my daughter got sick, but thankfully she was at home when it started; no bus trip for me.

Then the cat and dog arrived from Jordan. Such Foreign Service pets they are - the shipping agent informed me that they would be "overnighting in Dubai." I've never overnighted in Dubai. Perhaps that's why it cost over 5K to get them here?

The note on Yogi's crate. Not sure who wrote it, or why, but in my mind there's a great backstory...


Then Aidan had his birthday sleepover, with 3 new friends. I made a triple batch of pizza dough, a double chocolate layer cake and a double batch of pancakes for breakfast. Oh, and I had to make the syrup, too, because I didn't want to go in search of the bottled stuff (at Moscow prices, no less).

I got sick, too, a few days ago. I'm lying here on the couch, stuffy-nosed and sore-throated, listening to the rain on the windows, dreading the moment when I have to drag myself out to take the dog for another walk. I'm also wondering why I never learned to light a fire in a fireplace myself. 50 degrees and raining: it's fireplace weather today, for sure.

At least, once Bart gets back here, I'll have a really good excuse for why I didn't finish unpacking all of the boxes. And hopefully he'll bring me some "sorry you had to walk the dog all by yourself caramels" when he comes back. (Hint. Hint.)


Saturday, September 13, 2014

Eleven

He's kind of a miracle baby, that Aidan of ours. I got pregnant with him while still grieving after a horrible, horrible miscarriage. And then, when he was just 6 months old, he got so sick. We curtailed out of Kazakhstan when the State Department "Class 5'ed" him - it doesn't get much worse than that. There was talk of brain damage, disability, death.

But he rallied, our Aidan did. You'd never know today that he had such a rocky start. He's smart and strong and sensitive, with the best laugh I've ever heard in a kid.

He says he wants to be a dentist when he grows up.

I love this kid. Can't believe he's eleven, though.
Kazakhstan, 2004, before he got sick.

Virginia. 2006?
Virginia, 2006.

Lake Placid, 2007.

Beijing, 2008.
First day of kindergarten.
Thailand, 2008.

Beijing, 2009?

Hong Kong, 2010.

Beijing, spring 2010.

Beijing, spring 2010.

Germany, 2011.

Germany, 2011.

Amman, 2014.

Amman, 2014.

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Vegetable shopping, Moscow-style

Yesterday the CLO brought a group of newbies to Dorogomilivo Rynok, a huge outdoor market not far from the Embassy. I used to go shopping there every week, but I couldn't remember how to get there, so when they asked me to come along and help translate, I jumped at the chance.

It was all pretty much as I remembered, though certainly cleaner and less crowded than before. The same vendors with their heavy southern accents, the same "foreigner tax" - they jack up the prices when they see Americans coming, whether or not we speak Russian.

It's not easy to get to - about 20-30 minutes travel time via metro and on foot. But, unlike the grocery stores, they have loads of produce, often at reasonable prices, usually quite fresh. And it's huge. For comparison's sake, here's a photo of the place I normally do my vegetable shopping:

The "Fruitmania" vegetable kiosk.

This lady is directly across from the Embassy, a 5-minute walk from my house. But it's a tiny little kiosk, with only the basic produce - carrots, potatoes, tomatoes, onions...  

The Rynok, by comparison, has everything, according to season: hot peppers, purple basil, berries, melons, nuts and spices; pickled cucumbers, pickled garlic, pickled everything, all available for sampling. Vendors sell home-harvested honey, baklava, meat, bread, pastries, cheese and homemade sauces.

I love this place.

It does take some getting used to - the Rynok isn't quite comparable to, say, Wegmans, with its pre-washed lettuce, saran-wrapped meat and refrigerated sushi. But still: I walk in and immediately start dreaming up recipes based on the foods in front of me. Pasta with pesto sauce, perhaps? Spinach salad with strawberries and roasted walnuts? Or maybe kidney beans mashed with khmeli-tsuneli, an Armenian curry that I ran out of years ago and bought from the first spice stall I passed yesterday. I start calculating carefully, making sure I don't buy so much that I can't haul it all home.  (I remember vividly that time in 2000, when I had the baby strapped to my chest in a baby carrier, yet I made the stupid, stupid decision to buy a enormous watermelon in addition to my regular purchases. By the time I made it home, I couldn't feel my fingers. I barely avoided having to abandon the melon by the side of the road. My biceps didn't recover for days.)

Yesterday's Rynok, in photos:


The center aisle, piled high with produce. Vendors chat while they wait for customers to pass by.

Khachapuri, bread stuffed with salty suluguni cheese, baked on site, hot and delicious.

Through that window you can catch a glimpse of bakers kneading dough for pastries, regional breads and khachapuri.

In the mood for red meat? You'll have to tell one of these guys what you want,
and he'll hack off a piece of animal just for you.

Action shot!
(No. I don't buy meat here. Because, ewww. All of those animals pieces dangling from hooks? Can't do it.) 

If it's chicken you want,
these guys were probably strutting around the yard on those giant chicken claws just yesterday.

I'm told they leave the fur on so you know the rabbit is fresh. Not for good luck at all.

Planning a party? Get your caviar here.
That's it. I bought basil, pickles, spices, cabbage-stuffed pastries, white honey... I even splurged on some super expensive, end-of-season raspberries. I would've bought more, but I was busy helping other people with translation so they could shop, too - I always like translating for these kinds of events because it reminds me of how far I've come from the days when I struggled just to ask the prices of things. And I got to hang out with some fun people. I've already found a few who might be worthy of nicknames on this blog some day in the future. I'll keep you posted on that.

Thursday, September 4, 2014

100 Weekends

Really, when you think about it, that's all you get in a 2-year assignment. And of course, some of those weekends will be taken up by school events, or weather events, or summer vacation. So it isn't a ton of weekends to see a place as big as Moscow. Especially when we both have so many favorites from days of yore that we want to show the kids. So we're going to try to get out and see something every weekend that we can.

Last weekend we metro'ed to Kievskii Vokzal and bought tickets for the Moscow River boat cruise. I had to threaten to throw Ainsley overboard to the crocodiles, but that tiny lie was enough to buy her cooperation. And, truth be told, it ended up being fun - even the weather cooperated. We got to see a ton of major sites (Gorkii Park, Christ the Saviour Cathedral, St. Basil's, Red Oktober Chocolate Factory...) without a ton of walking. Win-win!

Settling in, slowly-slowly.

Our HHE and missing UAB all showed up over two long days this week, and we've been digging ourselves out from under the pile ever since. This is the time when I am truly in awe of my husband.  I don't know how he does it, really I don't, but he moves boxes and knick knacks and bookshelves around until a home starts to emerge from the wreckage. A real home. Me, I just frantically move things from room to room but never actually accomplish anything. Frustrated with my total lack of progress, I walk into whatever room he's been holed up in and find it transformed.

Usually this is the point when I throw my hands up in surrender and retreat to my kitchen to bake with my newly-discovered kitchen things. Teamwork.

I'll spare you the pictures of the looks-like-a-crime-scene house. Below are a few photos of last weekend's adventure.

















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