Tag Archives: holiday

Areligious Christmas

December 15, 2015 By in Recipes Tags: , , 3 Comments

Sweet Potato Roast with Lemon, Pomegranate, Feta, and Herbs

Processed with VSCOcam with c1 preset

My relationship with religion is complicated because it’s so simple. I have none. My mother is “Catholic”; my father is “Muslim.” Both believe in god. They both prey to him nightly for my health and well being, though they likely do it in two different languages. They don’t do anything else for him/her/it, so I’m not sure he/she/it will answer. I don’t think I believe in god, but I keep myself in the agnostic category, because I can’t know everything. I can know, however, that I believe in science and that people are picking up guns to maim on the regular. My mother doesn’t seem bothered by my disbelief; my father does, but it’s fine.

My parents come from a generation when it was common to self-identify as the faith you were born into, so just as my mother is French-Canadian, she is Catholic; just as my father is Iranian, he is Muslim. My maternal grandparents are staunch Catholics; they haven’t been to church in 30 years. Still, they probably resent that I wasn’t stripped and dunked in water by an old dude in front of an audience, though I suppose I could do that any night of the week if I choose to. I respect the practice, but it certainly doesn’t feel right to do it for the sake of doing it.

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What, No Cookies? (or, the worst photos I’ve ever posted…)

December 13, 2012 By in Recipes Tags: , , , , , 4 Comments

holiday endive and fennel salad…and more!

salad
It’s hard to love something but only be able to take part in it once a week, It’s distracting, longing for something that’s not within reach. It’s unfortunate that a particular passion can’t be pursued everyday.

When people ask what my weekend plans are, I typically have little to say. Working, sleeping, and running errands don’t qualify as “special plans.” They’re constants. Every Saturday, I try to squeeze in a couple of hours for myself. I’ll usually bake something in the morning and cook up a nice meal at night. And really, as someone who loves to cook, experiment, and just breathe in the kitchen, I’m only going through the motions one day a week. The kitchen will always be the center of my life, but on every other day, there’s little fun, little creativity in the kitchen—every act in the kitchen is necessary. It’s preparing. It’s putting together office lunches. It’s roasting vegetables for train dinners. It’s stuffing things in bags for snacks. Sunday is the batch-cooking day. I cook what works, what keeps, what will sustain me on long work days.

This isn’t a problem unique to me. You won’t hear me complaining. The world has changed, our lives spin fast, we don’t rest, we don’t stop.

So that leaves me with that one day. That one day to be in my own little world. It’s the reason why I rarely eat out anymore or why I still haven’t found a proper pair of winter boots. If I do those things one day, I’ll miss out. There will be no kitchen that week. I’ll have to wait an entire week. An eternity.

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Sharing with Strangers

November 20, 2012 By in Recipes Tags: , , , , 9 Comments

buttermilk dinner rolls


I’m writing this while carrying my own weight on the downward slant of a broken commuter rail train seat. It’s late—a flat tire derailed my normal morning journey, and I’m headed to Boston on an unfamiliar train, with folks who are not just nameless, but who are also strangers with faces I’ve never seen. This train seems to be pushing faster, must faster than the rush hour train. So fast that I can’t balance myself in my seat, and my fingers cannot correctly tap out words. I’ll have to fix the typos later. I’ll be very late to work on this day, Friday, November 16th. My mind is wandering, thinking about the holidays, about how, like this train, they’ve rolled in far too quickly.

But as usual, as I start writing about something on the train, I’m changing course. Distracted by the measures I go to in order to not be seen—well, read, actually. These petty topics and food-related thoughts that move me seem fine when thrown at the wall, or the web, but not when seen by those in close proximity. I sit next to far too many black-suited businessmen on my travels. Even if writing these posts is one of the best parts of my week, I fear that they’ll glance over at my screen, read my text, judge me, my importance. How freaking old am I? I sound like a child. But that lingering thought of, “Just because this is important to me, is it important, really?” always comes up when I’m in public, typing.

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The Cheese Straw That Saved Christmas

December 29, 2011 By in Recipes Tags: , , , , , 4 Comments

cheese straws


Christmas has long been my holiday. Since the larger side of my family lives in Iran, and my only close relatives on the small side relocated to Georgia, our holiday gatherings are not grand affairs, and the five of us — my grandpa, grandma, mom, dad and me — typically just celebrate a holiday or birthday with a dinner and dessert. There’s no traveling involved (my grandparents live 20 minutes away), no “morning after” menu with which to contend and no problem wondering how all the food will fit in the fridge. My grandma hosts Thanksgiving and serves the same thing each year, while I look forward to flipping through my cookbooks and planning Christmas dinner well in advance, from soup to nuts.

Menu planning for such a small event, then, should be a cinch, right? Wrong. I’m not really working with adventurous eaters here. My grandparents are meat and taters folk. Their diet, understandably, reflects that of a hardworking, humble, New England family. They’ve always had little, never traveled and didn’t really learn that there’s more than two varieties of onions or that herbs don’t just come in jars. And coming from humble origins myself, I respect that, I do.

Our Christmas dinners are not avant-garde. They’re just homey and comforting, and I like that, but there are so many restrictions. Grandpa doesn’t like nuts, lettuce that is not iceberg, dressing that doesn’t come from a bottle, garlic or anything “foreign” (his words, not mine). He orders his meat medium-well (blech). He devours chocolates (only milk) but not chocolate desserts. Grandma can’t eat breakfast or lunch food like sandwiches, only indulges in white chocolate and has trouble eating ice cream. She thinks chickens don’t have bones and thus will only eat poultry that has been cut off the bone. She also has somehow made something similar to anything that you have ever served and will always make that clear as you proudly present your dishes. I would never know, because she seems to only give my family week-old, leaden loaves of date-nut bread for gifts. The list goes on.
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On Pigs and Figs

December 23, 2011 By in Interesting Eats Tags: , , , , , , , 4 Comments

With my dad hailing from the holy land of the fig (the Middle East), it was my ancestral duty to finally make it to the new bakery/café right on Highland Ave in Somerville that has the sweet fruit in its name. As you might guess, 3 Little Figs is all in the family. From the name and locale to the size, decor and staff, this place is cute as a button. If I owned a bakery it would be nearly identical to 3 Little Figs: the space is small but airy and bright, the decor is shabby-chic without an emphasis on one over the other, production is done on a small scale, the menu is modest but complete. There are even hanging lighting fixtures made of what look like old Hobart mixer whisk attachments. How cute is that?

I spent last Saturday Christmas shopping and wanted to quell my afternoon hunger with something that screamed “holiday.” I couldn’t think of anything, but I knew that 3 Little Figs uses local and seasonal ingredients, so I could find something savory and sweet that at least screamed “winter.” 3 Little Figs delivered. I felt fantastically festive and frightfully full after leaving, and that’s all I wanted.

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Let the Fanfare Begin

December 1, 2011 By in Recipes Tags: , , , , , 7 Comments

world peace cookies


Today is December 1st and, for me, the start of the holiday season. Every year through high school and college, I woke up on the Friday after Thanksgiving at 3 am. With the previous evening’s meal barely digested, I threw on my red and black and hightailed it to my job at Staples. There, I was routinely greeted by a line of wide-awake yet far from friendly electronics mavens and eBay aficionados, staring me down as if I had the authority to let all of them in early. There was something very satisfying about locking the door behind me and smiling at the vultures who still had an hour to stew. For some, this tradition ushers in the holiday season, but I subscribe to the Nordstrom philosophy. Can I finish the season of “thanks” before I jump into the season of “give-me?”

Now, I am no Scrooge. When December rolls around, I am ready for holiday cheer. Today, if I walk into a store to find a bell-ringing, velour-suited Santa, I’ll keep my cool. If I hear fa-la-la-la-las on the radio, I’ll turn it up, and I’ll even sing along. And at 22, I will proudly announce that I still enjoy watching “The 25 Days of Christmas” on ABC Family, especially Santa Claus is Coming to Town (it’s a classic!). Judge away. The harvest season is over. My beloved Macouns are becoming mealy. The trees are bare. I can move on.

And I can talk about these cookies.

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