Saturday, January 24, 2015
I picked up the receiver after the third or fourth ring, tipping the glass of water on the night table. “Hello!” I cleared my throat, but my voice came out hoarse. The colon in the middle of the clock display blinked, while the digits stared without a flinch.
“Hi daddy, it’s me. I’m sorry to wake you up at this hour.” Liz was crying.
“What’s wrong sweetheart? Are you two fighting again?”
“I left the house and brought the baby with me. I’m staying over with a friend.”
Before she hung up, she assured me that Brandon didn’t hit her. He never did, she swore.
He was a passive-aggressive bastard who transferred his neuroses to her, a control freak with a tongue capable of lashing out words soaked in bitter venom. A divorce was the obvious answer, but Liz’s life was a little complicated. She would lose custody of Michael, who was named after me, or more likely, after his paternal grandfather. Brandon wasn’t a bad guy, she claimed, but I never liked him. I told her that it wouldn’t work between them. Liz was in love, though, and she brushed me off with a sweet giggle.
“Oh come on, daddy. He’s a brilliant programmer, just like you. Give yourself enough time to know him better. Besides, you’re going to spend your summers in San Francisco from now on. Brandon’s dad’ll buy us a house overlooking the bay as a wedding present.” She kissed my forehead and tickled me. Her mirth was contagious. I burst out laughing.
They were married in London and left on their honeymoon the next morning. It was Liz’s dream to travel to Japan, but something important came up for Brandon. Instead of staying there for a month, they had to cut it short and fly to California a week later. I hadn’t seen my daughter since, and only knew my grandson as an apparition on a computer screen.
I switched the bedside lamp on and sat straight. A pool of water enclaved my pillbox. The ulcer scraped the lining of my stomach like an errant fingernail on a chalkboard. I winced and reached for the telephone.
“Hello Sid. It’s Michael.” I listened to his response and feigned a smile for my own benefit. “You sound good too.”
We chitchatted for a minute. He asked how I was managing alone. I sent Maggie, his wife, my regards. A pause wedged itself into the conversation before I filled the gap. “I need a favor. You have someone on the West Coast, right? Uh huh, San Francisco. Eight o’clock’s perfect. D’you still drink single malt? Good! I’ll bring you a 28 year Singleton. See you tonight.”
I shuffled my feet and found the wet slippers. Behind the curtains, the sun sneaked above the cityscape resurrecting shadows long presumed dead. I had a few errands to run, I thought on my way to the kitchen, but first, I needed a glass of warm milk.
Monday, January 19, 2015
At last, the Levant is under the spell of a conventional Mediterranean winter. Conventional in the sense that it's raining hard and snowing as it should, and that the temperatures are down to single digits at night in the coastal plains and below zero in the mountains and inland.
The earth was parched and the subterranean water reserves were all but gone. Had this winter been as benign as the previous one, Syria would’ve gone thirsty this coming summer. We were in dire need for Ghayth, rescue from the sky, to permit the lucky ones among us to live under worsening socioeconomic conditions for one more year.
But with the beautiful sight of white snow and the latent promise of a better tomorrow we shouldn’t overlook the true nature of the beast, the homeless, the orphans, the wailing mothers and grieving fathers, those who lost everything while the onslaught of war continues. We should remember our refugees, now scattered all over the world, freezing to death in the outback of neighboring countries or keeping warm in distant, Nordic lands. We need to honor the memory of those who died because they had no place to go to and those who were lost at sea trying to make it to safer shores.
Although the war in Syria has reached an unprecedented magnitude of baseness and cruelty, let us never forget how it all started so we can, or our descendants, breathe the fragrant air of the coming spring. No matter how calm it was before the storm, the cruel heat oppressed us. It’s always after the storm that beauty prevails.
Sunday, January 11, 2015
I'm against the fanaticism of the Kouachi Brothers and the vileness of Charlie Hebdo. No one has the right to take the life of other human beings for a word they wrote or a cartoon they drew, or to cause them bodily harm. Similarly, free press isn’t an open license to ridicule someone else’s beliefs, culture and sanctity.
This tragic event is a dirty reminder of the bigotry and atrocities being committed in the names of freedom of speech and religion. Before we identify ourselves with one wicked side or another, let us not forget the thousands of innocent people dying every day, everywhere in the world, of hunger and cold and disease and war and torture. Let us identify with them instead, or at least with our true selves.
Sunday, December 28, 2014
1 diced white onion
3 diced cloves of garlic
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 teaspoon brown sugar
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 1/2 cup Arzo pasta
1 cup diced celery
I cup diced carrots
2 cups roasted diced tomato
1 tablespoon butter
3 cups diced spinach
6 cups Water + 2 chicken broth cubes
Oregano, rosemary, thyme, a pinch of each
Salt and pepper to taste
Heat oil in a pan, add onions garlic and soy sauce, stir for 4 minutes until gold in color and sprinkle with brown sugar (optional but I love the caramelized hint of sugar).
Add diced celery and carrots, stir for 4 minutes.
Add water, chicken stock, tomatoes, butter, oregano, rosemary, thyme, salt, and pepper. Cover and bring to boil over medium high heat, stirring occasionally.
Reduce heat, uncover, add the orzo pasta and simmer while stirring lightly but continuously for 10 minutes, add spinach for an additional 2 minutes.
Ready to serve. Enjoy it! (Serves 6)
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
I bought the dough ready. If you'd rather make your own dough, good for you, that'll be awesome.
Using my hands and the rolling pin, I spread the dough as thin as possible over a piece of aluminum foil (mine was about 16" diameter).
Once stretched to its limit, I splashed it lightly with olive oil. In a small bowl, I mixed half a cup of Pomì, an Italian passata brand (strained tomato sauce) with two tablespoons of ketchup and a half tablespoon of mustard (I love the subtle and underlying taste of mustard in almost any kind of sauce). I mixed the sauce with a spoon, added black pepper to it and spread it over the dough with the back of the spoon.
I distributed 2 large cut tomatoes (1/2" thick slices) and chunks of feta cheese (about 100 grams).
I then sprinkled a cup of grated Parmesan, one chopped green pepper, fresh oregano, and a 100 grams of sauteed and drained ground beef. (Salt as per your own preference)
You can use whatever ingredients you like, of course, but these are the ones I used on mine today.
Preheat your oven to the highest temperature possible (heat from above and below) and stick your pizza in with the aluminum foil. My oven isn't that hot so it took about 12 minutes to bake this pizza. Ideally, it should be fully baked in 5 minutes precisely.
Anyway, it came out looking great and tasting incredibly delicious...