Even though the calendar tells us it is still spring, we all know the official start to the summer is Memorial Day weekend.  And it has arrived with a bang here in the Mid-Atlantic.  Hot, sunny and beautiful.

To celebrate the arrival of summer, the Greek side of our family would meet at Lakewood Park in Norfolk, VA.  With its tennis courts, ball fields, playgrounds, walking paths, and pavilions, it was the perfect place for a multi-generational family to gather.  Our “strategy “was to arrive early and grab a pavilion.   Children were encouraged to run off and play, but we were always more interested in the big reveal.  We would remain underfoot, mouths watering, waiting for the food to be laid out.

And then one year, it happened.   Another large family came to grab the pavilion next to ours.  Normally, this would not have been a big deal, but you could actually feel the tension begin to rise for this was no ordinary group of people.  This was a family from the Philippines, another culture with a rich heritage in music, art and food.

The activity in our pavilion began to increase.  Out came the taramosalata, marinated olives, tiropita and spanakopita all while stealing glances at our neighbors.  The activity was just a feverish at their pavilion.  Except for the lumpia (which would have been enough reason to visit our neighbors), I cold not identify the food.  But I knew I wanted to try everything they were showcasing.  It all looked amazing.  My family sensed it too.  The pace became more frenetic as they rushed to lay out the stuffed grape leaves, tomatoes with feta, rosemary lamb and deviled eggs (I know, but we are southern too and you can not have a picnic in the south without this dish)  Our neighbors kept pace, bringing out one incredible looking dish after another.   Normally, dessert would not have been revealed at this early hour.  But, today was no ordinary picnic.  My Yia Yia and Aunts emptied their last coolers and totes, offering up kourambiethes, loukoumathes and baklava.  This must be what heaven feels like.

I am not sure anyone can truly win such a competition.  I just know both families enjoyed an incredible meal that warm sunny day years ago.  καλή όρεξη or bon appétit!

When I think of the strange things my mom cooked for me as a little girl, it can make me either laugh or shutter. I’m not talking about food from the eyes of a child- that could be any vegetable or meat at any given moment, I’m talking about really different, probably cultural dishes that I may have eaten and even liked, but now looking at it as an adult, I can’t believe I ate these dishes at all!
Growing up in the Midwest and coming from a Polish mother, and a Slovakian father, the choices of “strangest entrées” are many.  But the oddest was probably- (are you ready for this?) warm bacon grease with syrup mixed together on a plate in which we dipped fresh bread and butter. This fine treat was a Sunday specialty if we were lucky enough to have had bacon for breakfast.  Yes, I’ve had my cholesterol checked to make sure it’s not still clogging up my arteries but honestly, I have to say, it was really tasty! Tasty now?  Probably not. But in the good ole days, YUM!
If you have had similar experiences, we’d love to hear from you.

Back in the day, when my husband and I were first married, we shared equally in the “joys” of cooking.  Being young, our needs were not overly complex.  Payday was Thursday, so off to our local sub shop we went.  Friday was “date” night, which consisted of dinner at local bar – music and friends being the draw, not the food.

That left us with five nights to fill.  My childhood dinner memories consisted of meals that included a salad, two vegetables, an entree and homemade bread or biscuits.  My husband had quite a different experience.  Growing up one of three boys and eventually responsible for getting dinner on the table, his meal planning was far less complicated.  When we merged households, we needed to resolve our cooking quandary.  Time, skill, our pocketbook and the metabolism of the young made this an easy decision.  Tacos, sloppy joes and beanie weenies were our staples.

It wasn’t long into our second year when I began to dream about the meals I enjoyed at my parents table.  I couldn’t wait to visit home, always looking forward to mealtime.  A leg of lamb, Greek-style potatoes and koulourakia cookies, or fried chicken, buttermilk biscuits and hand-cranked ice cream– whatever the meal, it was sure to be exceptional.  My husband quickly began to realize what he was missing.

So our culinary adventures began.  We didn’t start with anything too complex.  Pasta with homemade sauce, grilled pork chops with potato latkes and chicken youvetsi were some of our initial attempts.  Some dishes were successful, others, not so much.   I have since taken over most of the cooking.  Inspiration comes from the typical sources: my mom (an incredible cook), cookbooks, cooking shows and of course, the web.  With over 25 years experience as a home cook, I still make mistakes.  That’s when the old standby comes into play – “sometimes food is simply a nutritional source, not all meals are intended to be gourmet experiences”.  But I don’t really believe that – it’s just something I tell my daughter when dinner is a flop.

Years ago, we held a Regrettable Food Banquet with our close friends.  One of the dishes served was Cheesy Beans.  I must confess, it evoked fond memories of our “salad days”.

I should have been suspicious immediately when my husband of 3 months had dinner ready for me when I arrived home from a long day as a senior college student.  Let me set the stage.  I’m 21 years old, he’s 23, we are newly married and living in Cheyenne, Wyoming on a lowly 2nd Lieutenant’s salary. I’m thinking, wow, what a thoughtful man I’ve married, he’s thinking, I wonder if she will even notice my secret ingredients! Here’s how it unraveled.

Table is set, “burgers” are the entrée which is believable, and hubby is anxious to eat.  A few bites into dinner, after hubby has asked me probably 10 times, “What do you think? Pretty good, huh?” I politely answer (we were newlyweds), “Good job!  Tastes great!  Thank You!” He could no longer contain himself with his little secret, as he burst out laughing and announced, “You’re eating Bambi!”

Huh?  What? This young, naïve, little Midwestern girl had no idea what he was talking about but I quickly learned that deer meat was very prevalent in Wyoming and the burger I was eating was indeed someone’s Bambi.  The shock!  The horror!  The deception!  Upon immediately locking myself in the bathroom, I found myself wavering between anger and starvation.  How could he trick me and play me for such an ignorant cook?  Which was worse, him laughing at what he thought was such a great joke on me, or the fact that I really wanted to go finish eating the deer burger?

Well, we’ve come a long way in 34 years since that dinner and I’ve learned so much.  First, deer meat isn’t all that bad, secondly, my hubby has a twisted sense of humor and finally, always watch the man when he offers to cook me dinner!