Rosewater Lemonade

Today we didn't leave the valley - and stayed local for lunch.  It’s not difficult to find ethnic food in our valley; in fact, Thai is usually our family’s go-to take-out option.

I have been on an Armenian food hunt.  And other than knowing that Glendale has a large percentage of Armenian-Americans, my knowledge of their culture and food is painfully lacking.  So it’s as much for me as for my kids that this adventure continues.

Brian and I went to dinner in Glendale on Monday night.  I suggested Armenian.  Brian led us to Persian. Shamshiri served a delicious dinner - the highlight was a feta cheese appetizer served with mounds of herbs, green onions and radishes.  But it was Persian, or so they claimed: “Middle Eastern.”

So the next day I still had a craving for Armenian - partially because I was still curious. And I wasn't keen on driving an hour for lunch.  Not wanting to leave Santa Clarita, I returned to the lovely Manoushee Mediterranean bakery on the other side of town with Ed and Julia in tow.  Initially they were less than thrilled - and would have preferred wet burritos from Las Delicias down the street.  Claiming that I had yet to steer them wrong, I wrangled them in the car.

Owner and chef Maral was gracious in explaining various dishes, especially after I explained why we had picked her bakery for a stop on our world food tour.  When I asked if this was “Armenian food” she explained that yes, it was Armenian-Lebanese.  Another layer of complexity to my question of “What is Armenian food?”  I can easily say that the kids loved the food at Manoushee.  Spicy potato and chicken wraps with pickled vegetables, calzone type bread stuffed with spicy and non spicy cheese and baba ganoush.

I ordered the rosewater-mint lemonade and was treated to the story that this traditional beverage was a special drink that her father used to make for his children in the summer as lemons were only available during that season. Not year round like they are here.  Which led us to a small discussion of the seasons and geography in Lebanon.   Which then led an even slighter exchange of when she left (“1978, before the war” - she says softly, with a glance that says far more than those words) and how often she returned to Lebanon.  She explained that while she used to go once a year, she has no family there anymore.  That her last trip was 3 years ago when her father passed - which made the lemonade taste even that much sweeter to me.

After Julia and Ed each picked a dessert (baklava with custard and coconut oatmeal cookie) and we packed up the leftovers for Aidan, we exchanged names, and said our thank yous - and I was taught how to say thank you in Armenian - “shornagal em” which I got on the third try.

So that was Armenian - Lebanese.
Two cultures and countries that I had very little knowledge of before this week.  Thanks to the lunches and encounters with these friendly ambassadors who we continue to meet (and wikipedia) I’m a little more educated.  As are my kids: while they might not grasp the complexities of mass genocide and civil wars, are at least exposed in a tangible way to the result of such tragic events.  Even if it only comes in the form of a tangy drink, spicy bread, or sweet dessert.

So back to Glendale we will go… to continue our exploration of this fascinating cuisine.

Little Ethiopia

After I graduated from college (LMU ’92) - I set out on an adventure with the good people of the Jesuit Volunteer Corps. I wound up in Washington DC, just before Clinton was elected to his first term. With a fresh degree I made myself a home in one of the world’s most exciting cities. But living and working among the poor - exposed us to a world that we hadn’t experienced before; a huge new place in a relatively small city. Part of the beauty of DC is the rich, multi-cultured vibe of it. And the transient nature of the town: very few people are actually from there. Most of us were transplants, giving us all that commonality and communal feeling. This and the huge presence of volunteers and underpaid college grads working for either the various non-profits or on the Hill - it was a great place to spend early adult years.

DC is where I met my husband. Happily, he was just as adventurous as I when it came to food. While dating, we would spend a large percentage of our meager stipends to try new foods and restaurants. Our main destination was Adams Morgan, and one of our favorites was Ethiopian food. 

Fast forward 20 years. After researching this idea of eating our way across Los Angeles, a quick search led me to find “Little Ethiopia” on a LA neighborhood map. And off we went to start our food adventure. After a side detour in Van Nuys to pick up certified copies of Ed’s birth certificate [the previous copies having been “misplaced” after soccer registration by one of his parents…] we made our way to Little Ethiopia, south of the Farmer‘s Market on Fairfax. Finding street parking on the few block stretch of restaurants and shops was fairly easy. Yelp provided a good choice in Messob. At 12:00 noon, our party of 5 was the first to arrive for the lunch crowd. The place was empty and we had our pick of tables. The server was lovely to us, offering suggestions and getting us ordered. She picked the meal off the menu that served 3 - and the 5 of us (even with Colin and Aidan’s stomach capacity) couldn’t finish it all.

One of the joys of Ethiopian cuisine is how you get to eat the food. Utensils are not used, much to the delight of most of my children. In place of forks, a spongy bread, Injera, is torn in pieces and used to grab bites from the common platter. Perhaps because with every bite of stew, meat and vegetable you must consume amounts of bread is why the meal is so filling. Injera is made from the gluten free grain teff and resembles something between a crepe and a pancake.

About ¾ way through our meal, another group came into the restaurant and sat at the table next to us. One of the three lovely women was from Ethiopia, which we learned when I leaned over and started a conversation after watching them drink their tea correctly (I noticed this after I had prepared mine incorrectly…) She, too, had lived for some time in Washington DC - and for this we instantly had a connection. Living off of 16th St. can do that to people… We had an informal tutorial about the richness of her culture and home country -from the Aksum Empire to the present - as well as a quick lesson on Jamaica and Rastafarianism - due to last emperor of Ethiopia, Haile Selassie aka Ras Tafari. And now we know who the guy in the funny looking hat in the portraits on the walls was.

They encouraged us to try dessert, which was delicious baklava. By the time our meal was finished, the restaurant was filling up. The owner had come out to greet the table next to ours, and our new friend introduced us to him. We thanked him for our meal and he was happy that we enjoyed it.

After lunch we walked up and down the block, checking out the thrift stores and a few of the small markets. Thrift store shopping with Edwin and Colin was not the most stress free, so we moved on quickly. I was able to purchase some Ethiopian powdered ginger from the small mini mart type place. I thought it was a good souvenir- something to take back home to cook with and remember our day.

Perfect Vacation?

I don’t have to pack for a family of 6 this summer. For the first time in too many years to count, there is no grand destination on our calendar. It’s a free feeling. Free to relax. Free to be at home. Free to do laundry….and dishes…and cleaning. But with that freedom comes a restlessness: the desire to explore and escape the mundane house chores that fill up the school time months.

 So I decided to go see the world. And take the kids. And I’m lucky that I live in a place where I can do this. It’s been said that Los Angeles (and environs) is the most diverse city in the country. There are over 200 languages spoken here. Given the 10 million people or so, that’s not so hard to imagine. But what it means to this suburban mom, is that I can take my kids within an hour’s drive (depending on the hour, and the freeway…) and expose them to a myriad of cultures and cuisines. Without passports. Without packing a suitcase. And come home to my own bed at night.

 Sounds like the perfect vacation.