Thinking about my growing up Hungarian, I have specific food memories, which I know every single culture on the planet has…the comfort food of childhood. Noodles, dumplings, and pasta, it keeps us alive, but when it’s made just right, it’s the most sublime, perfect mouthfeel and chew, delicious meal on the planet. The wheat protein, with or without egg, makes a nutritious dish. Coated with a sauce or simple combination of ingredients makes it magical, it’s what memories are made of.
Category: Hungarian
Little Andie: Nile Street. The Neighbors.
Behind our house, the house we lived in was Mrs. Turtin. Her front started where the river bent, next to where the eels lived. Her house was closer to the street and full of flowers. The back of her house was full of flowers too, I could see them across the river from our back lawn. Their houses were painted white too, but they were much brighter inside.
Little Andi. Nile Street. The soundtrack of my babyhood.
My parents were refugees from Hungary. I don’t recall popular music of the time from my babyhood and toddlerhood until years later when I became a child. Then, the radio was tuned into the music of the day. As a toddler, my soundtrack was the Hungarian music my parents must have listened to when they…
Palacsinta
Two hands are required. One to hold it to your mouth, the other to hold the tail end as you eat your way through it. Usually, the first ones off the pan never make it to the rolling plate, we would just hold the transparent circle of cooked dough and peel pieces from it. The crunchier edges, give way to the softer, springier middle. My brother and I were like little birds, waiting for morsels from the mother bird.
Little Andie. Konini street. Dinnerware Obsession
I suffer from this curious malady. It’s an obsession of sorts. I love dishes, plates, table settings, basically anything made to serve food and beverages, or that which goes onto a table to make it beautiful. I don’t know why this is. All I know is that when I got engaged, the chore of choosing…
The Right Chicken Soup
Naively, I believed the chicken soup my mother made was the best in the world, and to me it was. It a was perfect balance of chicken, vegetables, and noodles. It was not a regular occurrence either. Whole fresh chickens were very rare and costly at the time. Usually, we had to butcher our own…
Little Andie. Konini street. A rat ate the bread!
The bakery wasn’t all that far away, just all the way down the hill and only a quarter of the way through town. I was quite mature now, (almost 6) so I was sent to fetch our loaf of bread. With this loaf, my mother made my father’s daily work sandwiches, and when it got…
Little Andie. Konini street. Juliska: Prima Ballerina of the kitchen.
The bread is dense and soft, while at the same time, strong enough to support the pile of scrambled eggs, now glistening with drippings, ready to eat. I marvel at how her eggs never get dry, they never get hard, and they stay soft and moist, no matter how long they sit on your plate.
Babies do remember..
What does a baby absorb and remember? I believe a lot more than we realise, but not in the way it’s easily retrievable. I have come to think that every minute of a baby’s life is imprinted with every word, sound, smell, emotion, taste of its own, it’s family and its surroundings.
Chicks & Jam 