REMEMBERING ARSHAG MERGUERIAN, LOVE, & EGG LEMON SOUP

Many years ago, at the Harvard Radcliffe Armenian Club, Marash Girl got to know Arshag Merguerian, a sweet and wonderful man, a brilliant student of architecture at the Harvard Graduate School of Design.  Born in Jerusalem, the son of architect/engineer Merguer Merguerian, Arshag would often remind us with great pride that his father was a cross maker. No wonder, then, that Arshag's life goal was to build contemporary Armenian churches which were true in essence to the cross, the traditional Armenian architectural design of the Armenian churches in Eastern Anatolia (Western Armenia). [Building boxes laid beside boxes was not Arshag's idea of a church.]  Little did I know then that Arshag would design and build his dream, a jewel, St. Gregory's Armenian Apostolic Church (Indian Orchard, Massachusetts), the church in which Marash Boy and I would be married some 10 years later.

              St. Gregory's Armenian Church, Indian Orchard, Springfield, Massachusetts

               Arshag Merguerian, Architect, photo by G. Karen Merguerian, 2010, Courtesy of Wikipedia

And it was as much due to Arshag and his choice of bride as it was to God's grace that I married the man of my dreams in the beautiful contemporary Armenian church pictured above, Arshag's church.  Here's the story.

Arshag fell in love with Barbara.  He fell very much in love.  He would sing her name to the world whenever he thought of his Bar-bar-a.  And she was as wonderful, as sweet, as bright and as beautiful as his love.

One day, soon after Arshag and Barbara married, they invited me to have supper in their little apartment on Grant Street in Cambridge.  Having arrived early, I found Arshag's bride in the throes of preparing dinner.  As a last minute decision, Barbara had chosen to make her quick version of Greek Egg-Lemon Soup, a soup I had never before tasted.  She put me to work, cutting and squeezing two lemons while she opened a can of Campbell's Chicken Soup, poured it into a sauce pan, added a can of water, and in a separate sauce pan, cracked and beat two eggs.  Now watch carefully, she said, bringing the soup to a boil and then, as she continued to stir that mixture, slowly adding the hot chicken broth to the two eggs .  When all of the broth was added to the egg mixture, she poured the egg/broth (now somewhat thickened because of the egg but smooth because of the stirring) back into the pan that contained the soup fixings, added the lemon juice, and kept stirring as she slowy reheated the mixture, careful NOT to let it boil this time so as NOT to coagulate the eggs and spoil the soup.  Heated to just below boiling, the soup was ready to serve.  And was it ever delicious.

Okay, so what does this have to do with my marriage?  Well, as I have commented before in this blog, the way to a man's heart is . . . you know the answer!

While I was at home in Newtonville during my college Spring Break, there was an unexpected knock at the door.  Whoever could it be?  Almost supper time, we had planned on having leftovers, but unlike most nights at our house, the pickings were slim.  No matter.  It was probably just the newspaper boy coming to collect.  Answering the door, was I ever surprised to see the love of my life who did not know he was the love of my life.  Standing there. Unannounced.  Whoa.  This was not fair.  Life is not fair.

So taking a deep breath, I invited him into the house to join my mother and father in the living room while I scurried around the kitchen trying to figure out what I could throw together for a light supper that would be more than leftovers.  And yes, if you've read the first part of this post, you've guessed it.  There was a can of Campbell's Chicken Soup on the shelf, and there were 2 lemons in the refrigerator, and two eggs!

That was it.  To this day, my husband remembers THAT day, and tells me that the egg lemon soup I served him was the turning point for him.  His only disappointment is that I've never again made Barbara's Egg Lemon Soup!  Maybe I'll try it tonight with some homemade chicken broth and surprise him.

Recently (now many years later), I asked Barbara about that evening and her delicious soup. She doesn't remember making that soup, ever.  I wonder if it was only a dream . . .