Armenian Green Beans a la Mother In Law

And on a slightly lighter note, here's a joke (and a recipe) popular in Armenia, courtesy of my Hayastantsi Friend.

Recently married, a young wife asks her new Armenian husband, "What's your favorite dish?"

"I like green beans," he answers, the way they cook them in Armenia.

"Okay. I'll cook you green beans," the young Armenian wife answers.

But every time she tries, she never gets it right

"They're tasty, but not the same as my mother used to make them," the husband answers.

As her mother-in-law was dead, the young wife was unable to find the secret to preparing her husband's favorite dish.

One day, as she was  cooking the green beans, they got a little bit burned.  Ashamed that she had burned the green beans, but not having anything else to serve for supper,  she tries to doctor the dish up with a little bit of olive oil and adds the eggs as she has always done.

"Oh!" says her husband with great joy.  "You finally figured it out!  You finally cooked the green beans the way my mother always did!  They're absolutely delicious!"

Here's the recipe from Armenia for preparing one pound of green beans, without the burn! Wash and trim green beans. Simmer green beans in water til tender. Then drain and add butter or olive oil. Beat 2 eggs and pour them over the green beans while the beans are still hot; stir till all green beans are coated with eggs and solidified.  Add seasoning.  Serve while hot.

N.B.  This is NOT the way we prepare green beans in Armenian families from Marash and Aintab.  That recipe will follow.

Is Half a Blanket Better than One?

Peter, Marash Girl's father, having been born in the neighborhood of Kumbet in Marash, Ottoman Empire, early in the 20th Century, and having survived the genocide perpetrated upon the Armenian people by the Ottomans, left Marash in the saddlebag of a donkey with the clothes on his back and his memories of his childhood in Marash.  Peter was a story teller and among his stories was this one, one which he told us often.

Upon marrying the love of his life, a young man brought his new wife, as tradition would have it, into the family home.  All went well for the first few years, but soon the wife, who was no longer new at being a wife, tired of the only member of the older generation left living in the house, her father-in-law.  The woman constantly badgered her husband about the inconvenience of taking care of the old man, no longer young, no longer strong, no longer healthy, until one day she insisted that the old man be ousted from the house.  "Either he leaves or I leave," she said.  Sad as he was, the young man (himself no longer so young), explained the situation to his father, and his father willingly parted, leaving the home on foot, walking into the desert.  

Soon after the old man left, the young man (himself no longer so young) said to his son, "Son, you must run after your grandfather and catch up with him.  He has gone into the desert with no blanket for protection from the cold.  Here, my son, take this blanket to him."  And so dutifully, the young man's (himself no longer so young) son hastened into the desert carrying the blanket to his grandfather.  Finally catching up to his grandfather, the boy said, "Here, Baba, take this blanket which Papa sent to keep you warm in the desert."  The grandfather hugged his grandson, took the blanket and tore it in half.  "What are you doing, Baba?  Why are you tearing the blanket in half?"  The grandfather answered, "Dghas, I'm giving half of this blanket to you.  Take it to your father and tell him that I return it so that he can use it when he grows old."

The Heart of the Matter - "Mother's Heart"

Herewith follows a very old Armenian story from Marash, Ottoman Empire, apocryphal, one would hope; a tale which was retold to Marash Girl by her dad many years ago.

A young man was very much in love with a young woman, and married her, the love of his life.  The only problem was that the love of his life, his wife, did not love his mother.  In fact she hated his mother.  And so the young man's wife said to the young man, "If you really love me, you must prove it."  "How shall I prove it?" asked the young man.  "You must bring me your mother's heart on a platter. When you do that, I will know that I am the only love in your life," answered his wife.  "But how can I do that?" asked the young man.  "If you do not, I will know that you do not love me fully, and I will leave you," answered his wife.  The young man, so in love was he, that he followed his wife's orders and went to fetch his mother's heart.  (The gory details were left out of the retelling.)  As he was returning home to present his wife with his mother's heart, he tripped and fell and dropped his mother's heart onto the ground, at which point, his mother's heart called out to him, "Are you hurt, my son?"

At the World Trade Center, Three Blocks from Occupy Wall Street

Financial District, Manhattan                                  Photos by Marash Girl

On a quieter note, several blocks North of Occupy Wall Street, another cries into the wilderness of avarice and injustice.  A lone protestor grieves the greed of the human heart Friday at noon in the Financial District.   At St. Paul's Chapel across from the World Trade Center, pacing the length of the walkway and back, a gentle soul carries a home-made sign with not-so-gentle messages.    When Marash Girl asked if he felt his signs would make a difference, he answered, "I cannot change lives.  Only God can."

 

Occupy Wall Street: Entrapment?

Entrapment?  Decide for yourself after reading this report from the New York  Times online, 5:59 PM, October 1, 2011:  "After allowing marchers from the Occupy Wall Street protests to claim the Brooklyn-bound car lanes of the Brooklyn Bridge and get partway across, the police cut the marchers off and arrested dozens of demonstrators Saturday afternoon.  At 4:35, perhaps 500 people were caught on the bridge between orange nets, about a third of the way across to Brooklyn. The police let some of them walk back to Manhattan. Others on the roadway clambered dangerously up the structure of the bridge to get to the wooden pedestrian walkway, which is about 15 feet above the road.  A freelance reporter working for The Times, Natasha Lennard, sent an e-mail at 4:58 saying, 'I’m being arrested.' Some marchers chanted, “Hey hey, ho ho, corporate greed has got to go” as they were handcuffed.'"  According to the latest report, over 400 hundreds were arrested!

At noon on Saturday (yesterday), Marash Girl walked out into the Fall air of the Financial District, to find a phalanx of New York City's finest in uniform, yes, hundreds of police, walking down Barclay Street and gathering at the corner of Barclay and Church.  They refused to answer Marash Girl when she asked what they were about.  But a policewoman getting a cup of coffee in the Starbuck's on the opposite corner of Barclay (at Broadway), answered.  "You know, it's for the demonstrators in the park."  That's Zuccotti Park, formerly called Liberty Plaza Park.  [With all of the problems in New York City, do we really need more of our tax dollars going to the overtime pay of hundreds of police officers hired to round up predominantly peaceful Occupy Wall Street protestors?]

The first Occupied Wall Street Journal published yesterday, a broadsheet.  Remember the handbills which played such an important role in the French Revolution. 

 This grandma, handing out copies of the broadsheet The Occupied Wall Street Journal, reports that she is one of six grandmas with Occupy Wall Street, 4 of whom were arrested by police this past week.  When asked, she admitted that she had participated in the 'sit-ins' of the 1950's.

Occupy Wall Street demonstrator creates his sign as he 'sits-in' the park, awaiting the march onto the Brooklyn Bridge. When asked "Has Wall Street responded yet?"  He answered, "The police are responding for Wall Street."

Folk musicians play in sympathy with the Occupy Wall Street protestors.

Anti-Monopoly was no longer a board game for the Occupy Wall Street gathering in Liberty Park.

Occupy Wall Street participants share their ideas on a 'public' white board.

Donated books addressing the concerns of the protestors.

Donations of medical supplies, bedding, food, and books 'underwrote' the protest of Occupy Wall Street.

Is the Occupy Wall Street protest a throwback to the flower power of the 1960's?

Marash Girl would greatly appreciate your comments (below). Just click 'comments' to begin.      Photos by Marash Girl

Occupy Wall Street

 

Several weeks ago, the Arab Spring turned into the East Coast Autumn when Occupy Wall Street, a growing group of young people (Marash Girl saw no person over 40), staged an ongoing sit-in at a park bordering the Nasdaq, a private park pivately owned, a private park from which (according to one of the Occupy Wall Street demonstrators) the sitters could not be ousted until the owner said the word.  Last night, a member of the Community Board for Manhattan's Financial District invited Marash Girl to join him as he wished to observe first hand the reality of Occupy Wall Street.  They found Occupy Wall Street occupying Broadway's Zuccotti Park. Full to the brim with peaceful folk chatting, sometimes chanting, mostly shy to talk to cameras, the park was peopled with, no, not the professional, seasoned demonstrators of the sixties, but rather their peaceful children and grandchildren, who are living an injustice, an inequity, and want it corrected. 

Despite the peaceful character of the Occupy Wall Street sit-in, there was a phalanx of police vehicles parked along Liberty Street, protecting One Liberty Plaza, home to Nasdaq and numerous international banks.  As well, there were a dozen foot patrol wandering along the perimeter of Zuccotti Park (seemingly there to protect the demonstrators).

Marash Girl stopped to talk to one of the Occupy Wall Street demonstrators. He was not eloquent, but he made his point. Marash Girl asked the young man from Minneapolis, Minnesota, why he was there, and he said that he was there to call attention to the injustice of Wall Street's billions while growing numbers of Americans had no work, to the injustice of allowing greed to destroy the once vibrant economy of the United States.  When Marash Girl asked him whether he had a solution to the problem, he said that he was there to create awareness; that awareness had to come before a solution. 

Marash Girl had arrived at the site several hours after the down pour which had not dampened the spirits of the sitters.  The Occupy Wall Street participants were humble, concerned, and quiet.  But not all.  Upon interviewing an employee of Nasdaq, Marash Girl learned that Nasdaq had locked off the once open entrance to their building bordering the park after an attempt to enter by Occupy Wall Street, and had apparently experienced two attempts to break into their  computer network; fortunately for all (including the peaceful Occupy Wall Street demonstrators), the attempted internet invasion was discovered and destroyed before it entered the Nasdaq system.  Perhaps this attempt had nothing to do with the demonstrators, but was done by Wall Street supporters to discredit the sit-in for discrediting them!

Today, returning after a long day's work, Marash Girl met a young man on the elevator, a student at NYU, who said that the police had just been in his classroom recommending that students stay away from the protest, as there would be arrests made and the New York City police did not want to have to arrest NYU students.  Tired and hot from a long day's work, presumably on Wall Street, the only other occupant of the elevator commented, "What the hell!  We're just trying to make a living!"  Marash Girl has to assume that her awareness had not yet been raised.

Photos by Marash Girl

     

Lorig Charkoudian Builds Community With Churtma!

Lorig Charkoudian and her husband Matt Rogers with their children Raffi (left) and Aline
Photo Credit:  http://www.LorigCharkoudian.com

Recently, an article appeared in the Armenian Mirror Spectator announcing the candidacy of Lorig Charkoudian for City Council, Takoma Park, MD.  In the article, Lorig  credits her Armenian upbringing for her appreciation of the power of food as an economic engine and community builder. "I grew up eating the churtmah, merjumek, dolma, tabouli, and babaganoush that my grandmothers and mother made from food grown in their gardens.  It fed the community and our souls and it was good for our bodies and the environment."  Soon after the article appeared in print, a reader  from New Mexico tried to make contact. Thinking for sure that the reader was interested in her political stance, Lorig emailed back immediately.  Did the reader need to know more about her position on micro-enterprises? on feeding community?  on the environment?  No.  It was the recipe for churtma that the reader sought.  She wrote, " I looked in all my cookbooks and found no mention of churtma!"  And so here it is, by popular demand. . . Thus, one more time, humble churtma builds community -- this time across the country!

Churtma may be made with zucchini, or yellow summer squash, or a combination of the two.  Select fresh summer squash that are no more than two inches in diameter.  Before preparing the squash, peel and chop one large yellow onion.  Place the chopped onion in a heavy (cast iron) pot, if possible, with about a quarter of a cup of olive oil and set on the stove to simmer.  While the onion is cooking, rinse the squash in clear cold water, rubbing to make sure all soil is removed, trim off the ends, and slice the summer squash into rounds approximately 1/8 to 1/4 inch thick.  Place the sliced summer squash in the same pot and stir gently; simmer with the onions, stirring occasionally, for about 15 minutes or longer, depending on whether you want the squash to be slightly crunchy or very soft.  (Marash Girl usually brings the covered pot to a boil and turns it off, letting the squash cook in the iron pot for about 1/2 hour.) Add kosher salt, freshly ground pepper, and Aintab red pepper.

You may serve the squash as a side dish, or the churtma may become a meal by simply making little hollows in the surface of the cooked vegetables while still in the pot on the stove, and dropping eggs into the hollows to poach for the next five minutes.  Absolutely delicious for Saturday night supper, especially with slices of freshly baked bread!

N.B. Marash Girl has to admit that she used to hate churtma, and never quite knew why until, as an adult, she realized that her mother would make churtma using only the insides of the zucchini to make the churtma, the inside which was removed from the zucchini in order to prepare the hull of the zucchini for making dolma.  The results were very bland and very mushy so Marash Girl cannot recommend that style of churtma, even though, traditionally, it was often made that way.

Ladybugs, Welcome!

And while we're on the subject of insects, let's talk about the beautiful Ladybug -- another blessing from the insect world.  It's considered good luck if the little Ladybug (in New England they're orange with black polka dots) lands on your person. When we were little, we would have to chant the following nursery rhyme before we blew the Ladybug off:  Ladybug, Ladybug, Fly away home.  Your house is on fire, Your children are gone.  We always felt sad that the beautiful Ladybug had such a sorrowful situation to return to, though I don't think we ever really believed the nursery rhyme.

Ladybugs eat aphids, so folks with gardens and orchards (such as we were) welcomed the presence of the beautiful tiny orange beetle with black polka dots. According to the National Geographic, "Ladybugs lay hundreds of eggs in the colonies of aphids and other plant-eating pests. When they hatch, the ladybug larvae immediately begin to feed. By the end of its three-to-six-week life, a ladybug may eat some 5,000 aphids."

That may help us understand why, in a society that was once agrarian,  a Ladybug's landing is always considered good luck.

On Spiders, Armenia, & Mohammed

Marash Girl had always been told never to hurt a spider, that spiders are good, that they trap and eat flies and mosquitos. Thus, she never destroyed a spider or a spider's web and rather saw the spider's web as a work of art.  If a spider happened to saunter into her city house, she would simply pick it up and put it outside where it belonged; if it wandered into the cabin in Wilbraham, she let it stay, unmolested, to feast on all the other insects that made their way through the eaves of the summer cottage.

Marash Girl knew the reason spiders were protected, and when her friend Mariam related that in Armenia, folks never hurt spiders, she assumed that Mariam knew the reason, but Mariam did not.  And so, as a dutiful friend, Marash Girl shared the apocryphal tale of Mohammed, who when fleeing from his enemies, hid in a cave.  The enemies, happening upon the cave some time later, assumed that Mohammed could not be hiding there, as there was a spider's web covering the entire entrance to the cave.  The enemies passed by, and Mohammed was saved from certain death, as was the spinner of the web, the spider who forever after would never again be harmed by the peoples of the Near East.

I wonder if E. B. White knew of this story when he wrote CHARLOTTE'S WEB?

Yellow Summer Squash, East Longmeadow Style

And while we're on the subject of  beautiful yellow summer squash (see yesterday's post),allow Marash Girl to share a recipe, or rather a way of preparing the summer squash that she learned when she was visiting the home of Marash Boy's best friend in East Longmeadow, Massachusetts.  The dish was prepared as we visited.

Pick fresh unblemished summer squash (from your garden, if possible) while they are still young and no more than 1 to 2 inches in diameter. Trim off the ends of the squash. Wash and thinly slice.  Arrange the slices slightly overlapping in parallel rows on a metal baking tray.   Lightly sprinkle grated parmesan or cheddar cheese over the squash.  Grate a yellow onion and sprinkle that over the cheese.  Broil the squash under your oven's broiler for about five minutes.  Keep a close watch to make sure the arrangement does not burn! Serve immediately as an hors d'oeuvres or as a side dish.  The squash should be hot and softened but still slightly crispy.

Lots more uses for summer squash in the Armenian cuisine.  Add to soups, salads (if really fresh), hollow out for Dolma, slice for Churtma & chop for Tava.  (For those of you who don't know how, Marash Girl promises recipes for dolma, churtma & tava in future blogs!  For now you can freeze the hollowed out yellow squash for dolma, sliced summer squash for churtma, and squash chopped in chunks for tava until Marash Girl shares those secret family recipes.)

Bicycles, Summer Squash, & The Old Colony Rail Trail, Chatham, Massachusetts

All over the Cape (or Cape Cod, Massachusetts, as most folks know it), railroad tracks have been converted to dirt paths in the piney woods, and finally tarred 'bicycle paths'/pedestrian walkways where bicycles have the right of way, and folks can safely bike across the Cape, enjoying the scenery without fighting the clogged streets of summer.  Now that it's fall, Marash Girl decided it was time to take her chances with the bicycles, fewer in number because of the season, and  walk along the Old Colony Rail Trail in Chatham, Massachusetts.  It was a typical Chatham Day, slightly overcast, slightly foggy, with the warmth of summer still hovering..

The path, ( looking more like the Route 20 in Marash Girl's childhood,) was safe for bicycles (no spills because of unseen boulders, no imminent collisions with unaware motorists), was no longer the dirt path in the woods she remembered from ten years ago.  But it was still a  path, and it still allowed a moment of respite from the hustle bustle of the world beyond the trail.  And look, some bicycles have actually reclaimed (on the left)  dirt for a path going up the hill to the left.  Marash Girl walked by this very spot yesterday and spying what appeared to be a squash plant, she walked along the path to the top of the hill and found a plant in full bloom with a baby yellow summer squash just beginning to form.  Marash Girl was delighted to find this plant in the 'wilds of Chatham', (a plant which typically grows only in a cultivated garden), a plant which had survived on the side of a well-travelled (as it were) road.  The wonder of this plant blooming and bearing fruit -- by the graces of the wind? of a bird? of a coyote's fur? of a bicycle rider's clothing?  Whatever it was, it was exciting and a miracle.  She resolved to come back with her camera the next day to photograph the beautiful baby squash.

But when she returned with her camera, and walked up the dirt path to the top of the hill, she found a mangled baby summer squash (see above left) and the plant itself struggling to regain its hold on life.  A bicycle (tire marks to prove it) had taken a fun 'side trip' off of the tarred Rail Trail, and destroyed the infant squash  (the cyclist probably had never seen a squash plant before, much less paid attention to the flora that surrounded him, or if s/he had, s/he was riding too fast to notice).  Marash Girl was saddened by the loss, and by the ignorance that speed and separation from the earth creates.

Marash Girl took heart when she spied, hiding a little farther back in the woods, a fresh summer squash flowering, waiting to grow into adulthood!

New England Fish Chowder

As autumn commences, and cool weather threatens to settle in, the thought of fish chowder is a comforting one.  If you have in your larder potatoes, onions, celery with leaves, thyme, butter, and milk in your refrigerator, you have all you need (except for the fish, of course) to make a tasty chowder.  Marash Girl remembers the first time she tasted fish chowder in the kitchen of a fourth floor walk up in the North End of Boston; her friend Nancy Donovan had, in fact, prepared the fish chowder that day. Marash Girl has made Nancy Donovan's fish chowder many times since, and it always tastes as yummy as the first time Nancy served it to her. Here's Marash Girl's recipe (a slight adaptation of Nancy's).

Melt butter with a bit of olive oil (so the butter won't burn) in a heavy cast iron pot (or the heaviest pot you have).  Saute chopped onions, chopped celery (including the leaves), thyme (fresh or dried), chopped potatoes (with or without skin).  When these have softened, add cubed (white) filet of fish to the pot, (fresh or frozen -- a mixture of fishes makes for a more interesting chowder), stir gently until fish is flaky. Sautee for a few more minutes in butter (add more if need be).   If you like your chowder thick, add white flour to the mixture after the potatoes have softened, and stir until thickened.  Now add whole milk slowly, stirring as you bring the milk to a simmer. Do not boil.  Add salt & pepper to taste. Your fish chowder is ready to serve! 

Note of warning!  When buying your fish fresh, ask the grocer to let you smell the fish first! If not, you may be smelling old fish throughout your house for a full week after you make the chowder!  In any case, even when fresh, rinse the fish well in cold water before chopping and adding it to the chowder.

Once Upon a Time in Brighton, Massachusetts

Once upon a time, in Brighton, Massachusetts, there lived a girl whose name was Ann-Louise. She was a beautiful and good girl.  She loved her mother and her father.  She loved her brother Fred.  She loved her friends.  And she loved mankind.

One day, Ann-Louise was walking along a street which had been newly decorated by the King, decorated with parking meters.   The meters were meant to force the people of Brighton to share.  Ann-Louise already knew how to share.  She understood the injustice of it all.  One day, she noticed a Meter Maid walking behind her, a mean and sulky woman dressed in the uniform that the King had issued, a Meter Maid ticketing the cars of the innocent citizens of Brighton, citizens who were unable or unwilling to adjust to this new system of taxation.

Ann-Louise did not have a lot, but she did have pennies.  And so she ran ahead of the Meter Maid, dropping pennies into the slots of the parking meters that bordered the cars about to be ticketed by the Meter Maid.  In reality, young Ann-Louise had risked her safety in the face of the Meter Maid for the well-being of the citizens of Brighton.  Her valorous action was never recognized, except by Marash Girl, who was witness to her bravery and generosity.

Ann-Louise, all these years later, Marash Girl toasts you for your courageous actions on behalf of the citizens of our Commonwealth.

Some Thoughts on Big Wheels

Walking around the track at the 'Y' today, Marash Girl remembered her father's laughing definition:  He who walks in circles shall be called a 'Big Wheel'.

Going to Freedictionary.com, Marash Girl read their definition of big wheel: "An important or influential person. In use since 1950, this term is thought to have come from the mechanics’ expression to roll a big wheel; ‘to be powerful or important.'"

What that dictionary doesn't mention is that this expression was used, at least in the fifties, in a derogatory manner, as in, "He thinks he's a big wheel!"

Marash Girl's father was amused by folks who thought they were important.
(see post on Robert Burns poem, A Man's A Man For A' That)

He joked about people who prided themselves on "travelling in the right circles", circles of folks who had money and were too proud of it.   Peter often reminded us of the woman who told her son, "Dghas, park the car in front of the church so everyone can see that we drive a Cadillac!"

But by the late 1960's, things had changed.  Big Wheels were simply tricycles that little kids could ride!

Armenian Coffee with Salt?

All her life Marash Girl had heard the story of Auntie Gulenia and the Armenian Coffee.  As Peter told the story, one day a young man came courting Gulenia (Peter's oldest sister). Upon his arrival, the suitor was ushered into the living room by Gulenia's family while Gulenia dutifully went into the kitchen to prepare Armenian coffee for everyone.  She prepared the coffee in the traditional manner, in a jezveh, bringing the coffee to a boil three times before pouring it into the demi-tasse cups, making sure each cup had just the right amount of froth on the top.  Ceremoniously, she carried the tray of cups full of coffee into the living room where she served each guest and family member.

As the family and guests sat around sipping their coffee, the young man who had come courting took a sip of his coffee, looked around confused, took another sip, looked around confused, took another sip. Everyone else seemed to be very happy with their demi-tasse of Armenian coffee.  All but the man who had come courting, who, after one last sip, got up and left without a word.

It seems that inadvertently, Auntie Gulenia had poured coffee into the one demi-tasse cup that held the salt (every Armenian kitchen had a demitasse cup full of salt sitting on the stove) and again, inadvertently, she had given that cup to her suitor.  

All these years, Peter had made it seem that the salt in the coffee was an accident.  It was only recently that Marash Girl learned that the test for every potential Armenian bride by her future Armenian husband is the way in which she makes and serves Armenian demi-tasse coffee.  Interestingly enough, some brides have been known to switch salt for sugar when brewing in order to create an undrinkable cup of Armenian Coffee, in an effort to avoid an unthinkable marriage.  Was that Auntie Gulenia's ploy?  We'll never know!

This salty tradition has become an institutionalized joke in Turkey, where today at engagement parties, the fiancee puts salt in the coffee which she serves to her future husband!

Recipe for Armenian Coffee

Ingredients (depending on the size of the jezveh):

• 2 cups cold water
• 2 tablespoons of extra finely freshly ground (almost powdered) Armenian coffee (available at Middle Eastern Stores)
• 2 tablespoons (or less) sugar
•  NO salt (unless you want to chase away a potential suitor)

In a jezveh, bring water and sugar to a boil in ibrik.  Add coffee and stir. Put jezveh back over the flame and bring to a boil, remove from heat, bring to a boil, remove from heat, bring to a boil (three times in all).  Avoid stirring as this will cause the foam to dissipate.

Pour into demitasse cups, a little at a time (a bit in the first cup, a bit in the second cup, a bit in the third cup, etc.), making sure each cup has equal amounts of coffee and equal amounts of foam, unless you want to 'dis' someone that you are serving by giving them very little foam.

When folks are finished drinking their coffee, and only the sludge is left at the bottom, they should turn the cup toward them, upside down onto the saucer, leaving it for several minutes.  If there is an old Armenian lady in the room, she is sure to be able to read your fortune in the pattern of coffee left on the insides of your cup.

N.B.  The incident Peter related occurred in the 1930's in Newtonville, Massachusetts; Gulenia, who was born in Marash, married the man she loved,  an Aintabtsi. She is still living at 106 years old in Pasadena, California!

Guava: The Heart of the Matter

Guava in Marash Girl's Kitchen. Photo Credit: Marash Girl

Marash Girl had never seen guava before; sure, she had drunk its wonderful nectar (heavily sweetened by Goya), but there her knowledge of guava ended.  Until one day, she saw some odd looking green vegetables/fruits at the greengrocer's (no identification visible) and decided to purchase them.  Setting them aside on the kitchen table to wonder about, she promptly forgot about them until later that afternoon, when Irene, once Peter's caregiver, now a close family member, arrived for a visit.  (Actually the visit occurred on the day the tornado hit Wilbraham, June 1, but luckily Irene and Marash Girl and the guava were NOT in Wilbraham!) 

Marash Girl invited Irene (who, by the way, is from Uganda,) into the kitchen for a late afternoon snack.  Immediately  after we settled in, Irene eyed the unidentified green fruit on the kitchen table and exclaimed, "Where did you get these?" 

"What are they?" Marash Girl queried.  

"They're guava, and when I see them, they bring back my childhood in Uganda!  You know the way Peter stole apples (see Marash Girl's post on Boursalu Mari), we stole guava and mangos.  I haven't seen one since I've been in this country!  Cut in half, if you're lucky, the seeds form a heart."  

(The one we cut in half that day DID form a heart, but the recently purchased guava pictured here were heartless; they must have known that Marash Girl needed the photo for this blog!)

"We eat the guava, seeds and all - no peeling.  They're slightly tart as if lime has been squeezed over them, and crisp like an apple.  And I love them!"

CELEBRATING HUMANITY: THE YOUSUF KARSH EXHIBIT, ARMENIAN LIBRARY AND MUSEUM OF AMERICA

Yervant Chekijian (right) poses next to his favorite Karsh  photograph,  famous Armenian composer Aram Khachatourian.  

Karsh photograph of Martin Luther King hangs on the wall to the far right.

Photo Credit: Marash Girl

At the ALMA banquet celebrating the opening of the new permanent installation of 50 photographs by the celebrated photographer Yousuf Karsh, Jerry Fielder spoke of his early

experiences working with Karsh. When Karsh (during a photography shoot), asked Fielder to bring him a lampshade, Fielder brought Karsh the shade, but was surprised to see Karsh's disappointment.  Fielder, nonplussed, questioned Karsh, who answered, "Don't give me what I ask for; give me what I want!"   

Jerry Fielder talking with Levon Charkoudian at the opening of the Yousuf Karsh Exhibit, CELEBRATING HUMANITY.  Photo Credit: Marash Girl

The Winston Churchill photo elicited another favorite story. Apparently preparing for the photo shoot, Karsh asked Churchill to remove his cigar; Churchill did not.  Just before he photographed Churchill, Karsh walked up to the cigar and forcibly removed it from between Churchill's lips. Returning to his camera, Karsh took the photograph of Winston Churchill that now graces the walls of ALMA's galleries.

Fielder noted, "Karsh looked for the truth and drew it from his subjects in order to share that truth with us." 

Haig derManuelian (left) and Estrellita Karsh cutting the ribbon to open the Karsh exhibit at the Armenian Library & Museum of America. Photo Credit:  Marash Girl

PREPARING THE YOUSUF KARSH EXHIBIT, ARMENIAN LIBRARY AND MUSEUM OF AMERICA

 Eulogio Guzman, Professor in the Visual and Critical Studies Department at the Museum School, Tufts University, lines a plinth in preparation for mounting an ancient piece of Armenian needlework to be on display at the Armenian Library And Museum of America.

This past Saturday afternoon, final preparations were in progress for the opening of the new exhibition of 50 original Yousuf Karsh photographs, a gift to ALMA from Karsh's wife Estrellita, a permanent installation at the Armenian Library and Museum of America (housed in the Benjamin Thompson designed structure in Watertown Square, Watertown, Massachusetts).  A stellar cast including Eulogio Guzman, Professor in the Visual and Critical Studies Department at the Museum School, Tufts University, Keith Crippen, head designer of the Boston Museum of Fine Art's new wing, and Jennifer Munson,  Senior Exhibition Graphic Designer at Boston's Museum of Fine Arts, joined Michele Kolligian, Bob Khederian and Gary Lind-Sinanian in putting the finishing touches on the elegantly quartered exhibition.  A private reception for the viewing of the newly installed Karsh exhibit was held at the Armenian Library and Museum of America on Saturday evening, Sept. 17,  for patrons and members.

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Keith Crippen, (right), head designer of the Boston Museum of Fine Art's new wing, measures a wall at the Armenian Library and Museum of America in preparation for mounting a text panel.  An ancient Armenian vessel is on the table to his right.

Jennifer Munson, (left), Senior Exhibition Graphic Designer at Boston's Museum of Fine Arts, sharpens the text on a panel describing the Highlights of the Collection being exhibited along with the Yousuf Karsh photographs.

 

Michele Kolligian, Gala Chair, Trustee & Executive Council Member at the Armenian Library and Museum of America, readies a plastic case that will protect Armenian antiquities.  In the background can be seen on display a rare 19th Century Armenian carpet.

Photo Credits for above photos: Marash Girl

The Perfect Wife

And while we're on the topic of teeth (see yesterday's blog below), let me share with you a favorite (old country) story of my father's. It went like this.

I knew a man in Marash who was married to a woman, a woman who took endless trips to the dentist.  The man complained constantly that he was spending all his money paying for the dentist to pull one or another of his wife's rotting teeth.  So after she died (could her death have been caused by an unpulled rotting tooth?), the man decided that this time when he chose a wife, he would look for a woman with perfect teeth.  [Now this man must have been Armenian, since Turkish men were not allowed to see the faces of their wives before marrying.]  Hunt as he might, he could not find a single woman with perfect teeth, until one day he did.  He was thrilled.  He immediately arranged the marriage and soon it was their wedding night.  He was happily ensconced in bed with his new wife when suddenly he heard a crash.  Startled, he called out, "What was that?"  "Oh, dear," cried his new wife.  "My false teeth just fell to the ground and shattered!"

DOES THE TOOTH FAIRY PRACTICE AGE DISCRIMINATION?

I lost a tooth today, a tooth that cannot be replaced or repaired; the problem is that the tooth is more than 40 years old, and even the dentist didn't want it.  Maybe the tooth fairy will!   I'm going to place it under my pillow tonight in hopes that the tooth fairy can recycle it and leave me a surprise the way she used to.  Here's hoping!