If you had asked me, say, when I was in high school whether I would ever have a connection to Albania, I would have answered confidently that I wouldn’t. Ahh high school,  the age of misguided confidence.

It turned out that through some friends of a friend, that I would meet an Albanian guy with whom I went on a few dates. Now, it is a long time ago, and my memories of this brief time have mostly evaporated, but it is the first thing that I think about when I think about Albania. All that I remember is that this guy carried a noticeable amount of cash, he painted water towers for a living, he was a Catholic, and he got really upset with me when I made alternative plans when he never firmed up tentative ones with me. That, and  I liked the way that he said Albania.

Had I been as interested in food then as I am now, it is likely that I would have attempted to cook an Albanian meal for him, not understanding that I would have been aiming, in a way, to understand where he came from. Less experienced in the kitchen, I wouldn’t have done a great job. Awkwardness would have ensued, which is ultimately what happened anyway.

When I looked into Albanian food, I read that there is little food culture associated with Albania. Yet, I read that “Albanian cuisine reflects a mixture of influences from the Turkish, Balkan, and European cuisine.” There were particular dishes that came up a few times on all of the websites I consulted. I decided to make stuffed eggplant,  a vegetable pie, and chicken with walnut sauce.

My beau fully endorsed this food with a, “You can make any of that any time!”

I think that one of the things that I am learning from these cooking adventures is different ways to approach ingredients. Through this experiment, I cooked some things that I would have never before made, and slayed my irrational fear of working with filo dough. It is likely that I will make spinach pie in the future. Maybe I’ll make the eggplant again sometime, too. I probably won’t make the chicken, but will remember the sauce. I bet one could make something similar using pistachios.

Overall, I would call Albanian Adventures a success.

Recently, I said to my guy that I think that it would be cool to go through list of countries and cook food from each of these countries, in alphabetical order. He did not look at me like I am from a different planet. I love that man.

Anyway, it seemed to me like this might be a way to indulge a few things that make me happy like cooking, trying new things, and doing a little research. This isn’t the kind of project I think will happen in a year, but a more long-term thing.

Part of the point of this exercise is to think about what comes to mind when I think of different places in the world. I’ve never, clearly, been to Afghanistan, nor have I wanted to go, nor have I had any particular interest in the place, but thinking about trying to cook some Afghan food made me realize that, yes, there are things that come up when I open my mental Afghanistan file.

Of course, the war in Afghanistan comes to mind. Taliban is probably the second word that just pops up in my mind. The Kite Runner is right up there. Then I think I’m done until I remember that there is a group called the  Afghan Whigs. There is the famous National Geographic photo of a young afghan girl taken in Pakistan. And finally, I think about an article I read somewhat recently about opium, again, from National Geographic.

There is something about this, that both of the pair of things that I read come from National Geographic that stands out here. I don’t know just what I feel about it.  Maybe it’s just that there’s something about National Geographic that feels intrusively voyeuristic to me. How is it, though, that we are to learn about the world that is outside of our own? Here, I have decided to try to learn something about the world through cooking food that originates or is inspired by places around the globe.

Of the first things I needed to learn was the proper way to refer to food from this region. How humbling it is to start a project confronted with the knowledge that I didn’t know the answer to the afghan v. afghani question. So, I looked it up. Then I learned that the answer is afghan.

As a part of Project Afghanistan, I decided to make Chicken Kabuli Pulao, Potato Slices with Chutney, and for dessert Cardamom Pistachio Fudge.

Naturally, when trying this food, I was reduced to comparing this to food with which I was already familiar.  I was reminded of a Pakistani biryani, I recently made when I made the main dish. The other thing that I noticed right away was that linguistically, the word pulao reminded me of the word pelau. I am familiar with pelau as a West Indian rice dish. I decided to investigate further, reaching for my handy The New Food Lover’s Companion after I found a pretty bare bones Wikipedia  article on the topic. However, the food companion didn’t lead me to a straight answer. Then I found this, and concluded that pilaf, pelau, pilau, pulau, etc. are all cousins.

This food was simultaneous like and  unlike other foods I’m familiar with. I was reminded of Indian food, but have eaten nothing that tastes exactly like this in an Indian restaurant except the chutney that went with the potatoes. That very much reminded me of the chutneys  I can’t get enough of when I go to eat Indian food. Then I think to myself that I should make some, then I never do. Projects make you grow, people!

Finally, there was the fudge. I am not sure that I executed this recipe properly. My fudge appeared to set up nicely, however, it was very messy when I tried to cut it into squares. This triggered a food memory as well. It made me think of the pecan candy that my Louisiana grandma  (well, both of them are Louisiana grandmas…) used to make. I think that it is the combination of the sugar and nuts that made me think of her pralines. That was an interesting experience, making food from an unfamiliar part of the world to ultimately finish it reminded of my own grandma.

Trying new things can be funny like that.

I look forward to seeing what Albania has to teach me.

It started off so normal, this popcorn thing: me, an air popper and some kernels.

I had seen a recipe for Kool-Aid flavored popcorn several years ago. We’re talking pre-motherhood here, and had been meaning to make it.

The thing is that most of the things that I mentally tagged back then are not things that I would tag now. Nevertheless, I asked Alex whether he wanted to make fruity popcorn and the stage was set.

It was set alright, for an experience.

Exhibit A: This would be my nonstick pot full of goop, aka sugar and corn syrup.

Exhibit B: This would be what happened when fruit punch Kool-Aid was added to the mix.

Exhibit C: The finished product.

This was disgusting, according to the mom-mouth.

However, to the boy-mouth, this was bliss. A carnival? He loves this and keeps stealing off to the kitchen to grab a handful here and and there. This alone makes me glad that I made it. It’s not just crunchy nastiness, it’s a memory.

I suppose that I could have named this post “Even More Bread.”

Anyway, last week I came across the recipe for Spicy Garlic Bread. I knew that I would make it.

See, I like to make bread, and now that I make it regularly, I dislike buying it. I also have a great guy in my life who likes my bread and sometimes shares bread with his mom.

I was in the grocery store with said guy, when I saw a handsome bunch of basil. He and my son and I had just spent the day together having done an errand, visited the DIA and perusing Eastern Market. I was feeling particularly close to him, so I wanted to bake his mother some bread. This is most certainly not a euphemism.

I  have done enough baking that I have a good idea of when it is okay to make variations and when it isn’t. So, in this case I added half of the basil I had spied in the store, and some re-hydrated sun-dried tomatoes.

I made a variation of it for my guy and his mother. However, Alex spied the bread. And when he saw me packing it up,  he became distinctly, well, whiny.

But like I said, bread is easy! So I promised him I’d make him one. And I did, but I love trying new things when I’m cooking, and the idea of making exactly the same bread on the same day darn near made me burst into hives.

So, Alex’s loaf had different mix-ins: the rest of the basil, garlic, sun-dried tomato, chopped kalamata olives, and parmesan cheese.
Also, I mixed in this South African spice blend from Trader Joe.

When I asked him what he wanted to have for dinner earlier, he said, definitively, “that bread.”

You see, the little guy is getting old enough that he sees the big guy as competition of sorts. Alex wanted to make sure that if the beau got bread that he, the boy, got bread. It’s all good, Alex’ll see that he has nothing to worry about.

But when I asked him what he wanted to eat with the bread, he only answered, “cheese.”

As much as I love bread and cheese: bread + cheese ≠ a meal.

But,  if it’s the way to make my little guy feel secure, I’m with it. Even if he didn’t yet touch a slice, and even if he seemed to have dismissed the idea of bread once he knew I was making it.