Even though I was not allowed to listen to Pandora during my recent shot in the neck, the Pandora in my head provided a soundtrack. Lying on my stomach, held tilted down, arms immobilized underneath me, all I could think about, as the doctor drew an X to mark the spot where he would inject me (perilously close to my spinal cord), was the Neil Young song “The Needle and the Damage Done.”
Luckily, the Pandora in my doctor’s head must have been playing Pat Benatar. He hit me with his best shot and I am grateful.
Scheduling the shot had been tricky. The doctors warned me I might feel some “discomfort” afterwards and would likely be uncomfortable for a day or two, but everyone stressed the urgency of getting it done. So I ended up having the procedure just hours before I was supposed to attend an Egyptian cooking class at The Pantry at Delancey.
I told you how much I admired journalist Annia Ciezadlo for dodging gunfire in Beirut to make sure the pasta wasn’t overcooked. Discomfort or no discomfort, there was no way I was missing this class.
Words can’t begin to describe what a wonderful antidote it was to the clinical procedure I had endured. If people resemble food, then teacher Sureyya Gokeri is the best bowl of sweet, spicy noodles you’ve ever tasted.
When we arrived, we were greeted with a comforting cup of sahlab, the warm, cardamom-infused “intimacy drink,” that is sold by street vendors during Middle Eastern winters. It’s normally thickened with the starchy ground bulb of an orchid ground to powder form, but Sureyya taught us to make a version using cornstarch.
Here are some other highlights from the class:
And, my favorite new must-have kitchen item:
The next morning, I felt more than a little “discomfort,” but had a raging craving for Parsi Eggs, courtesy of Madhur Jaffrey, who, along with Claudia Roden, is one of my favorite cookbook authors. And as the day wore on, and my headache and neckache intensified, I remembered Sureyya’s sahlab. I happened to have a box of the instant stuff.
Though not as good as the real deal, it made me feel better.
I spent the rest of that blustery Seattle weekend in bed reading Ann Patchett‘s State of Wonder. Thanks to the pain I was in, and the altered state brought about by my pain medication, I was able to intensely connect with this tale of intrigue in the Amazonian jungle. Without my contact lenses in, I could even pretend that the raccoon cavorting in my next door neighbor’s tree was really a sloth.
When my mother was dying, I made big pots of congee, which sustained us whenever we could manage to eat. The Thanksgiving that everyone (except me) had the stomach flu, I soothed them with bowls of chicken donburi.
We eat pho and Armenian Chicken Soup when we have colds, and Marcella Hazan’s famous tomato sauce with onions and butter over pasta when life gets to be too much.
Every culture has its version of comfort food and I’m sure I’ve just scratched the surface.
I would love to hear about your favorites.
Sometimes words can be as comforting as food, and sharing stories can be particularly nourishing. Seattle friends, take note: On Tuesday, March 20, I will be participating in the inaugural Ballard Spoken Word Live Storytelling Event.
I’m honored to share the stage with my fellow Ballard Writers Collective authors Joshua McNichols, Ingrid Ricks, Peggy Sturdivant and Jay Craig. They will share ghost stories, tales of love and unexpected friends lost and found, a new way of seeing and a new take on religion. I’ll be sharing my parenting philosophy: “The Battle Hymn of the Jersey Mother.”
The next morning, I’m having my second epidural steroid shot.
When my fellow performers express concerns about stage fright, I’m able to share this perspective about performing without notes in front of a live audience:
“It’s better than a poke in the neck with a sharp needle.”
Here’s how I’ll be finding comfort afterwards:
makes 4-6 servings
2 T cornstarch
1/2 cup water
4 cups milk
3 T sugar
1/2 t ground cardamom or 2 broken cardamom seeds
1/2 t vanilla or to taste
Claudia Roden’s recipe includes an optional 2 t of rose or orange flower water. Sureyya mentions vanilla later in the recipe, but the copy I have neglects to give the amount in the ingredients list.
1 t ground cinnamon
1 t nutmeg
2 T chopped pistachios
1 T unsweetened, shredded coconut
Combine cornstarch and 1/2 c water in a small bowl and stir well. Add milk to a saucepan or Dutch oven over low heat. Stir in cornstarch mixture before milk warms, stirring vigorously to prevent lumps. Cook over very low heat, stirring continuously, until milk thickens (approximately 10 minutes). Then, stir in sugar, cardamom, rose or orange blossom water and/or vanilla. Increase heat and let boil for two minutes.
Serve hot or warm in coffee cups. Sureyya, who is originally from Turkey, says her mother refrigerates this and the family eats it like a pudding.
Parsi Spicy Scrambled Eggs (Ekoori)
(from Madhur Jaffrey’s Indian Cooking) Serves 4
3 T unsalted butter or vegetable oil or ghee
1 small onion, peeled and finely chopped
1/2 t peeled, finey grated ginger
1/2-1 fresh, hot green chili, finely chopped
1 T finely chopped cilanto
1/8 t ground turmeric
1/2 t ground cumin
1 small tomato, peeled and chopped
6 large eggs, lightly beaten
salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
Melt the butter over medium heat in a medium-sized, non-stick frying pan. Saute onion until soft. Add ginger, chili, cilantro, turmeric, cumin and tomato. Cook for 3-4 minutes until tomatoes are soft. Pour in beaten eggs. Salt and pepper lightly and scramble to desired consistency.
These meals look so scrumptious, I can see how they might make you momentarily forget about the neck-stabbing pain. Here’s hoping you enjoy quick healing and slow meals.
Ful (or any other version of fava beans) and muhammara are house favorites. The latter stands on its own (ok, you need pita bread to help make it to your mouth), but you can make a killer dish by slathering a chicken with muhammara and then roasting it (hmm… future blog post). Sounds like a great class. Claudia Roden is a god. Hope the shot fulfills all you neck wishes. Ken
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