a sign of spring

Or at least a sign that the anniversary of Our Lord Jesus Christ's resurrection from the dead is just around the corner: my Greek stepmother's koulouria, delicious little biscuit-like cookies that have something, I have no idea what, to do with Easter.


(I just realized that Jesus was a zombie; I also realized that, in spite of the fact that I attended Catholic church every Sunday growing up and went weekly to CCD, I cannot for the life of me recall what Jesus did after he rose from the dead—I'm assuming he didn't eat anyone's brains [I'd definitely remember that]; MAYBE HE ATE KOULOURIA?!?)

the final frontier, & also easter

The yachtsman just had this conversation with himself while I stared at a blank bl*g post: "What are you doing? Writing a bl*g? About the space shuttle liftoff? There're more women in space than ever. More Japanese in space than ever. You know what that means: It means hamachi in space."

Yesterday was Easter. Jesus rose from the dead, and I rose from the couch and went to my Greek stepmom's. This year the cupcakes (aka the sin that Jesus died for) were made by Mojie.

Photo by Mojie.

You can read about last Easter and find the world's best spanakopita recipe here.

After a long diatribe about hitching a ride with the Russkies after the space shuttle program ends ("It's like taking the bus"; "That's not how we roll"; "I don't even think they have bathrooms"; "Do you know what the Russkies eat in space?"), the yachtsman emailed me this photo. "For your bl*g," he said.

christos anesti!

I am not at all religious, but I love Easter, thanks to that Greek stepmother of mine. And yesterday was not as much about one religion -- there were Christians, Jews, lots and lots of atheists, a Muslim and a witch up in the hizzouse -- as it was about love and food.

Or as the martini-drinkin' deacon so eloquently put it, "Easter is a time of letting parts of us die and new parts emerge. What we let go of, hopefully, is our fear and terror that feed oppression and hopelessness and what we replace it with is hope and the ability to imagine and work for a world of justice, inclusion, and hope."

The martini-drinkin' deacon


My losing red egg


Handsome gentlemen in Easter ties


Curried salmon with fresh mangos & purdy flowers


Spanakopita


The sin Jesus died for?

Those cupcakes are the best thing that ever happened to me, other than marrying Christ. I mean, Chris. The recipe is here; I'm considering kidnapping the mister who made them and forcing him to be my slave baker, which I'm sure would have Jesus rolling over in his grave. Oh, wait...

And the spanakopita speaks for itself. Seriously; if you make it, it will talk to you, sort of like the burning bush, except more tasty.

The recipe is my Greek stepmother's, of course, and as she put it, "Don't measure anything ... there is nothing exact about this recipe."

Spanakopetes

2 medium onions, finely chopped
¼ c. olive oil
2 packages frozen chopped spinach, thawed, squeezed dry with your hands.
1 pound feta cheese
1 small containers small-curd, whole-milk cottage cheese
6 eggs, beaten with a whisk
1 lb. phyllo dough
clarified butter
a few whacks of fresh parmesan

1. Saute onion in olive oil for about 5 minutes to sweat. Add spinach. Simmer with the onion over a low flame, stirring occasionally, until most of the remaining moisture is evaporated.

2. Crumble feta with your hands into small pieces. Add cottage cheese and parmesan and blend well. Add beaten eggs and mix well. Add spinach mixture and stir to blend.

3. Using a 9 x 13 or 11 x 14 pan (or something close), butter the bottom lightly, add one sheet of phyllo dough, butter lightly, and repeat until you have about 10 layers. Spoon in the filling, place another sheet of phyllo on top, butter lightly, and repeat until you have 10 more sheets. Using a sharp knife, gently cut through the top layers of phyllo lengthwise to whatever size you will want the final squares to be. Bake at 350 (preheated) for about 30 minutes or until brown. Recut lengthwise all the way to the bottom of the pan, and then make horizontal cuts.

You can add dill or mint, and definitely add pepper. Sometimes you will need a little salt, but the feta is usually salty enough. Look for phyllo that is longer and rectangular if you have a choice. If it's frozen when you buy it, leave the phyllo on the counter for a few hours, then refrigerate.

happy easter to me

The woman who made this deliciously salty prosciutto-wrapped asparagus and t0-die-for homemade, raw-milk ricotta is the same woman who opened the back door and screamed, "Fuck IS in the dictionary" into the backyard at Easter eve dinner.

How much do I love my mother-in-law? Let me count the ways.

koulouria

Unless you are lucky enough to have a Greek stepmother (or mother or giagia), you've probably never had koulouria, in which case I feel very sorry for you.


Koulouria (pronounced kuh-LOO-dee-uh) are Greek cookies that my stepmother makes every year a week or so before Easter and delivers to her family (including her brothers, who live in the South and send her the White Lily flower required for baking them). Koulouria are almost indescribable, and extremely delicious, the kind of thing you look forward to all year: somewhere between a cookie and a tea biscuit, koulouria are a little sweet, scented with orange, and sometimes topped with sesame seeds.

If she really, really loves you, my stepmother will make koulouria in the shape of your first initial and instruct you that while you may eat the others now, you must save your initial koulouria for Easter morning (although at the rate Chris and I are eating them, I'm not sure there will be any left by then).


My stepmother will also tell you that koulouria are meant to be dipped in tea or coffee, but I disagree. While a biscotti needs to be dipped in hot liquid because it's hard as a rock, koulouria have a wonderful, slightly crumbly texture and can be eaten alone, with tea, for breakfast, for lunch, while wandering around the kitchen procrastinating doing work, for dessert, before bed, after writing a bl*g post...