"You can make the Pastitso," she said brightly, and then quickly looked away.
"Piece a cake," I said, having boundless confidence in my culinary skills, and falling into the trap. "By the way - what is it?"
"Piece a cake," I said, having boundless confidence in my culinary skills, and falling into the trap. "By the way - what is it?"
Pastitso is a dish that is sort of the Greek version of lasagna, except made with smooth ziti, the spices are different - there's no ricotta and there's... the bechamel sauce (do I hear a harpsichord?) that goes on top. Making a bechamel sauce, I found out, is in difficulty, akin to finding a solution for the Recession. I should have known. If the word looks hard to pronounce, you can bet it ain't gonna be easy to make. Nobody ever whips up foie gras or vichyssoise. Instead, they get whipped by it.
We were due at Sue's between 3:30 and 4:00 pm. I say "we" because my Mommie-dearest was coming with me. She was making the baklava, which is not hard to make - but time consuming. It's been speculated that a pan of baklava takes as long to make as it did Einstein to figure out his theory of relativity. But then again, everything's relative. Which I just mentioned.
So my mom says, "What time are we supposed to be there?" And I say, "Three-thirty, four." And she says, "Why 3:34?"
And I say, "Why - what's wrong with 3:30 - 4:00?"
And she says, "Why 3:34? Why not 3:30 or 4:00 o'clock?"
So my mom says, "What time are we supposed to be there?" And I say, "Three-thirty, four." And she says, "Why 3:34?"
And I say, "Why - what's wrong with 3:30 - 4:00?"
And she says, "Why 3:34? Why not 3:30 or 4:00 o'clock?"
And I say, "That's what I said."
And she says, "Well that's a weird time - 3:34!"
So I explain to her, the misunderstanding and she says, "What time should I pick you up?" And I say, 3:36. She hangs up.
So I explain to her, the misunderstanding and she says, "What time should I pick you up?" And I say, 3:36. She hangs up.
So around 10:30 am, I decide to start the Pastitso. I figure I'll whip through it early and have plenty of time left for rollerblading. I do all my chopping and measuring prep work, lining up all the ingredients, nice and organized in little bowls, and ramekins for the spices, and I feel like hey! I could do a cooking show. Whats' the big deal. Of course, in my show there'd be lots of swearing and drinking.
I start the bechamel sauce. Amonsgt other ingredients, I'm to take 3/4 c butter (which equals about 3 hrs. of urban rebounding) and melt it with 3/4 c flour, in a heavy saucepan. Is there a light saucepan? And if so, why is there prejudice against it? And heavy to whom? Where's the cuttoff weight? And where do you find it? Must I carry a scale with me to Bed, Bath and Beyond next time I go to buy a pan? It's conversations like this that keep me single.
I figured I'd be real smart and get Wondra no-lump gravy flour and use that instead of regular flour. After all, I didn't want my first ever bechamel sauce to look like dumplings. What I didn't factor in is that the Wondra is so pulverized you need to add more of it to equal the regular flour. I did not know this. Until after I added six scalding cups of milk to the flour, butter and six frothy eggs (those things are a biaatchhh to add, as you hope they won't be turning into scrambled eggs) while whisking the whole shmeer within an inch of its life - and it still weren't gettin' any thicker.
I start the bechamel sauce. Amonsgt other ingredients, I'm to take 3/4 c butter (which equals about 3 hrs. of urban rebounding) and melt it with 3/4 c flour, in a heavy saucepan. Is there a light saucepan? And if so, why is there prejudice against it? And heavy to whom? Where's the cuttoff weight? And where do you find it? Must I carry a scale with me to Bed, Bath and Beyond next time I go to buy a pan? It's conversations like this that keep me single.
I figured I'd be real smart and get Wondra no-lump gravy flour and use that instead of regular flour. After all, I didn't want my first ever bechamel sauce to look like dumplings. What I didn't factor in is that the Wondra is so pulverized you need to add more of it to equal the regular flour. I did not know this. Until after I added six scalding cups of milk to the flour, butter and six frothy eggs (those things are a biaatchhh to add, as you hope they won't be turning into scrambled eggs) while whisking the whole shmeer within an inch of its life - and it still weren't gettin' any thicker.
Now the sweat is deluging off my head as I try to figure out what to do. Add more flour! Whoops! A little too much. Wallpaper paste. Add more milk. Better. Taste. Tastes like wallpaper paste. Add more spices. Pray. Prayer answered: Respectable bechamel sauce with no lumps and as a bonus, I may even be able to repaper my bathroom with the leftovers.
Arrive at Sue's at 4:04 pm. Sue, her father and her daughter greet us at the door. We hug and go into the kitchen. I uncover the Pastitso, which I have to admit, looks damn good. Browned on top perfectly and no evidence it was ever in trouble. Should have taken a picture. Maybe not.
“I’m impressed!” says Sue. That looks excellent. So was it hard to do?”
“Not at all - piece a cake,” I answer, and then quickly look away.
*******
Here’s the recipe for the Pastitso. Set aside about 32 hours to make it. Click on it for a large, printable version. Xanax not included. Happy Easter!
“I’m impressed!” says Sue. That looks excellent. So was it hard to do?”
“Not at all - piece a cake,” I answer, and then quickly look away.
*******
Here’s the recipe for the Pastitso. Set aside about 32 hours to make it. Click on it for a large, printable version. Xanax not included. Happy Easter!
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