Witchy Kitchen

Category: Folklore and Fairy Tales

  • Pozole Verde

    Pozole Verde

    The Curse of La Llorona, from New Line Cinema and director Michael Chaves, came screeching into theaters this Friday. It stars Linda Cardellini and Patricia Velazquez, two mothers troubled in different ways, and haunted by the wailing, weeping woman of Mexican folklore.

    The legend of La Llorona that the film is based on is equal parts heartbreaking and terrifying. There are several variations, but the basic story is that a poor and beautiful woman was discovered by a wealthy nobleman as he came through her village. He took her as his wife and they had two sons, but as he traveled he grew further apart from her and eventually he left her alone for a younger woman. She was driven mad by the betrayal, and in a blind rage drowned her sons in a river.

    When she realized what she had done the river had washed them away. Not permitted to enter heaven without her sons, she was cursed to wander watersides as a lonely ghost, crying for her children, and kidnapping and drowning children she mistakes for her own. This myth is a mother’s worst nightmare…but also falls into that category of terrifying Bogeyman tales to tell your children to get them to behave.   

    The legend is bleak, but this recipe is bright, a Mexican pozole verde. With a base of hearty hominy, most often pozole is made with pork, but I went to the waters for this La Llorna inspired one and used shrimp (creek shrimp would be especially apt if you can find it). I love the technique of using shrimp shells to make a briny broth, so that’s done here. The poblano mixture flavored with garlic, cumin, coriander and oregano makes the broth a watery green, and the strings of spinach evoke underwater plants as the ghost is known to scrape the bottoms of rivers and lakes, desperately looking for her children.

    This swampy mixture is a flavorful blank slate for toppings such as avocado, radishes, tostadas, and lime. You can make is spicy by including peppers like jalapeños or serranos in the poblano pepper mixture, but since I was cooking for children (also apt!) I left out the spicy ones and just served with hot sauce on the side.

    LA LLORONA POZOLE VERDE

    • 2 poblano peppers
    • 2 jalapeños or serranos (optional – I left them out to serve kids)
    • 1 pound shrimp
    • 2 tablespoons oil
    • 1 onion, diced
    • 3 cloves garlic, grated
    • 1/2 teaspoon cumin powder
    • 1/2 teaspoon coriander powder
    • 1 teaspoon salt
    • 1 25 ounce can hominy, rinsed
    • 10 ounces chopped spinach
      3 strands fresh oregano, roughly chopped

    To serve: avocado, sliced radish, crushed tostadas, limes, hot sauce

    Char poblanos (and optionally jalapeños or serranos) in a 450° oven. I do this by putting the poblanos right on the grate with a sheet pan below it and turn occasionally until evenly charred. If I’m doing the smaller peppers I’ll put them on aluminum foil so they don’t fall through. The little ones won’t take as long to char, so just check as they are cooking. Peel and deseed poblanos and add them, and trimmed jalapeños or serranos if using, to a food processor and blend until smooth, adding a little water if necessary.

    Meanwhile, rinse and peel the shrimp, reserving shells. In a saucepan, boil shrimp shells with 3 cups water for half an hour to create a shrimpy broth. Drain and reserve the broth, adding enough water to get it back up to three cups.

    In a soup pot, heat oil on medium and cook onion until translucent and beginning to turn golden. Add garlic and stir for a minute or two, then cumin, coriander, and salt and stir until fragrant. Add the shrimp broth, the pepper mixture, and the hominy and simmer for 20-30 minutes, stirring occasionally, and adding more water if necessary to keep a somewhat thick somewhat brothy consistency. Stir in shrimp and cook until they just turn pink. Stir in spinach and oregano and cook for another few minutes. Taste and adjust seasoning if necessary.

    Serve with garnishes. Enjoy, but keep an eye on those children.

    First published on Nightmare on Film Street.

  • Snow White Roasted Vegetables and Sausage with Red Wine Reduction

    Snow White Roasted Vegetables and Sausage with Red Wine Reduction

    In the same way folklore transforms over time, 2018’s Suspiria is a thorough retelling of the classic 1977 Dario Argento Giallo horror. Though both films tell the twisted fairy tale of a beautiful, talented and determined American ballerina coming to an elite, witch-inhabited dance school in Germany, the space between the plot points is distorted and the tone completely shifted. The original is drenched in a vibrant, almost garish color palette and an intense, powerful Goblin soundtrack, while the reimagining directed by Luca Guadagnino is soft and de-saturated with the dreamy, droney sounds of Thom Yorke. More in the Nightmare on Filmstreet review.

    Much like the films, this dish is heavily inspired by Snow White. Indeed our heroine, Susie Bannion (played in 1977 by Jessica Harper and in 2018 by Dakota Johnson), is a modern Snow White, who wanders into an enchanted world and has to fight attempts on her life from a jealous crone. As the Grimm brother’s Snow White tale comes from Germany and Suspiria takes place in Berlin, I definitely wanted the dish to have a German leaning, so chose a mixture of vegetables to roast with sausage.

    Color is so symbolic in both films, with the sweet ingenues often dressed in white, and red used in violent, jarring ways. The veggies used here are all white: darling little creamer potatoes, fennel, turnips and garlic. To accompany them I made a rich red wine reduction, also reminiscent of the wine Susie’s doctor gives her to drug her when she becomes too suspicious….it’s suspiciously delicious.

    Snow White Roasted Vegetables and Sausage with Red Wine Reduction

    For the veggies and sausage
    • 1 1/2 pounds yellow creamer potatoes, halved or quartered
    • 2 large bulbs fennel, trimmed and chopped into large chunks
    • 2 medium turnips, peeled and chopped into large chunks
    • 7 large cloves garlic, gently crushed and peeled
    • olive oil
    • 2 sprigs rosemary, finely chopped
    • 1 teaspoon coarse salt
    • 1/2 teaspoon white pepper
    • 1 pound peppery or sweet German or Eastern European-style sausage (we made this vegetarian by using Polish-style soy sausages), thickly sliced

    Heat oven to 425°. Divide potatoes, fennel, turnips and garlic into two large baking dishes. Drizzle with a generous amount of olive oil, sprinkle with salt and white pepper, toss with your hands and spread into a single even layer. Bake for 20 minutes, then stir/flip, making sure to scrape up any brown bits on the bottom of the dish, spread evenly again and bake for 20 minutes more.

    Meanwhile, heat a little olive oil in a pan and brown the sausage in batches, removing to a plate. After the first 40 minutes of roasting, reduce oven heat to 350° and divide sausage between the dishes. Bake for another 20 minutes. Check the veggies at this point; they should be very soft, some gently caramelized, and the potatoes and turnips not mushy but easily pierced with a fork. Bake another 10-20 minutes until they reach desired doneness. Transfer to a serving dish.

    For red wine reduction
    • 2 tablespoons butter, divided
    • 1 medium shallot, finely chopped
    • 1 cup vegetable broth
    • 1 cup red wine

    In a saucepan, heat 1 tablespoon of the butter and cook shallot until golden. Add vegetable broth and red wine and stir. Bring to a low simmer and cook, stirring occasionally, until the mixture has reduced to about a third of its volume. Remove from heat and stir in the remaining tablespoon butter.

    To serve, spoon vegetables onto a plate and drizzle with the red wine reduction. Serve with warm, crusty bread.

    Suspiria is now playing in theatres.

    First published on Nightmare on Film Street.

  • Cinderella Cassoulet

    Cinderella Cassoulet


    Shake and quiver, little tree,
    Throw gold and silver down to me.

    This cassoulet is “authentic” the same way Cinderella in various film adaptations is “French.” Which is to say not really, but I think it definitely captures the spirit. It’s hearty and simple, made with common ingredients so it suits our modern peasant lifestyle. That means no duck, although I eventually want to make this exact dish using duck fat as the cooking oil once I get my hands on some, and it’s fairly quick, so perfect for very busy girls who have to sleep by the fire and wait on their hideous step-families.

    A cooking vessel that travels from stovetop to oven is ideal, but you could certainly make this stovetop then transfer to a baking dish before you top with breadcrumbs.

    Cinderella Cassoulet

    • olive oil
    • salt & pepper
    • 1 pound bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs
    • 1 pound chicken sausage, cut on the bias into large chunks
    • 1 onion, chopped
    • 4 cloves garlic, grated
    • 1 tablespoon paprika
    • 1 14.5 ounce can diced tomatoes (or 3-4 fresh, chopped)
    • 2 15 ounce cans great northern beans, rinsed and drained
    • about 3 slices bread, thoroughly toasted, or about 1 cup breadcrumbs
    • herbs – I used a few sprigs fresh thyme and a pinch of dried oregano, but you can use what you have on hand

    Heat a small amount of olive oil on medium high in a heavy-bottomed pot. Sprinkle chicken thighs with salt and pepper (just a little salt or the dish will be way too salty by the end), and brown well on both sides. Remove to a plate, and pour off all but a tablespoon or two of the oil. Brown the sausages and remove them to the plate.

    Lower the heat to medium and saute the onion with just a sprinkle of salt, until golden brown. Add the garlic, and stir for a minute or two, then add the paprika and stir for a minute. Add the tomatoes with another small sprinkle of salt, and cook, stirring, until they are well broken down. Add the beans, the chicken, and the sausage, and mix well. Add enough water to almost cover the chicken, cover, and simmer for 20 minutes or so until the chicken is well cooked through (stir occasionally and lower heat if necessary to keep from burning). Remove the lid, taste and adjust seasoning. Cook for a few minutes uncovered to thicken the sauce up if necessary.

    While the chicken is cooking, in a food processor blitz the bread into breadcrumbs, and add herbs, a small pinch of salt, and a couple tablespoons olive oil.

    Heat broiler. Smooth the chicken and beans mixture evenly and sprinkle breadcrumbs over the top. Heat under the broiler just a few minutes, until breadcrumbs are nice and brown.

    Serve hot!

    I referenced a couple of great recipes on Serious Eats:

    Recipe for Fiction Kitchen Episode 11: CINDERELLA in which Diana and Carrie discuss Disney’s new 2015 movie, Cinderella, the original animated film, as well as Cinderella stories from all over the world! We talk pumpkins, kindness = vegetarianism, practical meanies vs. gentlehearted non-planners, talking fish, gifting trees, and comfortable footwear.

    Whimsically morbid illustration by Ester Coonfield.

    There are Cinderella stories from all over the world, but I do love the Grimm brother’s version with the magical birds, silvery dress shook down from a hazel tree, and the stepsisters, desperately willing to mangle their feet, who get their eyes pecked out by pigeons for their wickedness at the end.

    Cinderella

    A rich man’s wife became sick, and when she felt that her end was drawing near, she called her only daughter to her bedside and said, “Dear child, remain pious and good, and then our dear God will always protect you, and I will look down on you from heaven and be near you.” With this she closed her eyes and died.

    The girl went out to her mother’s grave every day and wept, and she remained pious and good. When winter came the snow spread a white cloth over the grave, and when the spring sun had removed it again, the man took himself another wife.

    This wife brought two daughters into the house with her. They were beautiful, with fair faces, but evil and dark hearts. Times soon grew very bad for the poor stepchild.

    “Why should that stupid goose sit in the parlor with us?” they said. “If she wants to eat bread, then she will have to earn it. Out with this kitchen maid!”

    They took her beautiful clothes away from her, dressed her in an old gray smock, and gave her wooden shoes. “Just look at the proud princess! How decked out she is!” they shouted and laughed as they led her into the kitchen.

    There she had to do hard work from morning until evening, get up before daybreak, carry water, make the fires, cook, and wash. Besides this, the sisters did everything imaginable to hurt her. They made fun of her, scattered peas and lentils into the ashes for her, so that she had to sit and pick them out again. In the evening when she had worked herself weary, there was no bed for her. Instead she had to sleep by the hearth in the ashes. And because she always looked dusty and dirty, they called her Cinderella.

    One day it happened that the father was going to the fair, and he asked his two stepdaughters what he should bring back for them.

    “Beautiful dresses,” said the one.

    “Pearls and jewels,” said the other.

    “And you, Cinderella,” he said, “what do you want?”

    “Father, break off for me the first twig that brushes against your hat on your way home.”

    So he bought beautiful dresses, pearls, and jewels for his two stepdaughters. On his way home, as he was riding through a green thicket, a hazel twig brushed against him and knocked off his hat. Then he broke off the twig and took it with him. Arriving home, he gave his stepdaughters the things that they had asked for, and he gave Cinderella the twig from the hazel bush.

    Cinderella thanked him, went to her mother’s grave, and planted the branch on it, and she wept so much that her tears fell upon it and watered it. It grew and became a beautiful tree.

    Cinderella went to this tree three times every day, and beneath it she wept and prayed. A white bird came to the tree every time, and whenever she expressed a wish, the bird would throw down to her what she had wished for.

    Now it happened that the king proclaimed a festival that was to last three days. All the beautiful young girls in the land were invited, so that his son could select a bride for himself. When the two stepsisters heard that they too had been invited, they were in high spirits.

    They called Cinderella, saying, “Comb our hair for us. Brush our shoes and fasten our buckles. We are going to the festival at the king’s castle.”

    Cinderella obeyed, but wept, because she too would have liked to go to the dance with them. She begged her stepmother to allow her to go.

    “You, Cinderella?” she said. “You, all covered with dust and dirt, and you want to go to the festival?. You have neither clothes nor shoes, and yet you want to dance!”

    However, because Cinderella kept asking, the stepmother finally said, “I have scattered a bowl of lentils into the ashes for you. If you can pick them out again in two hours, then you may go with us.”

    The girl went through the back door into the garden, and called out, “You tame pigeons, you turtledoves, and all you birds beneath the sky, come and help me to gather:

    The good ones go into the pot,
    The bad ones go into your crop.

    Two white pigeons came in through the kitchen window, and then the turtledoves, and finally all the birds beneath the sky came whirring and swarming in, and lit around the ashes. The pigeons nodded their heads and began to pick, pick, pick, pick. And the others also began to pick, pick, pick, pick. They gathered all the good grains into the bowl. Hardly one hour had passed before they were finished, and they all flew out again.

    The girl took the bowl to her stepmother, and was happy, thinking that now she would be allowed to go to the festival with them.

    But the stepmother said, “No, Cinderella, you have no clothes, and you don’t know how to dance. Everyone would only laugh at you.”

    Cinderella began to cry, and then the stepmother said, “You may go if you are able to pick two bowls of lentils out of the ashes for me in one hour,” thinking to herself, “She will never be able to do that.”

    The girl went through the back door into the garden, and called out, “You tame pigeons, you turtledoves, and all you birds beneath the sky, come and help me to gather:

    The good ones go into the pot,
    The bad ones go into your crop.

    Two white pigeons came in through the kitchen window, and then the turtledoves, and finally all the birds beneath the sky came whirring and swarming in, and lit around the ashes. The pigeons nodded their heads and began to pick, pick, pick, pick. And the others also began to pick, pick, pick, pick. They gathered all the good grains into the bowls. Before a half hour had passed they were finished, and they all flew out again.

    The girl took the bowls to her stepmother, and was happy, thinking that now she would be allowed to go to the festival with them.

    But the stepmother said, “It’s no use. You are not coming with us, for you have no clothes, and you don’t know how to dance. We would be ashamed of you.” With this she turned her back on Cinderella, and hurried away with her two proud daughters.

    Now that no one else was at home, Cinderella went to her mother’s grave beneath the hazel tree, and cried out:

    Shake and quiver, little tree,
    Throw gold and silver down to me.

    Then the bird threw a gold and silver dress down to her, and slippers embroidered with silk and silver. She quickly put on the dress and went to the festival.

    Her stepsisters and her stepmother did not recognize her. They thought she must be a foreign princess, for she looked so beautiful in the golden dress. They never once thought it was Cinderella, for they thought that she was sitting at home in the dirt, looking for lentils in the ashes.

    The prince approached her, took her by the hand, and danced with her. Furthermore, he would dance with no one else. He never let go of her hand, and whenever anyone else came and asked her to dance, he would say, “She is my dance partner.”

    She danced until evening, and then she wanted to go home. But the prince said, “I will go along and escort you,” for he wanted to see to whom the beautiful girl belonged. However, she eluded him and jumped into the pigeon coop. The prince waited until her father came, and then he told him that the unknown girl had jumped into the pigeon coop.

    The old man thought, “Could it be Cinderella?”

    He had them bring him an ax and a pick so that he could break the pigeon coop apart, but no one was inside. When they got home Cinderella was lying in the ashes, dressed in her dirty clothes. A dim little oil-lamp was burning in the fireplace. Cinderella had quickly jumped down from the back of the pigeon coop and had run to the hazel tree. There she had taken off her beautiful clothes and laid them on the grave, and the bird had taken them away again. Then, dressed in her gray smock, she had returned to the ashes in the kitchen.

    The next day when the festival began anew, and her parents and her stepsisters had gone again, Cinderella went to the hazel tree and said:

    Shake and quiver, little tree,
    Throw gold and silver down to me.

    Then the bird threw down an even more magnificent dress than on the preceding day. When Cinderella appeared at the festival in this dress, everyone was astonished at her beauty. The prince had waited until she came, then immediately took her by the hand, and danced only with her. When others came and asked her to dance with them, he said, “She is my dance partner.”

    When evening came she wanted to leave, and the prince followed her, wanting to see into which house she went. But she ran away from him and into the garden behind the house. A beautiful tall tree stood there, on which hung the most magnificent pears. She climbed as nimbly as a squirrel into the branches, and the prince did not know where she had gone. He waited until her father came, then said to him, “The unknown girl has eluded me, and I believe she has climbed up the pear tree.

    The father thought, “Could it be Cinderella?” He had an ax brought to him and cut down the tree, but no one was in it. When they came to the kitchen, Cinderella was lying there in the ashes as usual, for she had jumped down from the other side of the tree, had taken the beautiful dress back to the bird in the hazel tree, and had put on her gray smock.

    On the third day, when her parents and sisters had gone away, Cinderella went again to her mother’s grave and said to the tree:

    Shake and quiver, little tree,
    Throw gold and silver down to me.

    This time the bird threw down to her a dress that was more splendid and magnificent than any she had yet had, and the slippers were of pure gold. When she arrived at the festival in this dress, everyone was so astonished that they did not know what to say. The prince danced only with her, and whenever anyone else asked her to dance, he would say, “She is my dance partner.”

    When evening came Cinderella wanted to leave, and the prince tried to escort her, but she ran away from him so quickly that he could not follow her. The prince, however, had set a trap. He had had the entire stairway smeared with pitch. When she ran down the stairs, her left slipper stuck in the pitch. The prince picked it up. It was small and dainty, and of pure gold.

    The next morning, he went with it to the man, and said to him, “No one shall be my wife except for the one whose foot fits this golden shoe.”

    The two sisters were happy to hear this, for they had pretty feet. With her mother standing by, the older one took the shoe into her bedroom to try it on. She could not get her big toe into it, for the shoe was too small for her. Then her mother gave her a knife and said, “Cut off your toe. When you are queen you will no longer have to go on foot.”

    The girl cut off her toe, forced her foot into the shoe, swallowed the pain, and went out to the prince. He took her on his horse as his bride and rode away with her. However, they had to ride past the grave, and there, on the hazel tree, sat the two pigeons, crying out:

    Rook di goo, rook di goo!
    There’s blood in the shoe.
    The shoe is too tight,
    This bride is not right!

    Then he looked at her foot and saw how the blood was running from it. He turned his horse around and took the false bride home again, saying that she was not the right one, and that the other sister should try on the shoe. She went into her bedroom, and got her toes into the shoe all right, but her heel was too large.
    Then her mother gave her a knife, and said, “Cut a piece off your heel. When you are queen you will no longer have to go on foot.”

    The girl cut a piece off her heel, forced her foot into the shoe, swallowed the pain, and went out to the prince. He took her on his horse as his bride and rode away with her. When they passed the hazel tree, the two pigeons were sitting in it, and they cried out:

    Rook di goo, rook di goo!
    There’s blood in the shoe.
    The shoe is too tight,
    This bride is not right!

    He looked down at her foot and saw how the blood was running out of her shoe, and how it had stained her white stocking all red. Then he turned his horse around and took the false bride home again.

    “This is not the right one, either,” he said. “Don’t you have another daughter?”

    “No,” said the man. “There is only a deformed little Cinderella from my first wife, but she cannot possibly be the bride.”

    The prince told him to send her to him, but the mother answered, “Oh, no, she is much too dirty. She cannot be seen.”

    But the prince insisted on it, and they had to call Cinderella. She first washed her hands and face clean, and then went and bowed down before the prince, who gave her the golden shoe. She sat down on a stool, pulled her foot out of the heavy wooden shoe, and put it into the slipper, and it fitted her perfectly.

    When she stood up the prince looked into her face, and he recognized the beautiful girl who had danced with him. He cried out, “She is my true bride.”

    The stepmother and the two sisters were horrified and turned pale with anger. The prince, however, took Cinderella onto his horse and rode away with her. As they passed by the hazel tree, the two white pigeons cried out:

    Rook di goo, rook di goo!
    No blood’s in the shoe.
    The shoe’s not too tight,
    This bride is right!

    After they had cried this out, they both flew down and lit on Cinderella’s shoulders, one on the right, the other on the left, and remained sitting there.

    When the wedding with the prince was to be held, the two false sisters came, wanting to gain favor with Cinderella and to share her good fortune. When the bridal couple walked into the church, the older sister walked on their right side and the younger on their left side, and the pigeons pecked out one eye from each of them. Afterwards, as they came out of the church, the older one was on the left side, and the younger one on the right side, and then the pigeons pecked out the other eye from each of them. And thus, for their wickedness and falsehood, they were punished with blindness as long as they lived.

  • Juniper and Almond Baked Apples

    Juniper and Almond Baked Apples

    “The Juniper Tree” (full story below) is one of the darker stories from Grimm’s Fairy Tales, and as a dark little kid it was unsurprisingly one of my favorites. I wrote and performed it as a puppet show in middle school, a puppet got decapitated and everything! It’s got all the classic Grimm motifs: the wish of a mother, an oblivious father, a wicked stepmother, burial beneath a tree, a magical bird, the eating of children, one character inexplicably getting a name while no one else does, weird verse, violent demise and a happy rebirth.


    Lovely illustration by Sirothello

    These baked apples are flavored with piney-scented juniper berries, and taste like Christmas. I referenced this recipe which uses pine nuts and sounds delicious, but I used almonds as a nod to “The Almond Tree,” (as “The Juniper Tree” is called in some editions); honestly any nuts will do. And I cook them DOWN – they’re not as pretty as some baked apples, they’re wrinkly as an old witch, but they’re cooked nice and soft all the way through.

    Juniper and Almond Baked Apples

    • 6 medium-small Macintosh apples
    • 1/2 cup brown sugar
    • 1 teaspoon juniper berries, crushed
    • 2 tablespoons melted butter
    • pinch salt
    • 1/2 cup almond slices
    • 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
    • 1 teaspoon orange zest
    • 2 teaspoons orange juice
    • 1/2 cup sherry
    • 1/2 cup water

    Heat oven to 350°

    Core the apples and place in a baking dish. Mix together the brown sugar, crushed juniper berries, butter, salt, almond slivers, all spice, orange zest, and 1 1/2 teaspoons of the orange juice. Spoon the mixture into the apples (it’s ok if you have some leftover, ours fit perfectly).

    Pour sherry and water over apples along with any leftover sugar/almond mixture. Bake for 45 minutes or until apples are soft. Check occasionally to make sure almonds don’t burn; if they start to you can tent the dish with foil.

    Optional but recommended: cool for 10 minutes or so, then carefully pour the liquid from the baking dish into a sauce pan. Cook, reducing to about a quarter of the volume, cool, and use as a drizzle when serving. Serve apples warm with whipped cream or ice cream.

    Recipe for Fiction Kitchen Episode 6: GRIMM’S FAIRY TALES in which Carrie and Diana discuss German cultural identity, DNA of fairy tales, commonplace starvation, herbal abortion, the beautiful imagery of a handless maiden eating a pear, and lots of recipes and recipe ideas.

    The Juniper Tree

    Long ago, at least two thousand years, there was a rich man who had a beautiful and pious wife, and they loved each other dearly. However, they had no children, though they wished very much to have some, and the woman prayed for them day and night, but they didn’t get any, and they didn’t get any.

    In front of their house there was a courtyard where there stood a juniper tree. One day in winter the woman was standing beneath it, peeling herself an apple, and while she was thus peeling the apple, she cut her finger, and the blood fell into the snow.

    “Oh,” said the woman. She sighed heavily, looked at the blood before her, and was most unhappy. “If only I had a child as red as blood and as white as snow.” And as she said that, she became quite contented, and felt sure that it was going to happen.

    Then she went into the house, and a month went by, and the snow was gone. And two months, and everything was green. And three months, and all the flowers came out of the earth. And four months, and all the trees in the woods grew thicker, and the green branches were all entwined in one another, and the birds sang until the woods resounded and the blossoms fell from the trees. Then the fifth month passed, and she stood beneath the juniper tree, which smelled so sweet that her heart jumped for joy, and she fell on her knees and was beside herself. And when the sixth month was over, the fruit was thick and large, and then she was quite still. And after the seventh month she picked the juniper berries and ate them greedily. Then she grew sick and sorrowful. Then the eighth month passed, and she called her husband to her, and cried, and said, “If I die, then bury me beneath the juniper tree.” Then she was quite comforted and happy until the next month was over, and then she had a child as white as snow and as red as blood, and when she saw it, she was so happy that she died.

    Her husband buried her beneath the juniper tree, and he began to cry bitterly. After some time he was more at ease, and although he still cried, he could bear it. And some time later he took another wife.

    He had a daughter by the second wife, but the first wife’s child was a little son, and he was as red as blood and as white as snow. When the woman looked at her daughter, she loved her very much, but then she looked at the little boy, and it pierced her heart, for she thought that he would always stand in her way, and she was always thinking how she could get the entire inheritance for her daughter. And the Evil One filled her mind with this until she grew very angry with the little boy, and she pushed him from one corner to the other and slapped him here and cuffed him there, until the poor child was always afraid, for when he came home from school there was nowhere he could find any peace.

    One day the woman had gone upstairs to her room, when her little daughter came up too, and said, “Mother, give me an apple.”

    “Yes, my child,” said the woman, and gave her a beautiful apple out of the chest. The chest had a large heavy lid with a large sharp iron lock.

    “Mother,” said the little daughter, “is brother not to have one too?”

    This made the woman angry, but she said, “Yes, when he comes home from school.”

    When from the window she saw him coming, it was as though the Evil One came over her, and she grabbed the apple and took it away from her daughter, saying, “You shall not have one before your brother.”

    She threw the apple into the chest, and shut it. Then the little boy came in the door, and the Evil One made her say to him kindly, “My son, do you want an apple?” And she looked at him fiercely.

    “Mother,” said the little boy, “how angry you look. Yes, give me an apple.”

    Then it seemed to her as if she had to persuade him. “Come with me,” she said, opening the lid of the chest. “Take out an apple for yourself.” And while the little boy was leaning over, the Evil One prompted her, and crash! she slammed down the lid, and his head flew off, falling among the red apples.

    Then fear overcame her, and she thought, “Maybe I can get out of this.” So she went upstairs to her room to her chest of drawers, and took a white scarf out of the top drawer, and set the head on the neck again, tying the scarf around it so that nothing could be seen. Then she set him on a chair in front of the door and put the apple in his hand.

    After this Marlene came into the kitchen to her mother, who was standing by the fire with a pot of hot water before her which she was stirring around and around.

    “Mother,” said Marlene, “brother is sitting at the door, and he looks totally white and has an apple in his hand. I asked him to give me the apple, but he did not answer me, and I was very frightened.”

    “Go back to him,” said her mother, “and if he will not answer you, then box his ears.”

    So Marlene went to him and said, “Brother, give me the apple.” But he was silent, so she gave him one on the ear, and his head fell off. Marlene was terrified, and began crying and screaming, and ran to her mother, and said, “Oh, mother, I have knocked my brother’s head off,” and she cried and cried and could not be comforted.

    “Marlene,” said the mother, “what have you done? Be quiet and don’t let anyone know about it. It cannot be helped now. We will cook him into stew.”

    Then the mother took the little boy and chopped him in pieces, put him into the pot, and cooked him into stew. But Marlene stood by crying and crying, and all her tears fell into the pot, and they did not need any salt.

    Then the father came home, and sat down at the table and said, “Where is my son?” And the mother served up a large, large dish of stew, and Marlene cried and could not stop.

    Then the father said again, “Where is my son?”

    “Oh,” said the mother, “he has gone across the country to his mother’s great uncle. He will stay there awhile.”

    “What is he doing there? He did not even say good-bye to me.”

    “Oh, he wanted to go, and asked me if he could stay six weeks. He will be well taken care of there.”

    “Oh,” said the man, “I am unhappy. It isn’t right. He should have said good-bye to me.” With that he began to eat, saying, “Marlene, why are you crying? Your brother will certainly come back.”

    Then he said, “Wife, this food is delicious. Give me some more.” And the more he ate the more he wanted, and he said, “Give me some more. You two shall have none of it. It seems to me as if it were all mine.” And he ate and ate, throwing all the bones under the table, until he had finished it all.

    Marlene went to her chest of drawers, took her best silk scarf from the bottom drawer, and gathered all the bones from beneath the table and tied them up in her silk scarf, then carried them outside the door, crying tears of blood.

    She laid them down beneath the juniper tree on the green grass, and after she had put them there, she suddenly felt better and did not cry anymore.

    Then the juniper tree began to move. The branches moved apart, then moved together again, just as if someone were rejoicing and clapping his hands. At the same time a mist seemed to rise from the tree, and in the center of this mist it burned like a fire, and a beautiful bird flew out of the fire singing magnificently, and it flew high into the air, and when it was gone, the juniper tree was just as it had been before, and the cloth with the bones was no longer there. Marlene, however, was as happy and contented as if her brother were still alive. And she went merrily into the house, sat down at the table, and ate.

    Then the bird flew away and lit on a goldsmith’s house, and began to sing:

    My mother, she killed me,
    My father, he ate me,
    My sister Marlene,
    Gathered all my bones,
    Tied them in a silken scarf,
    Laid them beneath the juniper tree,
    Tweet, tweet, what a beautiful bird am I.

    The goldsmith was sitting in his workshop making a golden chain, when he heard the bird sitting on his roof and singing. The song seemed very beautiful to him. He stood up, but as he crossed the threshold he lost one of his slippers. However, he went right up the middle of the street with only one slipper and one sock on. He had his leather apron on, and in one hand he had a golden chain and in the other his tongs. The sun was shining brightly on the street.

    He walked onward, then stood still and said to the bird, “Bird,” he said, “how beautifully you can sing. Sing that piece again for me.”

    “No,” said the bird, “I do not sing twice for nothing. Give me the golden chain, and then I will sing it again for you.”

    The goldsmith said, “Here is the golden chain for you. Now sing that song again for me.” Then the bird came and took the golden chain in his right claw, and went and sat in front of the goldsmith, and sang:

    My mother, she killed me,
    My father, he ate me,
    My sister Marlene,
    Gathered all my bones,
    Tied them in a silken scarf,
    Laid them beneath the juniper tree,
    Tweet, tweet, what a beautiful bird am I.

    Then the bird flew away to a shoemaker, and lit on his roof and sang:

    My mother, she killed me,
    My father, he ate me,
    My sister Marlene,
    Gathered all my bones,
    Tied them in a silken scarf,
    Laid them beneath the juniper tree,
    Tweet, tweet, what a beautiful bird am I.

    Hearing this, the shoemaker ran out of doors in his shirtsleeves, and looked up at his roof, and had to hold his hand in front of his eyes to keep the sun from blinding him. “Bird,” said he, “how beautifully you can sing.”

    Then he called in at his door, “Wife, come outside. There is a bird here. Look at this bird. He certainly can sing.” Then he called his daughter and her children, and the journeyman, and the apprentice, and the maid, and they all came out into the street and looked at the bird and saw how beautiful he was, and what fine red and green feathers he had, and how his neck was like pure gold, and how his eyes shone like stars in his head.

    “Bird,” said the shoemaker, “now sing that song again for me.”

    “No,” said the bird, “I do not sing twice for nothing. You must give me something.”

    “Wife,” said the man, “go into the shop. There is a pair of red shoes on the top shelf. Bring them down.” Then the wife went and brought the shoes.

    “There, bird,” said the man, “now sing that piece again for me.” Then the bird came and took the shoes in his left claw, and flew back to the roof, and sang:

    My mother, she killed me,
    My father, he ate me,
    My sister Marlene,
    Gathered all my bones,
    Tied them in a silken scarf,
    Laid them beneath the juniper tree,
    Tweet, tweet, what a beautiful bird am I.

    When he had finished his song he flew away. In his right claw he had the chain and in his left one the shoes. He flew far away to a mill, and the mill went clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack. In the mill sat twenty miller’s apprentices cutting a stone, and chiseling chip-chop, chip-chop, chip-chop. And the mill went clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack.

    Then the bird went and sat on a linden tree which stood in front of the mill, and sang:

    My mother, she killed me,

    Then one of them stopped working.

    My father, he ate me,

    Then two more stopped working and listened,

    My sister Marlene,

    Then four more stopped,

    Gathered all my bones,
    Tied them in a silken scarf,

    Now only eight only were chiseling,

    Laid them beneath

    Now only five,

    the juniper tree,

    Now only one,

    Tweet, tweet, what a beautiful bird am I.

    Then the last one stopped also, and heard the last words. “Bird,” said he, “how beautifully you sing. Let me hear that too. Sing it once more for me.”

    “No,” said the bird, “I do not sing twice for nothing. Give me the millstone, and then I will sing it again.”

    “Yes,” he said, “if it belonged only to me, you should have it.”

    “Yes,” said the others, “if he sings again he can have it.”

    Then the bird came down, and the twenty millers took a beam and lifted the stone up. Yo-heave-ho! Yo-heave-ho! Yo-heave-ho!

    The bird stuck his neck through the hole and put the stone on as if it were a collar, then flew to the tree again, and sang:

    My mother, she killed me,
    My father, he ate me,
    My sister Marlene,
    Gathered all my bones,
    Tied them in a silken scarf,
    Laid them beneath the juniper tree,
    Tweet, tweet, what a beautiful bird am I.

    When he was finished singing, he spread his wings, and in his right claw he had the chain, and in his left one the shoes, and around his neck the millstone. He flew far away to his father’s house.

    In the room the father, the mother, and Marlene were sitting at the table.

    The father said, “I feel so contented. I am so happy.”

    “Not I,” said the mother, “I feel uneasy, just as if a bad storm were coming.”

    But Marlene just sat and cried and cried.

    Then the bird flew up, and as it seated itself on the roof, the father said, “Oh, I feel so truly happy, and the sun is shining so beautifully outside. I feel as if I were about to see some old acquaintance again.”

    “Not I,” said the woman, “I am so afraid that my teeth are chattering, and I feel like I have fire in my veins.” And she tore open her bodice even more. Marlene sat in a corner crying. She held a handkerchief before her eyes and cried until it was wet clear through.

    Then the bird seated itself on the juniper tree, and sang:

    My mother, she killed me,

    The mother stopped her ears and shut her eyes, not wanting to see or hear, but there was a roaring in her ears like the fiercest storm, and her eyes burned and flashed like lightning.

    My father, he ate me,

    “Oh, mother,” said the man, “that is a beautiful bird. He is singing so splendidly, and the sun is shining so warmly, and it smells like pure cinnamon.”

    My sister Marlene,

    Then Marlene laid her head on her knees and cried and cried, but the man said, “I am going out. I must see the bird up close.”

    “Oh, don’t go,” said the woman, “I feel as if the whole house were shaking and on fire.”

    But the man went out and looked at the bird.

    Gathered all my bones,
    Tied them in a silken scarf,
    Laid them beneath the juniper tree,
    Tweet, tweet, what a beautiful bird am I.

    With this the bird dropped the golden chain, and it fell right around the man’s neck, so exactly around it that it fit beautifully. Then the man went in and said, “Just look what a beautiful bird that is, and what a beautiful golden chain he has given me, and how nice it looks.”

    But the woman was terrified. She fell down on the floor in the room, and her cap fell off her head. Then the bird sang once more:

    My mother killed me.

    “I wish I were a thousand fathoms beneath the earth, so I would not have to hear that!”

    My father, he ate me,

    Then the woman fell down as if she were dead.

    My sister Marlene,

    “Oh,” said Marlene, “I too will go out and see if the bird will give me something.” Then she went out.

    Gathered all my bones,
    Tied them in a silken scarf,

    He threw the shoes down to her.

    Laid them beneath the juniper tree,
    Tweet, tweet, what a beautiful bird am I.

    Then she was contented and happy. She put on the new red shoes and danced and leaped into the house. “Oh,” she said, “I was so sad when I went out and now I am so contented. That is a splendid bird, he has given me a pair of red shoes.”

    “No,” said the woman, jumping to her feet and with her hair standing up like flames of fire, “I feel as if the world were coming to an end. I too, will go out and see if it makes me feel better.”

    And as she went out the door, crash! the bird threw the millstone on her head, and it crushed her to death.

    The father and Marlene heard it and went out. Smoke, flames, and fire were rising from the place, and when that was over, the little brother was standing there, and he took his father and Marlene by the hand, and all three were very happy, and they went into the house, sat down at the table, and ate.

  • Codfish Pudding

    Codfish Pudding

    Just always be waiting for me.

    I reread Peter Pan by JM Barrie, a book I loved as a child, a couple of years ago; it was just as sweet and funny as I remembered, but it’s now layered by my adult experience. There’s some unfortunate misogyny (poor Wendy), and now knowing that it’s about the death of a child, much of it is just so unbearably sad.

    But from unbearable tragedy comes a charming and awfully big adventure, and I made a recipe to match. This is equal parts British nursery food for darling little children and the worst insult to effeminate one-handed pirates.

    I based my dish on this recipe from Cook it Simply with several adjustments in ingredients and cooking method (Do I look like I have suet? Or a pudding basin? But I got through it, oh the cleverness of me!). The result was like a crustless mini quiche – super tasty, and I think the lemon zest brought out the pleasant fishy flavor and brightened it several shades above stereotypically tasteless nursery fare.

    It was very good warm the night of, my kids loved it, and, because I am a monster who eats straight from the fridge, can offer that it was even good cold the next day.

    Codfish Pudding

    Adapted from Cook it Simply

    • 1 pound skinless cod, sliced into small cubes
    • 1 stick butter, melted
    • zest of one lemon
    • 1 teaspoon salt
    • fresh cracked pepper
    • 2 eggs, lightly beaten
    • 1/2 cup milk
    • 2 slices bread
    • handful parsley

    Heat oven to 350° and grease a muffin tin.

    Combine cod, butter, lemon zest, salt, pepper, eggs, and milk. In a food processor, blitz bread and parsley to fine crumbs. Stir into cod mixture.

    Divide evenly between muffin cups. Place the muffin tin on a large rimmed baking sheet in the oven, and add water to the baking sheet to about three quarters full.

    Bake for one hour (start checking at 50 minutes, it’s fine for the tops to brown but if they start getting too done cover with foil) until the mixture is fairly solid. Remove to a rack and cool 15-20 minutes.

    Gently remove each pudding, I spooned around the rim to loosen it and used two spoons to lift it to the plate. They’ll get less delicate as they cool.

    Garnish with a little extra chopped parsley and serve warm, or enjoy later room temp or even cold.

    Recipe for Fiction Kitchen Podcast Episode 45: PETER PAN, in which Carrie and Diana discuss the novel and various adaptations. Diana dreams of cakes, Carrie gets emotional, and there’s pretend feasts, medicine, panpipes and nursery food to go around.

    Lovely artwork by Renae De Liz

  • Minty Split Pea Soup

    Minty Split Pea Soup

    One of my favorite tales spun by Scheherezade in 1001 Arabian Nights is The Prince and the Large and Lonely Tortoise. This story has everything: animal brides, shape shifting, jealous bitches, cooking trickery, and dinner party drama. If, like the sultan you are dying to hear more, and I’m almost certain you are, the full story in all its public domain glory is below the recipe.

    In the story, the lonely tortoise, in her lovely human form, attends the feast. She pours rice swollen in butter over her hair, which turns into pearls, and a thick green soup which turns into emeralds.

    This reminded me of a delightful Middle Eastern soup I’ve made several times. It’s an elegant soup with split peas and mint. I feel that it’s pretty representative of the region, with the ubiquitous lentils and very common mint.

    Arabian Nights Minty Split Pea Soup

    Minty Split Pea Soup

    From Artichoke to Za’atar: Modern Middle Eastern Cooking by Greg Malouf and Lucy Malouf

    • 1/4 cup olive oil
    • 1 onion, chopped
    • 1-2 garlic cloves, chopped
    • 1 small head butter lettuce, chopped
    • 1/2 teaspoon dried mint
    • salt & white pepper
    • 1 1/2 cups split peas
    • 6 cups vegetable stock
    • 1 handful fresh mint, chopped
    • salt & white pepper
    • whipped yogurt and chopped mint for garnish

    In a soup pot, heat olive oil on medium heat. Saute onions and garlic until the onion is soft and translucent. Add the chopped butter lettuce and saute until wilted. Add mint, a generous pinch salt, and a sprinkle white pepper, and stir well.

    Add split peas and vegetable stock, bring to a boil, then lower to a simmer. Simmer for about 40 minutes or until split peas are soft. Add mint, and cook another 3 or 4 minutes.

    Puree in a blender (hold a tea towel over the top so it doesn’t explode) and pour back into the pot. Taste and adjust seasoning (add more salt) if necessary.

    Serve hot with a dollop of whipped yogurt and a sprinkle of chopped mint.

    This dish was first posted for Fiction Kitchen Episode 9: ARABIAN NIGHTS in which Carrie and Diana Scherezade’s awesomeness, hedonism vs. moderation, random guests, bedouin hospitality and some light shape shifting.

    Fine lots more recipes from Folklore and Fairytales.

    The Prince and the Large and Lonely Tortoise

    Translated by E. Powys Mathers, 1964.

    It is related that there was once, in the antiquity of time and the passage of the age and of the moment, a powerful sultan whom Allah had blessed with three sons: Ali, the eldest, Hussein, the second, and Muhammad, the youngest. They were all indomitable males and heroic warriors; but the youngest was the most handsome, the bravest and the most generous. Their father loved them equally and, in the justice of his heart, had resolved to leave to each an equal part of his riches and his kingdom.

    Also, when they came to marriageable age, the king called his wise and prudent wazir to him, saying, “O wazir, I wish to find wives for my three sons, and have called you to me that you may give me your advice.”

    The wazir reflected for an hour, and then answered, lifting his head, “O king of time, the matter is delicate, for good and evil chance are not to be told beforehand, and against the decree of destiny there is no provision. I suggest that you take the three princes, armed with their bows and arrows, up to the terrace of the palace, and there, after bandaging their eyes, make them each turn round several times, After that, let them fire their arrows straight ahead of them, and let them visit the houses upon which the arrows fall. Have the owners of the houses brought before you and ask of each his daughter in marriage for the marksman of the arrow which fell upon his house. Thus each of your sons will have a bride chosen by destiny.”

    “Your advice is excellent, and I shall act upon it!” cried the sultan.

    As soon as his sons returned from hunting, he told them of the trial and led them up, with their bows and quivers, to the terrace of his palace.
    The dignitaries of the court followed and watched with breathless interest while he bandaged the eyes of the young men

    The eldest prince was turned about, and then discharged his arrow straight in front of him. It flew through the air with great swiftness and fell upon the dwelling of a most noble lord. In like manner the second prince’s arrow fell upon the terrace of the commander-in-chief of the king’s army.

    But, when Muhammad drew his bow, the arrow fell upon a house whose owner was not known.
    The king, with his retinue, set forth to visit the three houses, and found the great lord’s daughter and the commander-in-chief’s daughter were girls as fair as moons, and that their parents were delighted to marry them to the two princes. But when the king visited the third house, on which Muhammed’s shaft had fallen, he found in it no inhabitant except a large and lonely tortoise.

    Therefore, deeming that there could be no thought for a moment of marrying a prince to such an animal, the sultan decided that the test should be made again. The youngest prince mounted again to the terrace and again shot an arrow blindfold, but it fell true upon the house of the large and lonely tortoise.

    The king grew angry at this, and cried, “By Allah, your shooting is not fortunate today, my son! Pray for the prophet!”

    “Blessing and peace be upon him and upon his companions and those who are faithful to him!” answered Muhammad.

    “Now invoke the name of Allah,” exclaimed the king, “and shoot a third arrow.”
    “In the name of the merciful, the compassionate!” exclaimed Muhammad, as he strongly drew his bow and sent a third shaft onto the roof of the house inhabited by the large and lonely tortoise.

    When the Sultan saw, beyond any manner of doubt, that destiny favored the tortoise, he decided that his youngest son should remain a bachelor, and said to him, “My son, as this tortoise is not of our race, or our kind, or our religion, it would be better for you not to marry at all until Allah takes us again into his compassion.”

    But young Muhammad cried in dissent from this, “I swear by the virtues of the prophet (upon whom be prayer and peace!) that the time of my celibacy is over! If the large tortoise is written in my destiny I shall assuredly marry her.”

    “She is certainly written in your destiny!” cried the astonished sultan. “But it would be a monstrous thing for a human being to wed with a tortoise!”

    “I have no predilection for tortoises in general,” cried the prince. “It is this particular one whom I wish to marry.”

    The sultan, who loved his son, made no more objections but, though the weddings of Ali and Hussein were celebrated with great splendor for forty days and forty nights and then felicitously consummated, no one at court, neither his two brothers, nor their wives, nor the wives of the amirs and dignitaries, would accept an invitation to Muhammed’s bridal feast, and, instead, they did all in their power to spoil and make it sad.

    Poor Muhammad was bitterly humiliated by the mocking smiles and turned backs which everywhere greeted him; but of his marriage night he would say nothing, and only Allah, from whom no secrets are hid, can tell what passed between the two. It is certain, at least, that no one in that kingdom could imagine how a human youth might couple with a tortoise, even though she were as big as a stock jar.

    In the time which came after the three weddings, the years and preoccupations of his reign, added to the emotion of his disappointment in Muhammad, bowed the king’s back and thinned his bones. He pined away and became yellow. He lost his appetite and, with his appetite, his vision, so that he became almost completely blind.

    The three princes, who loved their father dearly, resolved to leave his health no longer in the ignorant and superstitious care of the harem.

    When they had concerted together, they approached the sultan and kissed his hand, saying, “Dear father, your face is becoming yellow, your appetite is weakening, and your sight is failing you. If these things go on, we shall soon be tearing our garments for grief that we have lost the prop of all our life. Therefore you must listen to our counsel and obey it. We have determined that our wives and not the women of the harem shall henceforth prepare your food, for these last are great experts in the kitchen and by their cookery can give you back appetite which shall furnish strength, strength which will furnish health, and health which will restore your vision.”

    The sultan was deeply touched by this care on his sons’ part. “May Allah shower his blessings upon you!” he said. “But I am afraid that this will be a great nuisance for your wives.”

    “A nuisance to our wives?” they cried. “They are your slaves and have no more urgent object in life than to prepare the food which will restore you to health.”

    “We have agreed that each of them shall prepare a separate dish, and that you shall choose your favorite in appearance, odor, and taste. Thus appetite will come back to you, and your eyes be cured.”

    “You know better than I do what is for the best,” answered the sultan, as he embraced them.

    The three princes went joyfully to their wives and bade them prepare the most admirable dish they could, and each said further, to excite a spirit of emulation, “It is essential that our father should prefer the cooking of our house.”

    After they had given their orders, the two elder brothers were for ever mocking Muhammad and asking him how a tortoise cooked, but he met all their jests with a calm smile.

    His wife, the large and lonely tortoise,had only been waiting for such an opportunity to show what she could do. At once she set to work, and her first care was to send a confidential servant to her elder sister-in-law, begging her to send back all the rat and mouse dung which she could collect in her house, that the tortoise, who never employed any other condiment, might use these matters for seasoning the rice dishes which she was preparing for the sultan.

    “As Allah lives, I will do no such thing!” said Ali’s wife to herself. “If these things make really good seasoning, let the wretched tortoise find her own. I can make all the use of them that is necessary.” Then aloud to the servant she said, “I regret that I have to refuse your mistress’s request, but I have hardly enough rat and mouse dung for my own requirements.”

    When the servant returned with this answer, the tortoise laughed happily, and sent her to Hussein’s wife with a request for all the hens’ and pigeon’s droppings which she had by her. The servant returned from this mission empty handed, with a bitter and disobliging message from the second princess. But when the tortoise had caused the words to be repeated to her, she fell into an ecstasy of contentment and laughed so heartily that she fell over on her backside.

    As soon as she was a little recovered, she prepared those meats which she could cook best, covered the dish which held them with a wicker cover, and wrapped the whole in a rose-scented napkin. Then she dispatched her servant with the dish to the sultan, at the same moment as his other two daughters-in-law were sending theirs by slaves.

    The time of the meal arrived, and the sultan sat down before the three dishes; but, when he had lifted the lid of that sent by the eldest son’s wife, there rose so foul a steam and odor of rat turds that it might well have asphyxiated an elephant.

    The sultan was so disagreeably affected by this stench that he fell head over heels in a swoon, and, when his sons succeeded in bringing him to with rose-water and the use of fans, he sat up and cursed his daughter-in-law heartily.

    In a little while he became calmer and consented to try the second dish; but, as soon as it was uncovered, a fetid stink of burnt birds’ droppings took him by the throat and eyes so that he thought that the hour of blindness and death was upon him. It was not until the windows had been thrown open and the dish removed and benzoin burnt with incense to purify the air, that the disgusted old man felt himself strong enough to say, “What harm have I done to your wives, my sons, that they should try to dig me a grave before my time?”
    The two elder princes could only answer that the thing passed their understanding; but young Muhammad kissed his father’s hand and begged him to forget his previous disappointments in the delight of the third dish.

    “What is that, Muhammad?” cried the king in an indignant rage. “Do you mock your old father? When women can prepare such frightful foods, do you expect me to touch the cooking of a tortoise? I can see that you have all sworn to destroy me.”

    Muhammad went on his knees and swore, by his life and by the verity of the faith, that the third dish would make up for all, and that he himself would eat anything of it which was not to his father’s taste. He urged with such fervor and humility that the sultan at last signed to the slave to lift the third cover, and waited with a set jaw, murmuring, “I seek refuge in the protection of Allah!”

    But it was the soul of all fine cooking which rose from the dish that the tortoise had prepared. It exquisitely dilated the fans of the old man’s heart, it nourished the fans of his lungs, it shook the fans of this nostrils, it brought back lost appetite, it opened his eyes and clarified his vision. He ate for an hour without stopping, then drank an excellent sherbet of musk and pounded snow, and finally gurked several times from the very bottom of his satisfied stomach.

    In great delight he gave thanks to Allah and praised the cooking of the tortoise. Muhammad accepted his congratulations modestly, in order not to excite the jealousy of his brothers. “That is only one of my wife’s talents, dear father,” he said. “Allah grant that she may some day find a chance really to earn your praises.” Then he begged the king to allow his future nourishment to be entirely in the hands of the tortoise, and his delighted father readily agreed to the arrangement, which in a few weeks entirely reestablished his health and eyesight.

    To celebrate his cure the sultan gave a great feast, and bade his three sons attend it with their wives. At once the two elder princesses began to make preparation that they might appear with honor and success before their father-in-law.

    The large tortoise also schemed how to whiten her husband’s visage before the people by the beauty of her escorting and the elegance of her clothes.

    Her first step was to send her confidential servant to Ali’s wife with a request for the loan of the big goose which she had in her courtyard, that the tortoise might use it as a fitting steed on which to ride to the festivities. The princess gave so peremptory a refusal that the good tortoise fell over on her backside in the convulsions of laughter which it occasioned her.

    Then she sent to the second sister to borrow her large he-goat for the same purpose, and never has the tortoise been so convulsed and dilated with pure joy as was this one when she received a second and much ruder refusal.

    The hour of the feast came. The old queen’s women were drawn up in good order at the outside door of the harem to receive the three royal brides. As they waited, a cloud of dust rolled towards them. When it dissipated, they saw a gigantic goose waddling forward with the speed of the wind, throwing her legs to left and right, beating her wings, and carrying the first princess of the kingdom clinging to her neck in disordered fright.
    Almost immediately afterwards, a he-goat, rearing and savagely bleating, came up to the entrance. It bore upon his back the second princess, all stained with dust and dung.
    The sultan and his wife were deeply offended by this double exhibition. The former cried, “See, they are not content with strangling and poisoning me; they wish to mock me before the people!”

    The queen received the two women coldly. An uncomfortable pause was only broken by the arrival of the third princess. The king and his wife were full of apprehension. They said to each other, “If two humans could show so absurdly, what can we expect from a tortoise? There is no power or might save in Allah!” So saying, they waited with caught breath for what might appear.

    The first rank of couriers appeared, announcing the arrival of prince Muhammed’s wife. Presently four handsome grooms, dressed in brocade and rich tunics with trailing sleeves, led up the palanquin. It was covered with bright-colored silks, and the black men who carried it set it down by the stairs. An unknown princess of bright splendor stepped from it, and the women, supposing her to be a maid of honor, waited for the alighting of the tortoise. Yet, when the palanquin was borne away, and this delightful vision mounted the steps alone, they recognized her as Muhammed’s bride and received her with honor and effusion. The sultan’s heart rejoiced to see her grace and nobility, her charming manners and musical movements.

    At once the sultan bade his sons and their wives be seated by him and by the queen, and, when they had taken their places, the feast was served.

    The first dish was, as usual, a profusion of rice swollen in butter. Before anyone could take a mouthful the beautiful princess lifted the dish and poured all its contents over her hair. Immediately each grain of rice turned to a pearl, and the pearls ran down the long strands of hair and tinkled to the floor in a bright cascade.

    Before the company could recover its wits after so admirable a prodigy, she also lifted a large tureen, filled with thick green soup, and poured its contents over her head in the same way. The green soup changed to an infinity of emeralds among her hair. These fell about her like green rain, to mingle their sea-tints with the pearls upon the floor.
    During the delighted confusion which followed, the servants brought other supplies of rice and green soup for the guests to eat. The two elder princesses, now yellow with jealousy, could not leave well alone. The eldest seized on the dish of rice and the second on the tureen of green soup; both poured the contents of these things upon their heads. But the rice remained rice in the hair of the first, horribly daubing her with butter. The soup, remaining soup, ran down in a sticky course over the hair and face and garments of the second, for all the world like cow slop.

    The sultan was disgusted at these accidents and commanded his two elder daughters-in-law to withdraw from the feast. Also he proclaimed that he wished never to see them again, or smell them, or hear of them. Their husbands, therefore, led them away in a great rage. You may suppose that all four noses trailed very near the ground. So much for them.

    When prince Muhammad and his magic princess were left alone with the sultan, he embraced them and took them to his heart. He said “You alone are my children!” He wrote a will leaving his throne to his youngest son. Calling together his amirs and wazirs, he made his intention known to them. Then to the two young people, he said, “I wish you both to stay with me in my palace until the end.”

    “To hear is to obey,” they answered. “Our father’s desire is upon our heads and before our eyes.”

    That she might never again be tempted to resume the appearance of a tortoise and so shock the old sultan, the princess ordered her servant to bring the large and lonely shell which she had left at home that day and, when it was fetched, burnt it without compunction. Ever afterwards she remained in her own delightful form. And glory be to Allah who gave her a faultless body, a marvel to the eyes of men!

    The giver showered his blessings upon these two and delighted them with numerous children.

  • Khobz Eddar – Algerian Bread of the House

    Khobz Eddar – Algerian Bread of the House

    The MENA Cooking Club celebrates the food of the Middle East and North Africa, and this month we’re cooking Algerian food! I chose to bake khobz eddar, or “house bread.”

    You can learn so much about a country from its folklore, so I spent some time reading about the stories from Algeria. Lots of tales trace back to the Kabyle people, a Berber group from the northern side. For the most part, the stories are about clever animals playing tricks and getting stuff done, but I was most excited to see that there is an Algerian Snow White story, similar to the Grimms version those of us from the West are more familiar with, but with some distinct Algerian flavor.

    yvonne-gilbert-snow-white
    Illustration for Snow White by Yvonne Gilbert.

    It’s very common in Algeria to bake bread at home to accompany meals, so certainly little Snow White regularly baked khobz eddar for the seven ogres! I made some to accompany my Algerian meal, which included a white bean stew and Teal Tadjine’s lovely garlicky meatballs.

    Khobz Eddar

    Adapted from La Petit Panière

    • 1 packet yeast
    • 1 teaspoon sugar
    • 1 cup warm milk
    • 200 grams semolina flour
    • 200 grams all purpose flour
    • 1 teaspoon salt
    • 1 egg
    • 1 egg yolk for the brush
    • nigella seeds for garnish

    In a mixing bowl, mix yeast, sugar and warm milk and set aside until foamy, about five minutes.

    In another bowl whisk together flours, and salt. Lightly beat the egg and combine with to the yeast and milk mixture. Gradually add the flours to the yeast mixture until a sticky dough forms (you may not use all flour). Knead for 10 minutes on a floured counter, adding a little flour if the dough gets too stick. Roll into a ball and place in a clean, greased bowl to rise, covered, for one hour.

    Knead the dough again for about 10 minutes. Grease a 9 inch cake pan. Flatten and spreadthe dough with your hands into a nine inch circle, and place in the pan. Brush with egg yolk, sprinkle with nigella seeds and slice the top into 8 wedges. Cover and let rise for another hour.

    Heat oven to 400° Bake for 30-35 minutes until golden brown. Cool, slice, and serve!

    Story time! This is a little long and winding, but there are some interesting details – the wicked woman is the girl’s own mother, the moon is an oracle, tricks with henna, and death from needles. Oh yeah, and ogres!

    More Beautiful than the Moon

    A beautiful and vain woman asked the moon each night “Is there anyone more beautiful than me?” to which the moon responded “I am pretty and you are pretty, but no one is prettier than you!”

    The woman had a child, a girl, who grew very lovely. One night when the girl was still very young, when asked the moon responded, “I am pretty and you are pretty, but the girl is prettier than everyone.” The woman was jealous and asked the moon if she should kill the girl. The moon allowed her to wait until the girl grew older, learned to cook and sew, then told the woman “now she is old enough to marry and have children; kill her or I will kill you!”

    The woman paid a butcher in jewels to take her daughter to the forest and kill her, returning with a flask of her blood that she could drink. The butcher tried, but could not bring himself to kill the beautiful girl, so he hid her in a cave.

    She fell asleep, and when she awoke she was surrounded by seven ogres. They made her their sister, and she stayed with them and kept their house.

    Meanwhile the woman revisited the moon, who told her her daughter was alive still, so she was killed.

    The ogres fell in love with the girl and all wished to marry her. To decide which one she would marry, she put henna on their hands, covered them in cloth, and told them she would marry the one whose henna turned the reddest. In the morning, none of the ogres’ hands were red at all, as she had tricked them by using another herb, so she remained unmarried as their sister.

    One day when the ogres were out, the girl was visited by an ogress who put seven needles in her head, so that when the ogres returned they thought she had died. They put her body on a horse and led her through the forest, where they came upon a prince who was hunting. He fell in love with the beautiful dead girl, but his father the king insisted she be buried; however, the undertaker discovered the needles and removed them and she awoke. She was married to the prince and they had a son.

    The son grew, and asked his mother about her family. She took him to see the seven ogres, who thought she had died, and embraced her with happiness. They visited the house of the ogress that had stuck her with needles and set her on fire. They discovered the ogress had seven daughters, to which the ogres were married, and lived happily ever after with the girl and her prince.

    Original story can be found in Tales Arab Women Tell by Hasan M. El-Shamy

    More MENA Cooking Club Recipes


  • Winter White Parsnip and Hazelnut Soup

    Winter White Parsnip and Hazelnut Soup

    Spring is almost here but winter is still lingering; last week we finally had some snow, which is what we call icy rain and slush in North Carolina. Gloria came over for another lovely Sunday in the kitchen. We’ve decided to get together about once a month and master a new skill; last month it was deboning a chicken and making Pollo a la Brasa. This month I requested we make soup (because jaw surgery) so we chose the complimentary skill of making nut milk for the soups, and baking with the pulp!

    Making nut milk is devastatingly simple: it’s just a matter of soaking the nuts overnight (we did a batch of hazelnuts and a batch of pecans), straining them, blending them with water, and straining them again. I’ve done it before through a cloth, but this time used a fine mesh strainer. You could probably squeeze out just a little more with a cloth and get the pulp a little drier, but it’s also so much messier, so search in your heart whether it’s worth it. My heart is lazy efficient.

    The soups we made with the nut milks were a sweet potato casserole soup that Gloria dreamed up (spiced roasted sweet potatoes, apple juice, pecan and coconut milks – I have some in the freezer I can’t wait to eat!) and a parsnip and hazelnut soup from Diana’s Food Adventures in Ficiton blog. It’s inspired by Rapunzel, which thrilled my daughter. You can read all about it on Diana’s blog, or even listen to us discuss it on our Grimm’s Fairy Tales episode of Fiction Kitchen!

    The only thing I did differently was to add some of the hazelnut pulp to thicken the soup. The way she prepares it is more elegant, but as I’m mostly eating soup nowadays, I’m trying to make them as hearty as possible – so mine is the rustic version.

    Winter White Parsnip and Hazelnut Soup

    For the hazelnut milk (makes about 2 cups)

    • 2 cups blanched and skinned hazelnuts
    • 4 cups water

    Soak the hazelnuts in 2 cups water overnight. Strain, and blend with 2 more cups water. Strain through a cheese cloth or a fine mesh strainer. Reserve the nut pulp.

    For the soup

    • 3 tablespoons butter
    • 2 leeks, sliced (white parts only)
    • salt & white pepper
    • 2-3 small parsnips (the smaller the sweeter), peeled and chopped
    • 1/2 cup hazelnut pulp
    • 2 cups hazelnut milk
    • 1 cup vegetable broth
    • crushed hazelnuts for garnish

    In a soup pot, heat the butter over medium heat. Add the leeks and saute until nice and wilty. Season with salt and white pepper, and stir for a minute. Add the parsnips, hazelnut pulp, hazelnut milk, and vegetable broth, and simmer until parsnips are very tender, about 20 minutes.

    Pour into a blender and puree (hold a tea towel over the lid). Pour back into the soup pot and gently warm back through; taste and adjust seasoning if necessary. Serve hot garnished with crushed hazelnuts.

    soups-mason-jars

    Soups look so cute and cool in mason jars.

    minty-split-pea-soup

    Oh yeah I also made a (nut milk-less) Minty Split Pea Soup for our Arabian Nights episode of Fiction Kitchen podcast!


  • Mash o’ Nine Sorts

    Mash o’ Nine Sorts

    This month I’ve made a couple of traditional recipes associated with Samhain (namely Irish Boxty and Barm Brack), so here’s an English one for the mix. It has nine ingredients – hence the name – and is also played as a fortunetelling game, with a ring (symbol of marital happiness) hidden inside to be served to a lucky guest.

    For the record, I got the ring, but Zoeya got upset so I re-hid it and she totally by chance got it and was really excited about it. Which is to say, usually in these situations I just tell her to get over it, but I think it’s ok to spoil your kids a little once in awhile to see them smile.

    Mash o’ Nine Sorts

    Slightly adapted from Food.com

    • 2 lbs potatoes, peeled and diced
    • 2 carrots, peeled and diced
    • 1 small turnip, peeled and diced
    • 1 large parsnip, peeled and diced
    • 1 tbsp butter
    • 2 leeks, cleaned and chopped into thin slices, including some of the green tops
    • 6 ounces farmhouse cheddar cheese, grated
    • salt & pepper
    • 2 tablespoons cream (or half & half, which I always have around)

    Heat oven to 350°.

    In a big pot of salted water, bring the potatoes, carrots, turnip and parsnip together to a boil, and cook until soft. Mash them thoroughly (I think it’s supposed to be more uniform but I left it a little lumpy) and season with salt and pepper to taste.

    Heat the butter and saute the leeks for a few minutes until soft. Add to the potato mixture along with the cream and mix. Stir in the grated cheese – and the ring! – and spread in a baking dish. Bake until golden brown, about 30 to 45 minutes.

    We ate this on Friday movie night while watching Frankenweenie.

  • Fig and Ginger Barm Brack

    Fig and Ginger Barm Brack

    Barm brack is an Irish sweet bread studded with dried fruits and candied peel. Though traditionally made with sultanas, I changed it up with dried figs and ginger, one of my favorite combos. It’s a Halloween tradition to eat it and play a fortune-telling game for the coming year based on little trinkets wrapped in muslin cloth baked into the bread.

    A pea: no marriage for you this year
    A stick: even worse, an unhappy marriage, or continual disputes
    A cloth or rag: rotten luck, poor poor poor

    ….hmm so far not sure I want to play this game…but then!

    A coin: good fortune, riches!
    A ring: marriage! This year!

    (Thanks again my favorite academic source Wikipedia)

    I am not even going to bother linking to the recipe I worked from because the liquid to flour measurements were way off! (At least for me). I had to add almost double the flour the recipe called for before it would come together in a dough…however, through some unexplained wacky kitchen witchcraft the end result was madly marvelous!

    So because of this, apologies for the flour measurements, but if you add a little at a time you can’t go wrong. This was fantastic, so I will definitely make this again and try to close the margin a little.

    Fig and Ginger Barm Brack

    • 1 packet (.32 oz) rapid rise yeast
    • 3/4 cup warm water
    • 4 tbsp sugar, divided
    • 3-4 cups all purpose flour, plus more for kneading
    • 1 tsp salt
    • 4 tbsp (half stick) butter, melted
    • 2 eggs, lightly beaten
    • 4 oz dried figs, chopped
    • 2 oz candied ginger, chopped

    In a small bowl, combine yeast, warm water and 1 tbsp of the sugar and let stand for 10 minutes or so (after which time it should be foamy – if not, use new yeast).

    Meanwhile, whisk together 3 cups of the flour, remaining 3 tbsp sugar and the salt, then stir in butter and eggs (does not need to be homogenous). Add fruit and the yeast mixture, stirring and adding more flour little by little, just enough until a dough forms (will be a little sticky).

    Turn out onto a floured board (or your counter) and knead for 10 minutes, adding sprinkles of flour as needed as it gets too sticky to handle. Roll into a ball and place into a lightly oiled bowl and cover with a tea towel or plastic wrap. Put in a warm spot to rise for one hour.

    After an hour, lightly oil 9×5 loaf pan. Knead the dough for a few minutes and spread the dough into the loaf pan. Cover and allow to rise for 30 minutes.

    Bake at 400° for 30 minutes – near the end if it starts getting too brown on top you can cover with foil and finish baking.

    Cool in the pan.

    Have with tea, sliced, toasted, slathered with butter and sprinkled with sea salt.