How Deep is Your Love?

Gearing up for an international move with Proustian reflections on stuff. And recipes.

Mules, you seemed so comfortable when I bought you in black at the Nordstrom annual sale that I decided to buy a second pair in red that would elevate casual outfits with a pop of color. You didn’t get out much (pandemic) but the black pair attended a book party in Washington, DC and received compliments, which was promising. However, I regret to inform you that though it was exciting to be out last Friday night in red shoes, the painful walk from the car, to the restaurant, to the theater, back to the car, and then along a cobblestone street, to stand in a long line for Salt and Straw ice cream, sealed your fate. You will not be coming to Portugal.

My clothes and my cookbooks are auditioning to join our big international move. Though we may send a shipment later, as of now, we are only planning to bring luggage and some excess baggage with us on the flight, along with our three pets. Thus, I’m trying to decide what I can’t live without, what I need to procure, and what I need to get rid of.

Each day, I reach for something in my closet, put it on and ask myself if I like the look and the fit of it right now, not 10 pounds from now. I’m paying attention to which cookbooks I rely on most often, though I can’t imagine my kitchen without the world of possibilities the others offer.

Still, as my plain-spoken British friend Elaine, who lived on a boat for a long time says, “You’ve got to be brutal.”

The photo on the Costco ID that appears in my newly downloaded app, to go with my newly reinstated membership, was taken in 1997. It’s a little jarring to be confronted with the me of 27 years ago — the me who hadn’t yet had kids or cancer, or had been through pregnancy, perimenopause, or menopause — with the less fresh-faced me of today.

I actually quit Costco several years ago and only recently rejoined because they had some good deals on laptops and we wanted new ones before heading to Portugal.

I have had this Costco roll of Saran Wrap for at least 20 years.

Quitting Costco felt like I had torn off the shackles of domestic drudgery. But recently I learned that Costco is considered cool. Millennials, even those without kids, love it. My 30-something pickleball friends rave about the things they buy there and my opinionated family member (Millennial with a Zillennial girlfriend) felt moved to write a Substack about Costco toilet paper. I’ve heard all about the Costco in Sevilla, Spain.

I recently took my first real shopping trip to the Costco I used to frequent to see what the experience would be like at this stage of my life, with only three or so months left living in my house. Though I did stock up on the old standbys — extra virgin olive oil, tall kitchen garbage bags, and that toilet paper — I walked away from the fun stuff in the middle of the store (except the waterproof gloves I scored to replace my 30-year-old ski gloves) and had to do some calculating to figure out if we would consume two big jars of Dijon mustard during our time left in Seattle.

I felt the bittersweet passage of time, buying Voltaren in bulk instead of diapers.

A recurring theme in my life and my writing during those Costco-fueled years of domestic drudgery was how cookbooks saved my sanity by transporting me around the world.

I recently made the painful decision that Turquoise, a beautiful book by Greg and Lucy Malouf, was too heavy for me to take to Portugal. One of my first escapist cookbooks, it inspired my 50th birthday trip to Turkey when the kids were 13 and 11, and later, my kitchen, with its turquoise-colored walls adorned with photos from the markets we visited there and Turkish tiles as a backsplash (thank you J, for carrying that heavy box of tiles through airports).

Turkish tiles with Portuguese chestnut liquer. My idea of heaven.

But when I read the news the other day that Greg Malouf had died at age 64 (one year older than I am now), I knew I needed to cook something from that book.

I had extra red peppers from my Costco excursion, just enough dried chickpeas and bulgur in my pantry, and a little bit left of the pekmez (Turkish grape molasses) I transported back from Istanbul 12 years ago. As far as I can tell, it never goes bad.

J, who is not a fan of legumes (and we will be eating a lot of them, as we clear out our “Y3K shelf”) was out for the night, so I settled in to make Red Pepper Soup with Bulgur, Chickpeas, Mint, and Chile and watch the first episode of Season 4 of My Brilliant Friend, The Story of the Lost Child. You’ll find the recipe below.

Yes, that is parsley instead of mint on top. Fresh mint would be much better, but I didn’t have any on hand.

Elena Ferrante’s searing four Neopolitan novels on which the TV series is based were also important and transportive to me during those full-hearted, yet frustrating years of early motherhood. How fitting to eat that soup and watch the story of neighborhood friends continue to unfold.

In the neighborhood where I have lived for almost 30 years, I see many of the same people I have walked alongside for decades. I find this comforting, and a little sad, as I prepare to leave them. We are older, grayer, and in some cases a little wider and hopefully a little wiser now, and many of us are grappling with this what’s next stage of life. Cooking is omnipresent in my memories.

We spent the night of the Presidential debate with old friends in the neighborhood, who we had been with the night Barack Obama was elected. Claudia Roden’s cookbook, Mediterranean, was making its audition that night, and I brought Amandines, her version of little almond cakes topped with pine nuts that are great for gatherings.

So much of my fantastical cooking life began with Claudia Roden and her seminal works, The New Book of Middle Eastern Food and The Book of Jewish Food. One way or another, they are coming to Portugal.

We’ll spend next week’s Vice Presidential debate with the same friends, and I will cook from the second of the three new cookbooks I have allowed myself (you can read about my experiences with the first one - Le Sud - here), Seattle chef Renee Erickson’s lovely new book, Sunlight & Breadcrumbs.

Majestic Mount Rainier, as seen from a recent hike.

The spiderwebs are glistening, the days are getting shorter, and there is a chill in the evening air.

I remember that I used to make apple cakes each fall — they were my signature offering at work gatherings in the days before kids. Hunting for a recipe I thought I had for applesauce cake, to use some of J’s delicious apple sauce stash from our freezer, I revisited some of the cookbooks that introduced me to my new home in the Pacific Northwest, Oregon’s Cuisine of the Rain and The Northwest Best Places Cookbook, by

Cynthia Nims

.

I couldn’t the find the recipe I was looking for, so I relied on eatyourbooks, which is an essential resource for a cookbook maven like me. Though the recipe I remembered didn’t turn up, it gave me several alternatives, sending me down a Proustian rabbit hole, one of many food-fueled memory trips I’m sure I’ll be taking as we pack up our house. It’s been a long time since I looked at any of the Time-Life Foods of the World cookbooks that my mother and I used to collect, but there was an applesauce cake recipe in The Cooking of Scandinavia.

The simple cake I ended up baking to bring to my mother-in-law this weekend came from The Joy of Cooking, a book I rarely use anymore but whose title is a fitting description of my memories.

RIP and thank you, Greg Malouf.

The Best Thing I Cooked This Week

Red Pepper Soup with Bulgur, Chickpeas, Mint, and Chile from Turquoise by Greg and Lucy Malouf.

Serves 6-8

7 oz dried chickpeas; 1/4 cup olive oil; 1 onion finely diced; 1 long red pepper, seeded and finely chopped; 1 long red chile, seeded and finely chopped; 1 teaspoon dried mint; 1 teaspoon pekmez (Turkish grape molasses); 14 oz can chopped tomatoes; 1 1/4 quarts water or vegetable stock; 3 oz coarse bulgur; 1/3 cup shredded mint leaves; 1/4 teaspoon hot paprika; juice of 1/2 a lemon

• Soak the chickpeas over night in plenty of water

• Heat the oil in a large, heavy-based saucepan. Sauté onion, pepper, chile, and mint over low heat for 5-8 minutes until vegetables soften. Add pekmez and sauté for another minute.

• Drain and rinse chickpeas and add them to the pan with the tomatoes and 1 quart of water or stock. Bring to a boil, then lower heat and cook, covered, for 30 minutes. Add bulgur and remaining liquid and simmer, covered, for another 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.

• When ready to serve, stir in the shredded mint, paprika, and lemon juice. Ladle soup into warm bowls and serve piping hot.