Dreams

While making crepes one afternoon

Leo:  Mama, what did you dream last night?
Mama:  I don't remember.  Do you?
Leo:  No! You never told me.

Thanksgiving 2013

We passed this year's Thanksgiving in Budapest.  This year we kinda, sorta ignored the holiday.

I did no cooking.  At all.

Instead we were invited to a small dinner party at which a chef prepared an authentic Thanksgiving holiday dinner.  How authentic?  The sweet potatoes had a bit of orange, ginger, whiskey and were topped with toasted marshmallows.  The only thing that could have made it more authentic would have been if the marshmallows would have been ever so slightly singed.

It was a grown-ups only dinner party.  No cooking.  No kids.  No Thanksgiving according to my accounting.

The pumpkin pie, however, was a delight.  (But there is no comparison to my my brother's!)

Top Ten

turkish delight

wide-brimmed straw hats in summer

jasmine pearl tea

eyewear

outdoor fruit and vegetable markets

tepertős pogácsa

freshly ground peanut butter

baking bread

being in my body

pockets

Széchenyi Fürdő

my mother's dumplings

rocking chairs

giving books I love to people I think might love them too

The Girl of the Limberlost by Gene Stratton-Porter

diners

grandma Kelley's rice casserole

home made play dough

Le Mans Hall

midwives

baking muffins

Spencer Tunick

wool socks, knee-high, with stripes

"Coin-Operated Boy" by the Dresden Dolls

bread and butter

pumpkin

split-pea soup

church bells

Gellért Fürdő

African chicken and peanut soup from the New England Soup Factory

martini with blue cheese stuffed olives

1059 Riverside

singing the ABC's as a lullaby

gesztenyepüré

yogurt

sneaking away from a sleeping baby

sneaking back into my bed where my four and five-year-olds are tangled up, deeply breathing

bodza

Book Club

Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins

Rome

chia seeds

sunflowers

avocados

Indigo Girls

dandelions

sleep

Warren Dunes State Park

french fries

blue

the fact that baking bread is so simple

clean pressed sheets

V-Day

walking by a lilac bush in bloom

holding hands

playgrounds

NPR

Prairie Home Companion

PBS

hard wood floors

freshly squeezed ABC juice--apple, beet, carrot

handmade afghans

coffee

Jeune Homme Nu Assis au Bord de la Mer, by Jean- Hippolyte Flandrin

marching bands

roasted chestnuts

Rachel flodnija

birdie sing in the tree, woo woo woo, wee wee wee, I love you and you love me

Henszlman Imre utca, 5

cuckoo clocks

soft-boiled eggs in egg cups

Kelet Kávézó

By the numbers

Lenard
height:  41 inches, 52% (104 cm)
weight: 37.5 pounds, 56% (17 kilos)
BMI: 15.7, 54%
shoe: 29


Izabella
height:  47 inches, 92% (120 cm)
weight:  57 pounds, 95% (25.8 kilos)
BMI:  18.2, 94%
shoe:  32

Cold Apple Avocado Soup

two apples, peeled and sliced
one avocado, peeled and sliced
about 2 T diced onion
about 2 T olive oil, or less
a bit of salt
about 2 cups water
a squirt of fresh lemon juice

blend.


raw apple and avocado soup.  the best fruit soup. ever.

Kitchen

canned tomatoes
tomato paste
madagascar bourbon vanilla extract
ground cinnamon
jasmine tea
assam tea
oatmeal
peanuts
cashews
walnuts
raisins
honey
coffee
baking soda
baking powder
paprika (sweet)
chili powder
cocoa
cumin
rosemary
sea salt
dill
bay leaf
cream of tartar
garam masala
basil
ground cloves
celery salt
thyme
vegetable bouillon
apple cider vinegar
sardines
seaweed
popcorn
bodza syrup
maple syrup
coconut oil
olive oil
sunflower or canola oil
whole wheat flour
white spelt flour
corn meal
quinoa
chia seeds
table salt
poppy seeds
sugar
fresh ground black pepper
eggs
milk
kefir
yogurt
sour cream
butter
pickes in brine
cheddar cheese
parmesan cheese
apples
bananas
tomatoes
potatoes, white and sweet
peppers
avocado
kiwi
molasses
dried beans, all sorts
onion
carrots
garlic
frozen peas
brown rice
jar of spaghetti sauce
spaghetti noodles
macaroni noodes
ketchup
mustard
chicken, pork, salmon, lamb

Leo's Favorites

color:  chocolate

animal:  unicorn

drink:  bodza

video:  Olivia

person:  mama

place:  Waban

toy:  crane

shoes:  purple boots

book:  he is not saying

(almost 4-years-old, still 3)

Poo-free

It has been one week, three washes.  And no poo.

Months ago I read an article posted on Facebook about using baking soda and apple cider vinegar to wash and condition hair.  Right away this appealed to me.  I like the idea of DIY.  I like the idea of thumbing my nose at the chemical beauty industry.  I have had a series of ah-ha moments about things I have been sold.  Boxed macaroni and cheese.  Peanut butter in a jar.  This is one more in that batch.  

I mixed 1 tablespoon of baking soda with enough water to make it liquid.  Then I dumped it on my scalp and gave myself a first-rate massage.  Very granular.  Bubbles are overrated.  Then rinsed.  Then I poured a apple cider vinegar mix on my scalp and ran my fingers through my hair from roots to tips--tangles melted away.  I used 1 tablespoon vinegar and three tablespoons water.  Done.

Number of compliments on my hair from people who did not know about my my lack of poo:  2.

Someone do the math:  number of shampoo and conditioner bottles made and put into landfills.  Not to mention the chemicals produced and rubbed into your scalp.  Not to mention the cost to transport all the raw materials to the poo factories and then transport them to the store and then transport them to the landfill.  

I love DIY.  That doesn't mean I embrace the lifestyle.  I admit that I have colored my hair for around 15 years now.  The baking soda seemed to strip the color from my grey roots.  The vinegar rinse, on the other hand, seemed to brighten my colored hair.  So.  This experience has convinced me that it is time to ditch the dye and embrace the natural color of my hair, whatever that may be.  

Curtain

Saturday, 23 February, 19:00. We will perform István Örkény's In Our Time and Ernő Szép's Kávécsarnok in one piece. 

Cast:
Alajos..............Stefan Schwach
Alizka..............Serafina Anttila
Egy vendég......Nicky Burt
Fanny..............Janet Kelley
Magda..............Nina Leeke
Rozi.................Florina Illés

Directed by Anikó Kelemen

If girls can wear pants, why can't boys wear dresses?

I have been instructed by our nursery school teacher that my 3.5 year-old child, who has boy parts, should wear boy clothes and not come in dresses. I am pretty sure one teacher told me that it would cause "problems" for him later in life. (Perhaps I didn't understand the Hungarian. I could swear that she said it might even cause dyslexia!!??) The other teacher said it would cause confusion in the classroom for the other boys. Thoughts? I have LOTS of thoughts about this issue, but don't want to color your responses. I would love to hear your responses, experiences, etc.

First Words

On the way to nursery school today I was telling Iza about her birth.  Tomorrow is her fifth birthday and she was thrilled to hear that she was born during a snowstorm.  Then she asked me what her first word was.  I was able to answer with full confidence, Ball.  Leo then asked what his first word was.  And, well, I had no idea.  A blank.  So I said that his first word was Tata.  "No, mama," he laughed.  I remember.  It was, Iza!"

New Year's Day Menu 2013

French Meat Pie
by Sister M. Concepta Mermis

31/2 lb. ground pork
1 lb. ground beef

I managed to purchase .6 kilo pork and .6 kilo beef at the large market this year.

2 tsp. salt
3 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. pepper
1 1/2 tsp. ground cloves
1 tsp. celery salt
1 c. dry bread crumbs (or more)
1 onion

After cooking the meat with two small onions, I measured it and found that I had 8 cups of meat.  I roughly estimated that I started with half the amount of meat called for in the recipe.  So I divided the meat into 4-cup amounts.  For the French pie I added a bit less than half the prescribed spices.  Omitting celery salt because I couldn't manage to find it.  Instead I food-processed a stalk of celery and cooked it with the meat.  For the Hungarian pie I omitted the cinnamon and cloves and added 1 teaspoon paprika and 1 minced clove garlic.  

Cook meat and 1 onion in water to cover meat, simmer about 45 minutes to 1 hour. Break up the meat with a wooden spoon as it cooks. Remove onion and discard. Set aside to cool.

Skim off grease (use to make pastry). Add bread crumbs and seasonings.  Put meat mixture into pastry shell, top with crust. Slit the top of the crust to allow steam to escape. Bake on cookie sheet or foil in case the pie bubbles over. Bake about 35 minutes or until brown in 400 degree oven. Let stand about thirty minutes before serving.

I have never yet managed to make a decent pie crust and usually buy store-bought shells.  I could only find phyllo dough.  So.....this year it will be meat strudel!  I added a lot more than one cup of bread crumbs to eat mixture because I feared that that strudel could not handle too much liquid.  It was deemed more elegant than a pie and tasted not unlike an Cornish pasty without the vegetables.  

Search my blog for "meat pies" to see how I cooked this in previous years.

Christmas 2012

This was our first Christmas in Budapest at our new apartment.  Grandma lives with us and the entire Christmas feast was in  her hands.

A lovely snow fell on the city on the 23rd, setting the Christmas scene.

Christmas here, at least for our family, is celebrated on Christmas Eve.  That morning Laszlo took the kids out to see a children's movie.  This gave me time to wrap the gifts.  It was a modest selection this year by design and due to lack of time.  We have all been sick for most of December and Laszlo as in America. There was little time to shop.  I did make a last-minute trip to the WAMP, a Hungarian Design Market.  I made a pass through the market but was a bit overwhelmed at the options. So I headed back to the nearby mall.  The mall, however, was filled with junk.  The usual mass-market, made of toxic chemicals, shipped around the world, disney-themed stuff of the toy store.  I dashed back to the design marked and made a few lovely purchases just as the market closed the day before Christmas Eve.

In the afternoon I took the kids down the block to our local church for what was advertised as a nativity. I am sure it was lovely.  But I can't report for sure because we arrived thirty minutes late and heard a few hymns but spied not one shepherd.  The kids didn't seem to mind and we explored the church until the priest had locked the front doors and started to turn off the lights.

I led the kids to a local grocery store to buy yogurt, but lo-and-behold it was closed.  Everything was closed. Luckily the hotel on the corner was open and we took our time riding the elevator, searching for the hotel swimming pool, and finally crossing and recrossing the pedestrian bridge over the main street. We found a drink of water.  Used the bathrooms.  Had a minor tantrum.  Finally, I got the call.

The angels had arrived at the house.

We returned.  The angels had dropped some candies along the hallway and lit candles making a trail to the tree and all the gifts.  Wrapping paper exploded.  The kids could read all our names and distribute the packages.  Grandma Kelley and family were in attendance via Skype.  Daniel visited virtually as well.  Not to mention Livi.  It was a cozy family gathering around the glow of the laptops.

Dinner was stuffed cabbage.  It turns out that nagymama does not add tomato paste to her dish, which I believe I did last year.  She also refrains from adding extra sausage or other add-ins.  Simple, tasty, and not too cabbagy.  Champagne and szaloncukor rounded out the evening.  I bought the handmade szaloncukor chocolates from the Aztek Choxolat Cafe, a favorite spot of mine from our days on Semmelweiss utca.

One Billion Rising: Budapest

Hello, Budapest friends, I was wondering if you might want to be involved with a project that raises awareness about violence against woman.

Hunter Roberts, an American living in Budapest, would like to organize a local Budapest event as part of the worldwide One Billion Rising campaign. Here is the link:

http://onebillionrising.org/

Eve Ensler is a well-known activist in America who works to end violence against women and girls. I have worked on her campaigns in the past.

We plan to meet this coming Wednesday, the 19th. If you are interested, send me a private message or comment below.

Epic Party

Kedves x,

Most, hogy elkezdtük be- és el-rendezni budapesti életünket, arra gondoltunk, hogy folytatjuk egy kedvenc Bostoni hagyományunk, és meghívjuk a barátainkat, kedves ismerőseinket egy kellemes estére.

Ráadásul azt is fontosnak tartjuk, hogy megismertessünk olyan értékeket, amelyekről nem biztos, hogy eleget tudtok. Így lesz ez most is. Csíkszeredai barátom Részegh Botond elhozza legújabb festményeit, Dragomán György részelteket olvas fel a Botond képeihez írott novellájából, Palya Beát pedig talán ezekből inspirálódva hallhatjuk majd.

Ha lenne kedvetek velünk és barátainkkal tölteni egy estét, gyertek el November 24-én 19.00-tól.


Várunk szeretettel,
László, Janet, Iza es Leo.


PS. Kérlek jelezzétek, hogy el tudtok-e jönni.

Thanksgiving 2012

Cancelled.

phew.

instead:  mama drinking mulled wine, then pinot noir at local cafe.  tata putting kids to bed.  mama blogging and attending to email correspondence.  eavesdropping on an ESL discussion between two middle-aged psychologists on a date. they are jotting notes on a shared napkin.  He is German, ya.

Pink Martini is playing on the radio.

grandma made kolbasz (sausage) and mashed potatoes for dinner.

thanks indeed.  i'll take it.

Theater Project

Hello, All!

Happy Thanksgiving!

We rehearsed today and decided to change our schedule.  Please give us your feedback about the following dates:

Tuesday, Nov. 27, 5 - 7 pm, at Ulysses Language School.  Characters needed:  Alajos, Franny, and Rozi.

Tuesday, Dec. 4, 5 - 7 pm, at Janet's.  All characters needed

Monday, Dec. 10, 5 - 7 pm, at Janet's.  All characters needed.  ****This date is changed to Monday because Aniko is not able to come on that Tuesday.  We could do it Monday with her OR meet on Tuesday without her.

Tuesday, Dec. 18, 5 - 7, at Janet's. All Characters needed.

Saturday, Dec. 22, 7 pm  THE SHOW!


thanks,

janet

To Hear a Blind Man

registered somewhere alongside cars, trams, and the sounds of Hungarian:  click, click, click, click.  I move to the curb before I fully realize that this is the sound of a blind person making his own way down the city street. this I love.

a toddler's mood escalating toward a tantrum is redirected toward joy upon the discovery a young man on a small white bicycle doing spins and jumps in the square.

watching students flow out of a university building.  not a primary colored parka or a pair of sneakers to be seen.  

having grandma put the kids to bed while we walk ten minutes to the theater.

the new Belgian restaurant that opened on our block.

roasted chestnuts from street vendors.

the old women selling flowers.  the bent-in-half posture, her headscarf.  the way she grasps in both hands a bouquet of flowers freshly cut from her own garden.  when you buy a bunch, she slowly wraps the wet stems in newspaper.  she is unfailingly polite.  she is old.  her flowers are fresh and fragrant.  of course I buy two bunches, one for each child to carry home to grandma.  

the Roma women lofting brassieres into the air at the metro entrance.  imploring you with the promise of a good price.

Christmas markets and mulled wine.

the automatic and effusively generous offer of help when boarding a tram with a stroller and two toddlers.

no car.  only public transportation.  

walking everywhere.

pacing yourself with the crowd.

choosing to stand on the right or walk on the left down the escalator to the metro train.

being deeply immersed in a novel on my iPhone while seated on a tram and at the same time scanning the doorway at each stop to see if my seat can be offered up to a commuter who needs it.

not multi-tasking so much as living-connected.

Duck Feet

Iza, where are your dirty clothes?

in the Hancock.

Where?  Oh, you mean the hamper.  

Today:

The kids dress themselves.  Leo eats two bowls of oatmeal drizzled with honey and adorned with a smiley face made of raisins.  Iza eats one bowl.  

Then down three flights of stairs.  Leo descends the entire way bumping on his bottom.  

Through the park. Down into the metro.  

Three stops, including going under the Danube.

A stop at the new "Food Fusion" shop where the kids have discovered they can get a little cup of milk. Leo, who is happy to delay going to nursery school, suddenly develops an insistent need for a bit of milk from this shop.  I also buy sweet potatoes, an unusual food here.  I buy the sweet potatoes because the young man who runs the shop does not have a way to charge me for the little milks.  I have tried to pay him, to offer it as a tip at the coffee bar.  Nope.  So now we have sweet potatoes.

Up to the ovoda (nursery school.)

Leo proudly shows his new winter shoes to one of the ovi teachers.  She looks at me and tells me that it is unhealthy for his feet to wear his shoes inversely and that they must be changed.  I say nothing and I do not change them.  Because here is the deal:  The kid is having tantrums.  He obviously is not happy with all the changes that have been foisted on him--change of country, new home here in Budapest, going to nursery school, speaking in Hungarian.  If the little guy wants to wear his shoes inversely, then that is cool by me.  Of course I explained to him that morning how the velcro should be fastened such that the flower design in on the outside of the foot for all to see.  But he disagreed.  Yes, he chose the same dark purple boots with a floral motif as his sister.  The boy knows what he wants.  And he wants to fasten them inversely right now.  Fine by me.  Let's just say, this particular teacher is doing her job by laying down the rules.  But my job as a parent is to respond to my child first.  My kid needs to feel like he has some control over his life.  Let him wear his shoes as he wills.  

It is stressful to lack the language skills to explain my point-of-view and parenting philosophies.  I did not appreciate being told her opinion about what is best for my child's feet.  Really?  Did she think I didn't know or didn't care that his shoes were on backward?  And really, universe and podiatrists, is it really unhealthy that my child goes through a phase of wearing his shoes inversely?  Will he walk on  hobbled little stubs because of this laissez-faire parenting style of mine?

Dear ovoda teacher, please read:  UNCONDITIONAL PARENTING by Alfie Kohn.

Kisses (and no tantrum!) and then I retrace my metro route home, stopping at a local cafe to meet the husband.

Green Tea.  Warm tuna sandwich.  

We discuss our upcoming party, our children's future and education, Hungarian bureaucracy, and Boston real estate.  He asks me our wedding anniversary because he needs it for some paperwork.  I don't know.  We finally manage to find it because I remind him that he has scanned all our documents into the Intertubes.  April 21, 2006.

Then I step into a local design store and buy a new espresso maker--the stovetop kind.  I have one. It doesn't work despite all the voodoo I've tried.  Fingers crossed for the new one.

Back up the three flights to our apartment.

Minutes later two other actors arrive so we can rehearse our play.  Of course we take a cake break.  Not your typical Hungarian cake break as Stefan stopped by our local vegan shop and picked up some "reform" cake.  Very healthy stuff.  Not exactly within the parameters of what you are used to when it comes to cake.  Very granola.  

The actors leave.  I eat all the remaining cake.

Then I nag the husband about being late to pick up the kids.  Today is his first occasion to pick them up from nursery school.  

My mother-in-law is still on Skype.  So I step out and buy a few items from a local Hungarian designer's boutique.  I return. Grandma is till on Skype.  

I make tea.

Now I blog while I wait for the family to come home.

Tantrums:     0

Number of trips up/down three flights:     4

Cups of tea:     4

cups of coffee:     2

Days left until our performance:  16

Tantrum

Today my son had three full-blown tantrums.  If you think a tantrum is a trifle. You are dead wrong.

Motherhood didn't "change" me at all.  I didn't become someone different.  In fact I become a radical version of myself.  Motherhood cracked me open and let loose the Pandora's box of my collective self comprised of my history up until the moment before I pushed my daughter into the world.  Pandora's box, let me specify, is used here as in something that seems like merely a natural rite of passage--woman becomes mother--and yet has far-reaching consequences.  It turns you inside out.  It turns you upside down.  It doesn't change you at all.  It reveals who you were all along.  Needless to say, this is not something anyone can possibly believe if they read it in a book.  Nor can they believe it even when told by a very close girlfriend who has become a mom before them.  It cannot be learned.  It has to happen when your tiny baby cannot smile at you or cuddle you.  She cannot hold you, but you cannot hold her enough.  Your arms go numb and still you hold her.  Your entire being is aware at all times of her.  You know that she is your best self and yet you have no way of explaining what that means in actual spoken language.  So you sing lullabies.  Off-key and without stop.

It used to take years off my life when my babies cried.  And when I say cry, please know that they can scream in what seems like bloody terror.  I felt my blood chemistry lose vital strength.  I could feel my skin tighten around my glazed eyes and break into lines.  It was an out-of-body suffering.  It was terrible.  And then your hormones stabilize, somewhat.  You begin to understand that the little one is vital and resilient.   You get more than four hours of sleep in a row.  Sleep, that is a whole thing.

Now when my son throws a tantrum at the age of three and a half, the Pandora's box is opened--here used in the sense of letting loose all the dark stuff from within me.  Yes, I know he is riding the storm of his emotions.  I know I am not supposed to take it personally. I know he is not trying to be difficult or hurt me.  But when he gets backed into a tantrum and becomes a raging, weaponized munchkin, I don't want to wait it out. Or hug him.  Or empathize.  I want. the. screaming. to. stop.  I want to dodge the bullet.  Or fire back.

I distinctly remember reading parenting books before I had children that addressed the need to walk away and cool down.  I absolutely remember thinking with total certainty that I would never need to walk away from my darling child.  Ha.

The problem with a toddler throwing a tantrum is that you can't walk away--they will follow you screaming and pulling at you.  It's a logistical nightmare.  Or consider when a tantrum happens while walking on a major city street, in inclement weather, with a slighter older preschooler also along for the ride.  There are serious safety issues at stake.

Recent scientific advice suggests that the best response to a tantrum is to do nothing.  Just wait until you have a tantrum on your hands and see how difficult it is to do nothing, but do it in a way that communicates your loving presence.  I would rather, at times, literally do nothing.  But I hope that is not what they best scientific advice intended.

I've had friends on Facebook mention days when "raging bitch mom" appears and they have to figure out a way to put her back in her cage or medicate her.  Or at least feed her.  This is what I did not know about motherhood, especially parenting a toddler (or two), the raging bitch is inside me too.  And it ain't pretty at times.  But, once again, it is back to the resolve:  wait it out, stay close.  Don't take it personally.

Today the soup had hotdogs in it!

Recently--as in a few days ago--a friend of mine started a blog.  Her first entries are wonderfully honest and revelatory about her current thoughts and feelings.  My blog, however, has long--as in since the beginning--been an exercise in self-constraint. A careful effort exerted to remain veiled.  Not to be too...bloggy.  The effort to be writerly instead of excretorious.

But that is mostly a bullshit endeavor, the whole, Only my mother is reading this.  (By the way, mostly only my mother used to read this and probably doesn't remember the url anymore.)

So, let's catch up.

It is now 2012, right?

Obama was reelected.  Romney was defeated. (What is he writing on his blog tonight?)

I am in Budapest.  I am seated at my desk facing the lighted gas lamps of Karoly Kert.  The husband is in Dubai.  (I am told that Dubai exists, but have trouble really coming to terms with that fact.)  The kids were darlings today, which should be noted as it is not every day that I can say that.

I am surprised by how much I like life in Budapest.

I still adore jasmine pearls after many, many years.  And today I learned that I have been steeping it all wrong.  As per the directions on the package from Teavana, I have steeped one teaspoon at 170 degrees F for three minutes, yielding two infusions.  Today I learned an alternate way to steep: one teaspoon at 170 degrees F for 5 - 10 seconds, yielding 10 - 12 infusions.  Former tea, a light brown color, the later produces an almost white tea which is very fragrant. I resisted the new method and almost refused to try it outright.  But I took the challenge.  I liked it here, and there, and anywhere. (Can still learn new tricks, in other words.) (May be metaphor there for youth and what comes after.)

I am confused about why General Petraeus had to resign because he had an affair.  I don't recommend extra-marital affairs.  But I don't see how his private life and indiscretions should end his career. I mean, shit.  That's hardcore and so, well, Let's all throw stones!  Not that I have been able to stomach reading anything other than the headlines.

This morning a woman got out of car and started down the sidewalk in front of us, us being myself, Iza, and Leo.  I immediately felt pity for her--in rainy weather she was dressed in high-heeled wedge boots, black tights, short black skirt, and short brown jacket.  Really, we had to go and endorse wearing high heels in winter weather?  That was a man's idea.  So, she was teetering and not strutting her stuff.  I pitied her.  Then my almost five-year-old (but still four years old) says, "That is a beautiful lady, mama."
     "What makes you say that?"
     "She has long hair, and tights."
So.
     "I also like ladies with short hair," I fumbled.
Then.
     "You know what makes a person beautiful?  A good attitude and a happy face."
I am sure she didn't buy it for one second.

My kids go to a Hungarian nursery school.  I am a fan.  I especially love that they eat a sit-down lunch with at least two courses.  Lunch always starts with a soup.  And then a second course of either pasta or meat and potatoes.  Sometimes fish, though rarely.  I am sure it is not organic.  Sometimes they report with a near swoon that, Today the soup had hotdogs in it!  There is white bread.  But I overlook these things because I think the lessons learned from a shared table with real cutlery and decorum is essential.  I have been to one of these lunches and it was impressive how the little ones behaved. Then I learned yesterday that the girls are always served first.  Then the boys.  Really?  Is this benign, old-fashioned quaintness, merely?  Or one more ingredient in an insidious pressure cooker of gender discrimination--against girls and boys.  Why can't we just go around in a circle and serve each in his or her turn?  In my humble experience, the Hungarians are very specific and restrictive about gender roles. As a mother of a daughter and son, I find it infuriating.

Please, don't mention the Princess issue.  That is a whole thing.

A Hill of Beans & Weanies in the Crock

The Beans:

1 lb dried organic pinto beans
1/4 tsp. black pepper
2 scant tsp. salt
1 tsp. Grey Poupon Dijon mustard (or similar)
1/2 c. molasses
1 med. whole onion, peeled

Soak beans overnight. Drain and replace water. Gently simmer beans for 15 to 20 minutes. Place onion in crockpot. Drain beans and put on top of onion. Add salt, pepper, mustard and molasses dissolved in 1 1/2 cups of hot water. Add enough hot water to just cover top of beans. Cover and cook on high for 6 to 8 hours. Check and add water about every 3 hours, or when necessary.  (Done in almost 8 hours, 7 1/2.  I never added more water.)


The Weanies:

Applegate brand, "The Great Organic Uncured Beef Hot Dog" (6)  On the package it claims: "no nitrates or nitrites added" and "no antibiotics, added growth hormones or animal by-products" AND
"beef raised on sustainable family farms in a stress-free environment that promotes natural behavior and socialization."

Bring a pot of water to boil.  Add hotdogs.  Simmer.  Slice and add to beans.

Recommended:  One-cup serving, paired with sliced tomatoes.  Perhaps a pan of Boston Brown Bread.

UPDATE!  I omitted the recommended 1/4 cup of brown sugar from the original bean recipe.  However, upon tasting the second day I decided to add maple syrup.  Of course, it was even better this way.

UPDATE!  I used the 1/4 cup brown sugar, tarka beans, and cooked them on the stovetop for this round here in Budapest.  Also I used the immersion blender toward the end to blend just enough beans to make a thick sauce.  Very tasty.  This time I also "forgot" to serve the organic virsli (hot dog) and the kids were fine with it.  Definitely goes well with sliced tomatoes. (April, 2013)

Leo's Three-Year Check Up

Leo:
31.5 pounds, 38 inches

Iza:
45 pounds, 43.5 inches