Thursday, November 17, 2011

Becsiszelet, aka Wiener Schnitzel, aka Breaded Cutlets

Rinse a chicken breast and decide if it can be sliced lengthwise two or three times.  Most often you can cut it once for two slices.  Often there is a small bit that will end up being a third slice.

Then pound each slice into a thinner slice with a wooden mallet with a metal tip.  (There must be an official name for this tool.)

Pile the pounded poultry onto a plate. 

Repeat for each breast.  We are doing five today.

Then salt each breast slice, both sides.

Then pepper each breast slice, on one side only.

Dump some flour onto a plate.

Mix three eggs on a separate plate.

Turn over a breast several times in the flour, really push it in.

Then you will turn it over several times in the egg as well.

In the meantime, in other words before you douse the meat in the eggs but perhaps after you flour as  many pieces as will fit into your pan, heat oil in a frying pan.  The oil should be deep enough that your meat semi-floats on top.  

Let a bit of the egg mixture drip off and then place the meat into the pan.  The first batch cooked for about a total of 6 - 7 minutes.  The MIL turned them a few times, checking for golden brown color.  She says you should turn the meat two times.  Or perhaps three times.  You also have to adjust the heat as necessary.  So, for example, turn to high heat when you add the meat to the pan.  After two minutes--about the time you turn it for the first time, lower the heat to medium low. 

Her habit is to change the oil after using it twice. If the oil gets too bubbly, it is time to go.  You have to get rid of the oil and then be sure to dry the pan as water will cause popping and problems.

As one batch fries, prepare the next batch by turning each piece in the flour mixture.

Add more eggs to plate as needed.  Same with the flour plate.

We finished this batch at about 3:45.  Of course you can eat it fresh--the meat is warm and soft.  But the habit is that you make this meat ahead of time.  It can be served cold or at room temperature.  It is often prepared for holidays or parties because it can be made before the event.  I can almost guarantee that our freshly prepared becsiszelet will now rest on the counter until we are ready to eat around six-thirty this evening.

By they way, just for the record:  If I were narrating my own cooking, I would have included careful instructions about sanitizing the counter tops and utensils after handling the raw meat.  Not in this Budapest kitchen.  We roll with it.  Good old soap and water at the end.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Absurdity Rules









Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Peppers, Mother-in-law Style


Dice 1 medium onion.  (Don't leave any big pieces, which I did due to large amount of tears.)
Soften the onion in canola oil (enough to cover bottom of pan plus some).
Add a heaping-ish table spoon* of sweet paprika.
Add about 3/4 cup white rice (a small coffee cup to be precise).
Cook for a while.  Let cool for a while.

In a bowl mix 1 kilo ground pork, two eggs, 1 1/2 table spoon salt, 1 table spoon black pepper.  Add cooled onion mixture.  (We didn't add the entire mixture, leaving out a few heaping table spoons.  It is important that there is not too much rice as it makes the meat mixture hard.) Mix well with hands. Then mix some more when your mother-in-law scoffs at your effort.

Then, gird your loins, and take out a little spoon and taste the mixture. Add salt if needed.  She added more salt, about a half table spoon.

Stuff peppers.  (I am guessing we had twenty small peppers.) It is best to find the small peppers with thin skin, often a yellow color.  Cut off the tops and remove core and seeds.  As you stuff the peppers, push the meat inside.  Be sure to leave the outside of the pepper clean of meat mixture as it will muddy your sauce.

Place stuffed peppers in pot, preferably standing up with meat showing (but this will depend on the size of pot and the size/shape/number of peppers).

Cover with water.  Add more salt to water.  I've lost track---maybe a half table spoon again.

Bring to a boil and then simmer, covered. Cook at a good simmer for about an hour or until the rice is soft.  (Taste it to find out.)  The meat cooks first, so be sure to taste the rice.  (I think that is what she said.)

Then add tomato paste.  Gently stir in or pick up pan and swirl to mix.  She bought four little cans (140 grams each).  We put two in the big pot and one and a half in the little pot. (We don't have a large enough pot in this kitchen to hold all of the peppers.)

Then the tasting begins.  Add 2 table spoons sugar to large pot.  Taste.  Some more salt (half table spoon-ish).  Taste.  More sugar or salt as needed.

After it is finished, around 2:30, leave it on the cool stove until you eat dinner around 6:30.

This is served in deep plates, always with sour cream offered on the table.  You place one stuffed pepper on a plate and surround it with a ladle of the sauce.  Usually there are thick slices of fresh white bread as well.

This dish is always better the second day.  You can freeze it as well.

*table spoon = a table spoon not a tablespoon--more like a table soup spoon to be precise


Saturday, September 24, 2011

Fall Numbers

Izabella:

3 years, 7 months
wt  37
ht 40.25

Lenard:

2 years, 2 months
wt 28.5
ht 35.25









Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Today

Today I have a babysitter to watch the kids between nine and twelve.
I am at our local favorite cafe, empty macchiato on the table.
The sun is hot through the front window.
There are students with actual textbooks and extra-fine mechanical pencils.
The muffin was satisfactory, banana nut.
I am reading the third book of The Hunger Games series.
Before I go home I will stop at Whole Foods.
Leo started to chorus "why?" the day of Hurricane Irene.
We are headed to Kansas next week.  It's state fair time.
Back to Indiana in October.
Izabella will need orthodontics.
We didn't sell the house.
I still think that staying home and producing two human beings is as astounding as staying home and producing a manuscript. For the record.
Still a nonpracticing vegetarian. 
When my kids play restaurant they serve cappuccino with  a little bit of sugar.

Saturday, July 09, 2011

Leo at Two

The good news is that he made it to two.  And me too.

Just after turning two while in Transylvania, the family picked up the Rotavirus.  It hit Leo the day before we flew from Budapest to Boston.

The night before his well-visit at two-years-old with his pediatrician we were in the Emergency Room for dehydration concerns.  They treated him with anti-nausea medicine and he seemed to respond and perk up.

The next morning at his check-up he measured thus:

Ht.  34.5 inches, 52%

Wt.  24.5 pounds, 11%

HC.  48 centimeters, 32%

Later that morning we got the call from the hospital that he tested positive for Rotavirus.

That evening I carried my waif to the car and returned to the ER for an IV line to rehydrate him.

That makes four trips to the ER this summer.  Iza, 1.  Leo, 3.

Our local ER at Newton-Wellesley Hospital, where Leo and Iza were born, is wonderful.  Can't say as much for Budapest!

Rotavirus is terrible.  Yes, there is a vaccine.  No, he wasn't vaccinated.  His sister was.  (That requires a longer post to explain.)  In short, if there is a third child, that child will be vaccinated.  Rotavirus compounded by international travel and jet lag creates a surreal 3 - 8 days.  We are on day 4.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Observed in the Park

There is a large wooden gate designed for a kid to open and close and open and close to pacify a manic-obsessive heart's content.  A toddler of the boy variety is doing just that.  His father warns him to stop because he will pinch his fingers. The warnings turn to shouts.  The father stomps over, yanks the offending fingers away from the door, and again reprimands the crying boy.  He pulls the kid away from the door and leaves him standing there in tears.  And then.  The father reaches over and pinches the already sobbing little boy on the chest.  Hard.  See, if the door won't pinch you. I will. And the father walks back to his bench.

By the way, as far as I can determine, the door is designed in such a way that it is nearly impossible to pinch little fingers.  


Saturday, May 28, 2011

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-knigh, with stripes

Coin-Operated Boy by the Dresden Dolls

bread and butter

pumpkin

church bells

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

bodza

Book Club

Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins

Rome

sunflowers

avocados

Indigo Girls

dandelions

sleep

Warren Dunes State Park

french fries

blue

the fact that baking bread is so simple

clean pressed sheets

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

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

Monday, May 16, 2011

And Then

And then Leo stepped off the curb.
I reached for him, grabbed his arm. I pulled him back and then
I jumped in front of the car to push it away from him.
And then I thought:  it's okay that I have my hands pressed into the grill. when I hit the pavement bones and muscles might give way.  A second birth.  And then
I screamed, My Baby, My Baby, My Baby.

His nose was bleeding, he cried.
I shouted, Leo too? The car, Leo too?  (In broken Hungarian)
I knew the car hit me (or I hit the car). I wanted to know if the car hit Leo.

No one could say. Or would say.

I sat on the curb. Leo sat upright in my lap, heart to heart. His blood soaked my shirt.
I reached for Iza.  She came and stood next to my, stroking my back.  She took care of me. (That's not her job.) She never cried.

Later a witness said the car's front tire hit Leo in the head.

And then the ambulance came. The police.
There was no fault. Except mine, of course. I am the mother.
It is my job to keep them alive, 
at minimum.

The driver:  a young man in a suit. Two other young men in the car, wearing suits. I didn't say a word to them. I wish I would've told them they weren't to blame.
I worry about them too.

People rushed to the scene:  A woman with a child on her hip, a nurse from high school next door, several men. There was shouting and silence. Someone offered me water. 
I refused, but then directed them to pour it over Leo's finger.  It poured over his raw flesh. Iza quickly pointed out that the water was spilling. This part of the story she always repeats, 
when the water spilled.

I took Leo's finger, his right index finger, bloodied, and put it in my mouth.  
I sucked it clean. I was calm.

In the ambulance they bandaged my scrapes, but never examined me. They felt Leo's head, but never took off his shoes or clothes to look for wounds.  Later I will see his elbow is scraped raw.

And then, sitting in the ambulance, the police asked my name.  Janet Kelley, or Kelley Janet?  (In Hungarian they say the family name first.)  Birthdate?  11/18 or 18/11?  (In Hungary they offer the day first, then the month.)  In my head I shout:  absurdity!  who the fuck cares!  Drive us to an x-ray machine!

Laszlo had left that morning for Zurich.  I had no cash, no phone (it was in the apartment), and no passport.  I didn't know our street address.  I knew the street, but not the house number.

And then the ambulance was driving quietly, sedately through tree-lined Budapest avenues toward a hospital.  Leo fell asleep in my arms.  I checked to see he was breathing.  
The x-ray technician was hostile, to say the least.  She wanted me to hold Leo a certain way and I didn't understand.  And then when I did understand, I tried to say I couldn't hold his face that way because my hand was in pain. Her response, if you don't do it we can't take the x-ray.  

So what is a little more pain?

The x-ray showed no damage to the bone. And they released us. We took a taxi home, no car seats.

The accident happened at noon. We were home by two.

And then, lunch as usual.

And then

I pulled Leo back. I felt him slip from my grasp. 
I jumped in front of the car. You know, to stop it.

I walked away. Leo walked away.

Izabella watched the entire event from the curb. This terrifies me.

And then, again, Iza asks, "Do you wanna tell about it?  Accident?  When the car came?"

I am convinced the car didn’t hit Leo.  I am sure his head injury was caused when I pulled him back and he fell down on the street.

I almost wish I had a broken bone.

And then I was waiting in front of the nursery's large wooden door on a narrow street in Budapest, close to the castle. It was noon. Clear, sunny fall day. The children raced down the sidewalk as they returned from the park. I was there to pick up Iza and Leo. It was their third morning in the nursery. I brought them at ten and then 
was supposed to return at noon.  Two hours. And then
a woman in a car was waving hello (or asking if she could park?) and
then we were all saying hellos--six kids, two teachers, and myself.  
And I hugged and kissed my kids
and then there was small talk or not and hungry kids ready to go inside to lunch and naps and then

Leo stepped off the curb.

"Do you wanna talk about it? Accident?"

Yes, I do. As many times as you do, Iza. And then

again.



Thursday, May 12, 2011

Thursday

Iza, we need to wash your hair.

Can we do it on Tuesday?

Iza, let's get dressed so we can go to the park.

In two minutes, mama.

Iza, can you find your shoes?

No rush, mama.  Take your time.