The Catskill Chronicle

By Jude Waterston

I watched as my great-nephew, a little shy of seven years of age, took a strip of warm pita from the basket brought over by the waitress at the start of our meal. My brother, his grandfather, or Papa as he is called, sat with an arm draped around Sammy’s chair. My sister, Janet, and I sat across from them, reviewing and commenting on the Greek/Cypriot menu at Xenon, a favorite restaurant in Astoria, Queens. When the waitress returned to fill our water glasses, Sammy inquired, “Do you have any dips?” His second piece of pita was held poised in mid-air. We all smiled at his composure and solid thinking. A bowl of creamy, garlicky tahini was soon delivered, and Sammy delicately dabbed at it.

I was reminded of my ex-husband, an Israeli, admonishing me whenever we were partaking of hummus, tahini or babaganoush for my bad form in scooping up the dip with my piece of torn pita. Naturally, all Middle-Easterners worth their tabouli know there is a knack to getting dip to mouth, and it involves a special twisting, flicking action of the wrist combined with a firm three-finger grip on said pita remnant. For a brief moment, I contemplated passing this apparently vital information on to Sammy but stopped myself when I recalled never having appreciated the lesson whenever Uzi gave it.

The four of us were sharing an assortment of mezedes, little bites, both hot and cold, that would comprise our meal. The Cypriot salad was a tangy combination of crunchy lettuce, chopped tomatoes, cucumbers, crumbled feta cheese, olives and caper leaves, the latter adding a slightly briny note. The grilled octopus was unbelievably tender, as were the sweetbreads my brother ordered, knowing he would be the only one scarfing them down. I will say I gave them a try – my first time tasting the thymus gland of a cow, more commonly known as sweetbreads, though I couldn’t tell you how that incongruous moniker was conceived. A slab of salty grilled haloumi cheese was doused with fresh lemon juice, as were subtly spiced lamb meatballs. A honey drenched polenta cake and thick, bitter Greek coffee ended the meal, and we bid Sammy and Buzz a safe trip back to Philadelphia as Janet and I headed to her apartment for the evening.

In the car, I commented that it was beginning to look like a weekend steeped in the Mediterranean and Mid-East. Just the night before, Janet and I, and an old friend, Doris, had eaten Turkish food at Tulip in Great Neck, on Long Island. We began the meal with crispy zucchini pancakes drizzled with tahini sauce spiked with a dusting of paprika, and Doris’ gigantic lamb shank draped with slices of grilled eggplant had been most impressive-looking. Henry VIII would’ve been in heaven. Janet’s baby lamb chops and my shrimp shish kebob, served with lemony rice pilaf and lightly dressed greens were less regal, though quite tasty.

Two days later, in the early afternoon after a light brunch, Janet and I visited my dad at the nursing home in which he’s lived since having a stroke nearly four years ago. Afterwards we were starving. “Do you possibly feel for Grill Point?” I asked after we’d kissed our Pop (and half the population of the Home with whom we’ve become close) goodbye. Grill Point is an Israeli joint not far my sister’s apartment in Briarwood, Queens, serving exceptional Middle Eastern food.

“Well, we probably have camel breath already from all the garlic, onions, herbs and spices we’ve consumed the past two days, so why not?” Janet responded, and off we drove to Grill Point.

We ordered a side of falafel balls and a turkey and lamb shawarma platter, which came with thick-cut French fries and an empty plate on which to pile an assortment of hamutzim, which are pickled vegetables, such as cauliflower, cabbage, carrots, peppers, slaws, cucumbers, and highly seasoned olives. Some are quite spicy, while others are simply clean and bright tasting. They are all a perfect accompaniment to the rich meat of the shawarma and the savory, crunchy falafel, which we doused with tahini sauce. We stuffed ourselves until indigestion began creeping in. “Enough!” I announced, pushing my plate away. On the way to the car a burp slipped from my mouth. So strong was it that Janet turned to me, eyes wide, and proclaimed, “See, the breath of a camel!” “You said it,” I agreed, laughing. That was enough Middle-Eastern food to last quite some time.

Green Olives with Spices and Orange Zest

Makes 1 ½ cups

1 ½ cups imported green olives with pits

3 tablespoons best quality fruity extra-virgin olive oil

½ teaspoon fennel seeds

½ teaspoon cumin seeds

¼ teaspoon Syrian Aleppo pepper, ancho chile pepper, or red pepper flakes (or more to taste if you like your olives spicy)

1 teaspoon freshly grated orange rind

In a dry skillet over low heat toast fennel and cumin seeds until they release a delicate scent. Do not burn. Slide the seeds onto a plate and let cool for a moment. With a rolling pin lightly crush the seeds or you can do this in a mortar and pestle. Do not grind them into a fine powder. Place the olives in a bowl and add the olive oil. Add the toasted seeds, pepper, and orange rind. Stir well to combine. Let sit for an hour or so to allow flavors to meld. Check before serving to adjust flavors if necessary.