Ode to Astoria

I have lived in Astoria, home to the largest Greek population outside of Greece, for the past three and a half years. This means that I shopped at Titan Foods, ate at the Neptune Diner regularly, got my eyes checked at Odyssey Optical and Zeus took out my trash.

At the Aphrodite Restaurant (part of the Acropolis Apartment complex), I could get tzaziki to dunk my chicken nuggets into (it's a really good combination) while my boyfriend made dirty jokes about sea foam and smiles.

I have cooked with Minerva olive oil these past few years (yes, it was extra virgin), did my Homer homework on a stoop a block away from Hermes International Movers, ate cereal as I translated the Homeric Hymn to Demeter and essentially, lived amongst the Olympians.

And just as my odyssey in eating old food has recently acquired an Odyssean tone, I am accompanying my boyfriend on his own nostos. We are moving to the country, to his hometown. I suppose you could say that I'm going bucolic.

But first, a toast, with the Ithaca Beer Company's Apricot Wheat Ale, which somehow escaped Ancient Beer Drinking Night. Admittedly, it is from the Ithaca that is Gorges but I still think it suits us nicely today. Cheers.

The Charybdis Picnic

"You will see the other cliff, lower down than the other, Odysseus: they are near one another and you could even shoot an arrow between them. On it is a giant fig tree, sprouting many leaves, and below it, Charybdis swallows down the black water. Three times a day, she vomits it up and three times she sucks it back down. Don't go there when she swallows it back down for no one could save you from disaster, not even the Earth-shaker. But rather, sailing close to the rock of Scylla, drive your ship swiftly by, for it is much better to lose six comrades from a ship than everyone together" (Od. 12.101-110).

I laugh in the face of danger (or speedily away from it as it throws rocks at me). If my middle name were not very long and Hawaiian, surely it would be "Danger" or "Man of Pain." Also, I live on the edge.

It is up to me then, to find out why Charybdis Playground in Astoria Park is named, well, Charybdis Playground. It seems a little odd that a public playground would be named after a scary sea monster in Greek mythology, especially in a predominantly Greek neighborhood. And monstrous name or no monstrous name, it is a lovely spot for a picnic on a sunny springtime afternoon.

 

I set to work packing a lunch: the previously mentioned Honeyed Mushrooms (the nasty ones, since I did use a whole box of white button mushrooms and had plenty of leftovers), kykeon

(porridge) made according to Dalby and Grainger's recipe in The Classical Cookbook (which is based upon a recipe from Cato's On Agriculture), Ceres brand guava juice (I drank gallons of this stuff when in South Africa and managed to find a tetra-pak of it at JAS Mart on St. Mark's), Ion almond chocolate and some modern egg salad sandwiches and white-bean-and-leek soup so the boyfriend and I wouldn't starve.

I tried making The Classical Cookbook's kykeon as a precursor to Circe's magic potion (still gearing up for that one) since it is remarkably similar, calling for semolina, ricotta, honey and a bit of beaten egg. All that was lacking were the Pramnian wine and evil drugs. Dalby and Grainger cite the kykeon that Hecamede prepares in the Iliad, which requires Pramnian wine, goat's cheese, and barley  (Il. II.638-41). It had symbolic and perhaps ritualistic significance as well, "As a mixture of wine and cereal, it brings together the gifts of Dionysus, the wine god, and of Demeter, the goddess who gave us wheat and barley" (40). Dalby and Grainger declare their search for a precise kykeon recipe an "impossible quest" but its "first clue comes from the name itself, for kykan means to churn or clot or thicken by stirring. This suggests something like a soup or even a porridge."

Cato's recipe, or Hecamede's sans wine and with semolina instead of barley, really was quite good. It was lightly sweetened by the honey and had the consistency of baby food. When my sister tried it before the picnic, she said it would be terrific with bacon. Perhaps if I added some wine and evil drugs, the stuff would produce its own bacon. My sandwiches and soup were pretty damn good, too, and we even managed to avoid losing comrades.

After the very lovely (and totally badass) picnic, I finally bothered to google Charybdis Playground. While the New York City Parks Department calls it a "magical spot along the East River that serves Astoria's children," it also explains that the name comes from the playground's proximity to Hell Gate in the East River, where ships have crashed and treasure still lies sunken.

References:

Dalby, A. and Grainger, S. The Classical Cookbook. Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 1996

New York City Department of Parks & Recreation. "Astoria Park: Charybdis Plaground."  http://www.nycgovparks.org/parks/AstoriaPark/highlights/10759

Helios' Cheeseburger Mac and Cheese

"... Neither was any remedy able to be found, the cattle were already dead. The gods straightaway revealed portents to the men: the hides crawled, the meat mooed on the spits, both the roasted and the raw, just as in the voices of living cows. Then for six days, my faithful comrades feasted, destroying the best of the cattle of the sun" (Odyssey XII.392-98).

None of my mythology students ever seem to fully appreciate the sun cattle barbecue in the Odyssey when they first come across the scene. I wonder why. I always have to pause and pose the question, "How would you feel if the cheeseburger you were eating suddenly began to moo?"

I usually get blank stares and a few giggles.

I have always wanted to have a Homeric barbecue replete with five-year-old bulls, sloppy butchery and fat-burning... and especially, one with mooing burgers, so I decided to start with a pseudo-Homeric dinner. Baby steps.

I am a great admirer of cows. They are useful and yummy. Going without fresh milk for more than three hours gives me great anxiety. I obviously adore cheese, except when I bake it into pies. I love a good, rare steak and I also often wake up in the middle of the night craving country fried steak smothered in sausage gravy. But wouldn't it be kind of fun if just once in a while, my beloved food source acknowledged me?

Inspired by a super intense macaroni-and-cheese-fest with Rebecca, I was determined to make something -- perhaps not strictly ancient, I admit -- that involved both the cattle of the sun and some cheesy goodness. I became fixated upon and even obsessed with the idea of Helios' Cheeseburger Mac and Cheese. It would be dinner and a show!

To my great dismay, none of the nearby butchers carried any version of ground sun cow. I found holy cows -- kosher, halal and so on, but those would just not do.

But miraculously, Titan Foods does carry Helios' elbow pasta.

Perhaps not all was lost.

And so I set to work. I lightly sauteed my seasoned hamburger patties and broke them into little chunks. I boiled Helios' elbow pasta in salted water and mixed it with a cup each of cheddar, Monterey jack and milk. Then I sprinkled the top with a mixture of cheddar and breadcrumbs and baked the whole dish. I was, admittedly, a little apprehensive. What if I burn the crust? What if I lose my way home?

The results were meaty, gooey, crusty and absolutely divine, although sadly, silent.