Nepali Tea in Tucson, AZ

It was Friday night and there were seventy-five people crowding the floor of the Mission Vista apartments clubhouse. The kids were drinking donated Pepsi, pumping their hands , and rolling on the floor, waiting their turn to pick a question about their culture (and a prize) out of a big pot. Adults clustered on couches, in corners, shushing the dull roar of children, and grinning. I was holding a big pot full of dish soap, toilet paper, and Dr. Seuss books. We were all there, ultimately, because of bedbugs.

If you haven’t been listening to daytime news in the past few months, you may not have heard that apparently there’s a bedbug pandemic here in the U.S. of A. At the refugee resettlement agency where I work, we’ve been getting calls from apartment managers, panicked with the new cases of bedbugs they report in their buildings. Unsettlingly, they have been implying that bedbugs are a refugee issue rather than an environmental health issue, or a general affordable housing issue.

The way my some of my coworkers and I tackled this problem was to develop some workshops about tenants rights and responsibilities, American cleaning styles…and bedbugs. We wanted to offer the workshops in apartment complexes with a large number of refugees. If our clients were better informed, went our line of thought, they would be less likely to shoulder the blame of bedbugs. We trialed some workshops in one apartment complex, and were met with a challenge we didn’t expect. American tenants also came to the workshops, specifically to voice their fears about refugees: that they were possibly bringing bugs and diseases from the countries they came from, straight into their new homes in Tucson.

Refugees go through a rigorous health screening process before they enter America and another round of screenings once they’re here. These tenants didn’t know that, and had barely interacted with any refugees. For this reason it seemed really important to engage with these them, and ultimately we collaborated with some tenants to organize an apartment-wide potluck and an informal teach-in of sorts. The main activity of the night centered around a brilliant idea that one of the potluck organizers had: put questions asking about aspects of people’s culture in a big pot along with a bunch of prizes, then have people pick a question to answer for the others in attendance. I didn’t know if people would buy this, but it ended up being a hit. We were passing around the pot and giving out prizes for about an hour and a half.

The potluck aspect of the evening was somewhat less successful. Not many people actually brought food, and we ended up ordering pizzas to supplement the fixings. The food highlight of the night was Ram Upreti’s Nepali tea, which he delivered chair to chair to anyone who would have it. Ram was also eager to spread the good word of how to make the tea, evidenced by the recipe below.


I don’t imagine that the potluck melted away all prejudice or misinformation, but there was something very magical about being in a room full of people of all kinds, so entertained by asking questions out of a pot. I can’t put why to words, but it’s more hopeful than anything I’ve experienced for quite awhile.

Ram Upreti’s Nepali Tea
3 cups milk
2 teaspoons loose black Assam tea
3 crushed cardamom pods, peeled and smashed
½ teaspoon of black pepper

Heat the milk until it boils. Turn the heat down to a simmer and add tea and spices. Let everything simmer together for 2 minutes or so. Strain out loose tea and spices and pour liquid into cups. Add sugar to taste. All the measurements here are approximate—play around and tailor it to your taste.

Turkish Coffee...do it right!

My father still makes Turkish coffee in the same pot he acquired more than 30 years ago, working for a quick stint at a Jerusalem café. Growing up, I was both proud and fascinated by the fact that he had hitchhiked though Eastern Europe and Africa for a year. From the stories he told, this is what stuck with me: his mom sewed secret pockets in his pants so that he could hide his money and passport while crashing in assorted generous village people’s barns; he carried his Turkish coffee pot all over the world; and I would definitely travel on my own like my dad did.

I was probably in college when it occurred to me that I could make Turkish coffee for myself, and asked him to teach me how. He taught me the way he had been taught in Israel: a ratio of one teaspoon of coffee to one teaspoon of sugar, boiled slowly and taken off the flame three times, to create a thick head of foam. I bought coffee at a Middle Eastern bakery where, as advised by my dad, I asked them to grind the beans up with a handful of green cardamom seeds. The smell that comes out of a paper bag of Turkish coffee will always remind me of winter in Chicago, home from college, backpack on my lap, sitting on the Clark bus.

When I was in my junior year of college, I used the money I had saved from bat mitzvah presents to take a solo trip through Eastern Europe, heading towards Turkey by bus. Turkish coffee was served in small white cups from Montenegro onwards, and people were surprised and delighted that I liked it. When I reached Istanbul I bought myself my own Turkish coffee pot. It was a kind of self-chosen inheritance. Turkish coffee was and still is a symbol to me of my dad’s adventures, and his greatly inspired my own.

My boyfriend Gus’s family is Greek, and he has a similarly emotional connection to Turkish coffee, although the context is completely different. We currently have a three pot collection between us. I think that for both of us, making Turkish coffee is always a little bit special. But you might feel that way too! It’s a really nice ritual.

To make this, you’ll definitely need a few accessories—Turkish coffee pot and Turkish coffee cups. Turkish coffe itself is just coffee really finely ground. Best gotten at a store where they will grind coffee for you, and have fresh cardomom on hand to throw in the grinder with the beans. You can usually find all of this at a Middle Eastern grocery store (including the cups and pots).

The basic idea of Turkish coffee is that you’re putting coffee grounds directly in water and heating the pot over moderate heat, bringing it to a slow boil so that the water absorbs the flavor of the beans. You don’t take the grounds out, so it’s extra strong. That’s why you drink the coffee in small cups.

So. For each small cup of coffee you want to make, put about three ounces of water in the pot (or just fill the cup you’re planning to drink from with water and dump it in the pot). Add one heaping teaspoon of coffee and one teaspoon of sugar for each cup. Stir until the sugar dissolves and the coffee sinks to the bottom of the pot. Then put the pot under medium heat, and don’t stir it anymore. When the water starts boiling, take it off the heat for a second, then put it on the flame again and let it boil up once more. Take it off the flame, then put it on again and let it boil again. Careful that it doesn’t boil over the side of the pot! That happens to me all the time. The reason that you bring it to a boil three times is to create a little foam on the top of the coffee. Divide the coffee and foam into cups, and you’re set. Turkish coffee time.

By the way, there are so many countries that drink Turkish coffee thanks to the Ottoman Empire—and there are a lot of slight variations on how to make it depending on your geo location. If you’re interested in this like I am, you should look on Wikepedia for their nice Turkish coffee vocabulary in many languages.You might also be interested in how to read your fortune in the coffee grounds of your cup. You can find out more by researching tasseography.



Current coffee pot collection

Taquitos de Nopalitos!

What you need:

About 5 cactus pads (in mexican grocery stores you can find bags of pre-cut nopales)
3-4 carrots, chopped
1 large onion
A quarter cup of apple cider vinegar
Pinch of oregano
Pinch of cumin
Vegetable or olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
Tortillas
Queso ranchero

Remove spines from cactus pads and cut into small pieces. Fill a large pot with water and bring to a boil. Add the cactus pads and carrots and cook for 25-30 minutes. (Note: if you don´t cook them enough they will be very slimy!)In a large frying pan add oil and chopped onions. When onions are browned and transparent add the cooked nopales, carrots, vinager, oregano, cumin and salt & pepper to taste. Mix together and cook for about 5 minutes.

Serve with tortillas, hot sauce and queso fresco.

Al Biryani from Iraq

I first tasted biryani earlier this spring. I was at a party following the baptism of my coworker’s baby, and the house was brimming with food. This was a celebration for an American born baby and a milestone for his Iraqi parents, who have lived in Tucson for almost two years. Squeezed onto a couch next to a twelve year old, I ate whatever was proudly heaped onto my paper plate. Biryani, masguf, some delicious fried pancake full of cinnamon and beef. The weight of grilled meat threatened to tear a hole right through my plate. Everything was delicious. The food, it seemed, was the main point of the party. People eagerly asked us gringos, you like Iraqi food?

Working at a refugee resettlement agency, I interact with Iraqis daily. While I know few Americans who have been to war in Iraq, I am acquainted with dozens of Iraqis who were displaced by the war. The U.S. resettled about 10,000 Iraqis last year, and around 500 came to Tucson. I help them get doctor’s appointments, negotiate with their landlords, and apply for Social Security Income. Discussing people’s immediate needs is strange when the news reports a particularly violent day in Bagdhad. But that, I guess, is the absurdity of war. The people who are most affected by it are pretty helpless in the face of it. This is what we all struggle to get comfortable with as Iraqis try to start new lives (and resettlement agencies try to help them get started) in the land of saguaro cacti.

Luckily, no one has lost much control over the food they make. There are two Middle Eastern grocery stores in Tucson and from what I hear, it’s fairly easy to get ingredients to make Iraqi food the “right” way. I was eager to learn how to make biryani the right way, because it was my favorite dish that I tried at the baptism party. Rice laced with hints of cardamom, cinnamon, and nuts—you can make it as a side dish, or as the basis of a whole meal, depending what you decide to add to it. I adapted the following recipe from Huda Ahmed’s version in the Boston Globe, based on advice from my Iraqi coworker, Lena. You may add roasted chicken or lamb to the rice if you like. If you have never cooked rice in a broth of fresh spices, I strongly urge you to try this out. It’s really delicious and kind of beautiful to watch and smell. This recipe makes about 8 servings.

Al Biryani

Vegetable Part

½ cup pine nuts
1 cup raisins
1 peeled potato
2 large onions
3 carrots

1. Dice potato, onions, carrots. Potatoes should be cut into ½ inch cubes
2. Soak cut potatoes in water for 10 minutes. Drain.
3. Saute potatoes until brown. Set potatoes to the side.
4. Saute onions until brown (around 10 minutes). Set to the side.
5. Saute carrots until slightly cooked (around 5 minutes). Add pine nuts and raisins to carrots and sauté for another 5 minutes. Add onions and potatoes to the mixture.

Rice Part:
1 ½ teaspoon salt
1 t. pepper
2 teaspoons ground cardamom
1 ½ teaspoons saffron
1/3 teaspoon ground cloves
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1/3 teaspoon cumin
2 cups basmati rice
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 bay leaves
1 cinnamon stick
1 cup vermicelli pieces or angel hair pasta
1 cup frozen peas
½ cup mint
½ cup scallion
½ cup parsley
Optional: Almonds, Cashews, Chicken, or Lamb

1. Combine salt, pepper, cardomom, saffron, cloves, ginger, and cumin.

2. Bring rice, spice mix, cinnamon, and bay leaves to boil in 5 cups water. Turn down heat to simmer and cook for 15 minutes.

3. While rice is boiling, heat skillet and add pasta. Cook for 2 minutes.

3. Add pasta and 1 cup frozen peas to the rice. There should still be some liquid still in the pot. Cover and cook for 5 more minutes.

4. Turn off heat and let pot sit, covered for 10 minutes. Squeeze ½ lemon over rice to stop it from being sticky.

5. Cut up mint, scallion, and parsley. Layer with the rice. Add vegetable mixture to the layers. If you are adding meat or nuts, this is the time to stir them in. Serve warm or room temperature.

Tortilla Española from basically everywhere in Spain

I was moving to Spain, and I was concerned. I had no job, no apartment, only one acquaintance in the country, and didn’t know how to conjugate any Spanish verbs, but this is not what so preoccupied me. I was worried about food. I had heard descriptions of Spain’s national cuisine. The words fresh and Mediterranean were always used, but the only ingredients that I ever heard were ham, eggs, and potatoes. I’m not a vegetarian, and less so when I’m traveling and I like to embark into strange new foodlands, but I eat way more kale and quinoa than burgers and fries. Plus I wasn’t ‘traveling’ per se in Spain. I was trying to live there for awhile, and relocation means getting past that ‘eat whatever, do whatever’ traveling mentality. I was concerned about my ability to live in a place with sparse green vegetables in the national cuisine and white rice as the most accessible grain.
As it turns out, there were certain truths to the descriptions I had heard. The pride that Spanish people reserve for their pork products rivals America’s pride in its starred and striped flag. El jamon is so ubiquitous, it was one of the first words that I learned in Spanish, and I definitely saw the eyes of more than one of my students tear up when the topic was brought up.
Enter la tortilla española. Not the same tortilla that we wrap our beans and cheese into in the United States. More akin to a frittata of eggs, potatoes, (and manchego cheese or vegetables if you please). I don’t remember when exactly the tortilla and I first met, but I imagine it was the first time that I went out to eat in Barcelona and breathed a sigh of relief that there was some source of protein on the menu which didn’t involve a pig. Tortillas are equally as common as jamon, though not nearly as revered. You’ll find bite sized pieces speared on toothpicks in tapas bars, slabs in bocadillo sandwiches at truck stop or train station cafeterias, on plates in people’s homes, in fancy restaurants..
One of the greatest things for me about this dish is its no frills, unpretentious preparation. It is truly convenient and delicious when you are penniless or time-less. It is also something that truly evokes the essence of Spain for me, to the extent that a recipe can do that for a country. Dangerous as it may be to generalize about an entire country’s ‘culture’ (more dangerous in a country with thirteen autonomous regions, four distinct languages, and ongoing territorial battles between neighboring regions), the people I encountered all throughout the country shared the refreshing ability to make a lot out of very little. Cordoba may be more provincial, Barcelona more cosmopolitan, Catalans proud and reserved, Basques resistors, but the fact remains that all of them live with the not too distant memory of a Civil War followed by a brutally repressive dictatorship. Tough times have certainly shaped the national dialogue, the tone people use to speak (or not speak) about certain things, the way they live, celebrate, and the way that they eat. The excess consumerism I grew up with made it particularly refreshing to routinely find a summer’s night fiesta created out of thin air, some folding chairs, and a few bottles of wine.
Unsurprisingly, the tortilla is said to have been born out of one such times, several hundred years ago, when a farmwife in the rural Basque Country was visited by a General and his hungry troops. The woman had only some potatoes, onions, and eggs from the farm to work with. I am grateful to my friends in Spain who happily handed over their own Tortilla recipes and instructions. This recipe is a combination of all of theirs. Buen provecha!

Tortilla Espanola:
6 or 7 medium sized Yukon gold potatoes
Whole yellow onion, diced into medium-small sized pieces
Half a dozen eggs
Extra virgin olive oil for pan frying
1 c. sliced thin zucchini, eggplant and/ or chopped spinach (optional)
1 Sliced fresh tomato

Wash and peel potatoes into thin slices. I like to slice them into thin circular disks that look like poker chips and then quarter them. Potatoes should not be sliced too thinly or they’ll lose their rich flavor in the tortilla. (Not recommended to use a food processer here.)
Mix potatoes and onions in bowl and lightly salt. Heat oil over medium heat in non-stick frying pan until hot enough to fry the onions and potatoes. Dip a potato slice in to see if oil is ready for frying. Carefully pour in potato onion mixture. Potatoes and onions should be fully covered in oil and you may need to turn down the heat to medium-low to prevent potatoes from browning too quickly on the outside and staying raw on the inside. Cooks approximately ten minutes. (If you’re adding additional veggies like eggplant or zucchini, I slice them thinly and add them a few minutes before eggs and potatoes are done.)
Once dark golden and cooked through, drain the mixture in a colander (I recommend saving the excess oil to fry with later.) Beat eggs by hand into a large mixing bowl and stir in potato onion mixture.
Pour 1-2 Tablespoons of salvaged oil into pan followed by tortilla mix. Tortilla should cook on medium heat, not too quickly or it will burn around the edges! Lift with a spatula around edges to take a peek and when it’s a light golden brown (will still be a little runny in the center), get ready to flip!..
Over the sink, place a large plate over the top of the pan, and then flip the frying pan (one hand on the pan handle, the other firmly on the bottom of the plate). Put tortilla back in pan to finish cooking. Use a spatula to tuck in any runny-ness. Will probably cook about 3-4 more minutes and then should be left in hot pan with heat turned off.
Sliced like a pizza and delicious when served with sliced tomatoes and a dusting of salt.

Mushroom Barley Soup from Chicago, IL

Mushroom Barley Soup w/ Cheese Toasties & Oatmeal Raisin Cookies

January 18^th would have been my dad’s 64^th birthday. To celebrate my late father I decided to make one of my dad’s winter staples: mushroom barley soup. When I was younger I wasn’t a fan of this dish. I was a very picky eater early on and was not happy with the grayish color that the mushrooms gave the soup. Fortunately, now that I am a mature 27 year old, I’ve gotten over the color and have come to appreciate the creamy richness of this soup. On a cold winter day in Chicago there is nothing more satisfying.

Whenever my dad made this soup it was accompanied by what he called Toasties aka bread with melted sharp cheddar cheese. They are extra delicious when you toast the bread & cheese in the oven and are great for dipping in the soup.

For desert: oatmeal raisin cookies. I chose these for dessert because they were my dad’s favorite. Simple and delicious. Miss you pops!

P.S. One of my favorite things about this recipe is the secret ingredient that gives the soup its rich creaminess: Pet Milk! There is a short story by a Chicago writer named Stuart Dybek called “Pet Milk.” Bria and I used to read this story out loud to each other and wonder what we could do with pet milk besides putting it in coffee or making King Alphonses.

Music that I cooked this meal to: The White Album by the Beatles

Mushroom Barley Soup:

2 stalks of celery cut into pieces

3-4 carrots sliced

1 medium white onion chopped

handful of chopped parsley

a few bay leaves

2-2 ½ lb. chicken

1/3 cup butter

1lbs of fresh mushrooms chopped finely

1 cup of barley (not quick cooking)

1 can of PET MILK (evaporated milk)

salt

pepper

Simmer 10 cups of water, the chicken, carrots, celery, onion, parsley & bay leaves for 30-40 minutes. Remove the chicken and use for another dish. Saute chopped mushrooms in butter. Set aside.

Add 1 cup of barely to the prepared stock and simmer until cooked (about 45 minutes). Add sautéed mushrooms and can of Pet Milk. Simmer for 5 minutes. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Serve with a teaspoon of parsley sprinkled over the soup and toasties on the side.

Oatmeal Raisin Cookies:

cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature

1/4 cup solid vegetable shortening, room temperature

1 cup sugar

1 cup (packed) dark brown sugar

2 large eggs

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

3 cups old-fashioned oats

1 cup raisins

1 cup chopped walnuts

Preheat oven to 350°F. Blend first 5 ingredients in medium bowl.

Using electric mixer (if you don’t have one a spoon will work), beat butter, vegetable shortening, and both sugars in large bowl until fluffy. Beat in eggs, and vanilla. Gradually beat in flour mixture. Stir in oats, raisins, and walnuts. Drop batter by tablespoonfuls onto buttered baking sheets, spacing the cookies about 2 inches apart. Flatten cookies slightly. Bake cookies until golden brown, about 10 minutes. Leave out to cool.

Grilled fish tacos from Southern California

Grilled Fish Tacos with Avocado Mango Salsa
I remember the first time that my Los Angeles born and bred sister came to visit me in the Midwest. We were at a Cracker Barrel, and she looked up sweetly at the waitress and asked if she could please just add a little avocado to her iceberg salad? It was February, and the waitress looked more confused than exasperated, but the answer seemed so obvious to anyone living in a small factory town in Southern Wisconsin, I had to wince. No. She squinted at my sister’s forehead and turned on her heel towards the kitchen.
It’s been said that Southern Californians are weaker, whinier, and far more spoiled than our neighbors in just about every other direction. Avocados are a perfect example. The rough black skinned fruits have been considered an indulgent luxury throughout history, but we grow up with them rotting on the ground in our backyards. The word avocado is actually derived from the Aztec word for testicle ahuacatl, which probably refers to their shape, but also to the fact that they’ve been considered a rather scandalous treat by their lucky consumers long before Spanish explorers brought them back to their pious European neighbors in the Seventeenth Century. They are said to have been used as aphrodisiacs in the Americas, considered so powerful that village virgins were forbidden from stepping outside while the fruit was being harvested.


As high maintenance and frou frou as Los Angeles cuisine would seem, it is precisely for its fresh, simple flavors that I love it so. The foods I loved eating as a child usually incorporated cilantro, citrus, and fresh seafood. One of my favorite memories as a child is of the grilled fish tacos we’d get at a small roadside stand called Taco Auctioneers near Encinitas, California, on the way to San Diego. We used to buy them, tired and sandy, after a day of surfing (or trying) at a beach about 10 miles further South. The taco stand has since closed down, and it’s been ten years since I’ve tried to stand up on a surfboard, but I have continued trying to emulate the perfection of their grilled fish tacos.
For me, the best recipe has to use shredded cabbage of some kind, for its crunch, avocados for their richness, and lime, to bind all of the flavors together. This recipe is a combination of several recipes that I’ve tried from over the years, with help from the always useful website epicurious.com.

Grilled Baja Mahi Mahi Tacos
2 lbs. mahi mahi or any fresh white fish,
1/2 cup vegetable oil,
3 tbsp lime juice, 5 tsp chili powder,
1 1/2 tsp ground cumin,
1 1/2 tsp ground coriander,
1 1/2 tsp minced garlic,
Salt to taste,
Juice of fresh limes
8 flour tortillas, 8 inches in diameter
Half head of cabbage, sliced thinly or shredded (red or green will work, though I prefer green for its milder flavor)
Whisk together marinade ingredients so that oil breaks up a little bit. Cut mahi mahi into 16 equal slices and coat with marinade using brush. Preheat grill to medium high heat. If you’re using a charcoal grill, allow the coals to burn down a bit until they are glowing red and spread them so that they are evenly dispersed.
Grill the fish until the first side is firmer and well marked, then turn and repeat with the second side.
Grill the tortillas just before serving (always best over an open flame) until they have grill marks, and just before they bubble. Fill tortillas will grilled fish, shredded cabbage, squeezed lime juice, and Avocado, Mango Salsa (See recipe below). Always good in the backyard with a chilled Pacifico beer or Margarita with Salt, under the orange and avocado trees.


Avocado Mango Tomato Salsa
1 mango, peeled, pitted, and diced
4 medium tomatoes diced (I think any kind of tomato works here, but Roma can be a little too soft and mushy for me)
1 avocado, peeled, pitted, and diced,
jalapeno pepper, seeded and minced,
½ cup chopped cilantro, salt to taste,
2 Tablespoons fresh lime juice,
¼ cup chopped red onion,
1 Tablespoon extra virgin olive oil

All ingredients tossed in a bowl! Eat up!

Indian Tacos from Tucson, AZ

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Indian Tacos

Almost a year ago I was in a car navigating south on Route 66 from Chicago, heading to Tucson, AZ. My trusty red Honda brought me, my boyfriend, and a car full of books and clothes to a town where neither of us had roots. We wanted to get to know the Southwest, and one year later the differences are still novel to me--rattlesnakes, palm trees, saguaro cacti, slow talkers, and pink houses. This is not the land I grew up in and I still sometimes gawk at the contrasts.

According to the 2000 census, a quarter of Arizona’s land is occupied by Native American reservations. It’s striking to realize the absence of Native American presence in other places I’ve lived, compared to here. Still, the hints I see of native cultures highlight how little I know about them. The basic facts I’ve gleaned are these. The reservations of the Pascua Yaqui and the Tohono O’odham nations are closest to Tucson. Both the Yaqui and the Tohono O’odham have been living in southern Arizona since this land belonged to Mexico. Also, Indian tacos are delicious.

Let me introduce you to the Indian taco if you haven’t met. You can spot people eating them at festivals around town, wrapped in tinfoil and piled high with cheddar cheese. The base is a piece of frybread—a traditional native staple. On top, beans, chiles, cheese, lettuce, meat, and tomatoes. A taco and yet not a taco. I think of it as a simple testament to the fact that food is not constrained by borders. More importantly, it’s really delicious. I am always impressed with vehicles for different toppings. I tried my hand at this one with guidance from Foods of the Southwest Indian Nations, by Lois Ellen Frank, which I found in the Arizona Collection at the downtown public library.

Frybread

4 cups flour

2 tablespoons baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

2 cups warm water

Vegetable oil for frying

Mix the flour, baking powder, and salt in a large bowl. Gradually stir in the water until the dough

becomes soft and pliable without sticking to the bowl.

Knead the dough on a li

ghtly floured surface or in the bowl for 5 minutes, folding the outer edges of the dough toward the center.

Return the dough to the bowl, cover with a towel, and let rest for 30 minutes to allow it to rise.

Shape the dough into egg-sized balls and then use your hands to stretch it out to a thickness of ½ inch (or thinner, for crispier bread). Put the do

ugh between your hands and pat it from hand to hand like you would if you were making a tortilla or pizza dough, until it stretches to 8-12 inches in diameter.

With your finger poke a small hole in the center of each piece, to prevent bursting during frying. Fry the dough in hot oil and cook until the dough turns golden brown and puffs. Turn over each piece with two forks and cook the other side. Serve immediately. Makes about 16 frybreads.

I found making frybread to be satisfyingly tactile. If you like

slapping and slamming dough around, you will love this. You get to do it sixteen times! Our early frybreads were much too thick, so make sure the d

ough is as thin as you can make it without tearing it.

We made beans to put on top of our frybreads that were adapted, again, from a recipe by Lois Ellen Frank.

2 ½ canned pinto beans (or 1 cup dry beans)

¾ cup vegetable or chicken stock

6 whole red chiles de arbol

1 teaspoon finely chopped chile pequin

1 onion

Chop and sauté onions. Once onions have browned, add pinto beans and stock. Add chiles and bring pot to a boil. Once it’s boiling, turn heat down and let the beans simmer until almost all the liquid is gone.

All credit to the distinctive taste of these beans is due to these chiles. Do not be intimidated by inexperience with these! Chiles de arbol are easy to find in most grocery stores, dried. Chile pequin are easier to fi

nd in the Southwest, I think, but you can omit them and this would still be delicious. Chiles de arbol have a nice warm aftertaste, rather than a burning spiciness like that of say, a jalepeno. I am newly enamored with them. I’d say this recipe is medium spicy, so if you have a mild palate, use less chiles.

Layer your frybread with beans, onions, cheese, lettuce, salsa, and whatever else you like. They’re hearty to eat and nice to look at. Eat up, wherever you are.

Our Story

Meal Maps has been a project in the making for several years now, hinted at and talked about over plenty of curries, soups, stained cookbooks, and bottles of wine.
The Meal Maps crew includes Liz, Aimee, and Bria—friends who met ten years ago at a tiny liberal arts college in the frozen fields of the sadly slipping rustbelt of Southern Wisconsin. As ladies who love to move around, explore, and tell stories, we realized we were marking time by the recipes we were cooking. We remember places by what we ate there. Beloit, Wisconsin’s fried cheese curds. Chicago’s soul food. Tucson’s Sonoran-style hot dogs. When we went somewhere new, we used recipes to grab at the stories, memories, politics, and opinions of the places we were in and the places we’d come from.
For the better part of the last five years, we haven’t lived in the same location. Most recently, Aimee spent two years eating and drinking her way through Spain and is now back in Southern California. Bria mastered banana pudding and jalapeno cheese grits in Durham, North Carolina, and now lives in Tucson, Arizona. And Liz just took off on a one-way ticket from Chicago to Guanojuato, Mexico. Through our travels and time spent apart, we wrote letters about the things we would see in markets and cook in our own kitchens. We collected recipes, sometimes attached to their own strange and interesting rituals and stories, and ate some very colorful and delicious meals!
We hope Meal Maps will give us an anchored space to talk about the memories that we bind to the food that we’re eating, as we each travel through very different terrain. Follow our recipes and wander with us.