When they asked me to edit the Post, they didn't tell me that if nobody sent any copy in, I'd have to write all the articles myself.
Be that as it may, since we don't have a restaurant review, you get this.
Serves you all right.
Eating In with Dmitri
I do not Eat Out. Ever, if I can help it.
The reason is that I have celiac disease, which means that restaurants are always trying to poison me.
'Oh, sure, that salad's gluten-free. Besides, we have an epi-pen.' Trying to explain that a crouton is made of wheat, therefore toxic, and that the result of eating will not be anaphylactic shock (I should be so lucky, that's quicker) but at least three days of pain, insanity (yeah, yeah, how could you tell?), and gastro-intestinal distress, is not something you want to undertake at a dining table. The particulars are unpleasant. So you content yourself with being labelled 'stubborn', and poke around at a plate of raw vegetables without benefit of sauce, while everyone else enjoys themselves. Bah.
So I Eat In. Eating In is less fun, but has the advantage of offering a higher rate of survival.
The first step to Eating In is a hard one – grocery shopping. This entails reference to economics (what can we afford?), geography (what is available at Roger's, the Food Panther, Harris Tweeder, or the Superbullseye?), and psychology (how can I get Elektra to write this down, rather than shop on impulse, as she prefers to do?). All of this negotiated, we're off to Roger's/Food Panther/Harris Tweeder, or the Superbullseye, list in hand. An hour later, we're unloading groceries. Now the fun can begin.
Fried chicken is doable. Rice flour works as a coating. Mamaliga, that old Romanian staple, goes well with fried chicken. Top it with sour cream, while being nostalgic for sheep's-milk yoghurt. Add some veggies – fried okra in season, green beans out of season, corn-on-the-cob with butter…yum.
Sit down to enjoy. Here, there are options: Dine al fresco (yeah, yeah, Prof, I know he's the Italian around the corner) on your porch, sharing the last rays of the setting sun with your neighbours, the mockingbirds. This works better if the mockingbird in question hasn't learned how to imitate a mobile ring, but hey… Alternatively, you can light a candle, set the table, and pretend you're in a restaurant. 'And how was your day, dear?' 'What do you mean, how was my day? I spent it five feet from you, at the other desk.' Well, maybe not.
The lazy, cozy option: fix yourselves a plate of delicious Southern/Romanian fare, pour yourself a well-chilled Copepsi (it's a very good year for sugar water), prop the food on your desk and your feet on the coffee table, and lean back to watch old movies on your computer.
Pass the sour cream, dear. Anyone for Romanian New Age cinema tonight?
We hope our regular restaurant reviewers will be back soon. Otherwise, I will be forced to tell you about gluten-free desserts. You don't want to know.
Fact and Fiction by Dmitri Gheorgheni ArchiveDmitri Gheorgheni
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