Meal 50: Dominica

Dominica is a tiny little island country, in the middle of that north-south string of Caribbean islands. You'd be forgiven for thinking it's the Spanish-speaking half of Hispaniola, but no, that's the Dominican Republic. They both use the adjective Dominican; to assert that you mean this beautiful, actively volcanic, lush-in-parts island, place the stress on the third syllable, domiNIcan.

The national Dominican dish is the so-called Mountain Chicken, which is actually a species of giant frog, so tasty and easy to catch that it's now critically endangered. Since expensive, farmed, previously-frozen frog legs didn't seem like they'd cut it. Plus, this was a hastily cobbled-together brunch in the aftermath of Sandy, and that just seemed out of place. So, regular chicken it was!

We're glad to have gotten a full table together on short notice for this rare daytime meal: Wei, Natalie, Diana, Gino, Bettina, Marshall, and Jeremy. (That's Emmylou in the front!) In acknowledgment of our good fortune, and as a bit of a preview for Thanksgiving in a few weeks, we went around the table discussing what we were thankful for in the aftermath of the storm. Turns out there's a lot that's right, everything from community to far-flung family to our hard-working civil servants.

Banana-mango bread | Recipe

Fortunately, with an emphasis on fruits and sweet flavors, Dominica's cuisine is quite amenable to brunching. This rich bread, kept moist by banana and mango, and enriched with plenty of walnuts, raisins, and brown sugar, made for a great start. (I can also say from experience that it stays really tasty several days later!)

Caribbean reef chicken | Recipes: ChickenMango chutney

Where the "reef" in the name comes from, I do not know, but I don't much care because it's quite tasty. A sauce of rum, sugar, citrus juices and spices makes for a tangy and sweet marinade. Just when all the juices from the chicken start to run out from the baking, then you slather it with a generous helping of mango chutney.

Oh, the chutney! Have you ever made it before? It sure lent a heady smell to the house, with this vinegar-based slurry of under-ripe mangoes, lots of sugar, and generous helpings of spices cooking down for hours, but the result was well worth it. Spicy but not too much so, tangy but not overwhelmingly, it's a really great condiment to go with grilled meats and the like. (Note that the recipe makes for about four to five cups of chutney, which is a lot, so either reduce it or plan to give a bunch away.)

Seasoned fig flats | Green banana fritters | Recipe

In this part of the world, a "fig" is an unripe banana. Like green plantains, green bananas are treated more like potatoes than fruit. For this dish, you peel the green bananas (which requires a knife to score the peel first, otherwise you're ripping off little bits of skin all over the place), boil them, mash them, and then add in the other ingredients. I was really surprised to be able to find the "seasoning peppers" at the Latino market I went to in Sunset Park; also known as "ajicitos," these look a whole lot like the ultra-spicy habaneros or almost-as-hot Scotch bonnets, but have a lot less spice and a lot more flavor.

Anyway, these little fritters were fine, not terribly flavorful but pleasant enough for breakfast. Maybe if I'd used real Goya seasoning, what with its MSG, rather than throwing in a few spices like cumin and coriander, it mighta been tastier.

Sorrel drink | Recipe

Avid readers will know we've enjoyed this sort of drink before, but why should that stop us? It's delightfully simple to make, just boil dried hibiscus/sorrel flowers with water, ginger, and spices, let cool, strain, add sugar, and enjoy the tangy, spiced, sweet flavor of Christmas in a glass. Yum!

The meal made for a nice opportunity to unplug from the Sandy craziness for a little while, enjoy the sunshine streaming through the window (it was cold out!), and enjoy the carefre sounds of calypso music.

We're off for a few weeks, our next meal is in San Francisco the weekend following Thanksgiving for Dominican Republic — and we'll be done with the D's!

Meal 49: Djibouti

Last week was Eid al-Adha, the Feast of the Sacrifice. To commemorate the moment when Abraham was prepared to sacrifice his son Isaac at God's command, Muslims sacrifice an animal and turn it into dinner. In Djibouti, this would almost certainly be a goat, so that's what we ate! Now, not too many people have heard of Djibouti, barely the size of the NYC metro area. During the Opening Ceremony of the Olympics a few months ago, all Matt Lauer could say about it was, "There are some countries whose name makes you smile." Squeezed into the intersection of Ethiopia, Eritrea, and Somalia, and across the Red Sea from Yemen, it's an invention of colonialism from when the French wanted a secure place to guard passage to the Suez Canal, and it remains host to French and US soldiers.

As far as the food, Djibouti shares with its neighbors a penchant for injera, the spongy crêpe-like flatbread made from a flour called teff, though the use of rice is a nod to influence from nearby Arab lands. Despite its seaside location, meat seems to be preferred. And it's all eaten by hand from communal platters. I should point out that there's not a whole lot of info on Djiboutian cuisine online in English or even French, so this meal is the best I could do based on what I could find!

We had a fun crowd for the dinner: Sarah, our neighbors Amanda and Henry, Sarah-Doe, Zhenya, Raven, Dan, and Claire! Ed (remember him from Armenia?) showed up a bit later.

Cabri farci, façon afar | Stuffed goat, Afar style | Roasting (scroll to #11), rice stuffing (minus lamb), video

 
The Afar are one of the two main ethnic groups of Djibouti, and the more nomadic of the two. Apparently their famed form of hospitality is to stuff a goat with rice and spices, and roast it over a fire.

Goat in chunks is fairly easy to come by in NYC, but finding a more whole version during Eid al-Adha proved a challenge. After some calling around, Fertile Crescent came through. I emerged from the subway at Atlantic and Flatbush staring down the new and utterly strangely post-apocalyptic Barclays Center; 30 seconds later I was trying to get the attention of a butcher arguing in Arabic with a customer. We ended up deciding that a whole 30-pound goat would be excessive, so I got him to trim off the legs and I walked home with the midsection.

With little indication of how to prepare the rice, other than watching a video that advises oil and spices, I adapted a more standard meat-and-rice recipe, hoping that the generous apportionment of tomatoes and onions, plus drippings from the meat, would provide enough moisture to cook the short grain Egyptian rice I picked up.

Then it came to lacing the darn thing up. Apparently they use wire, and so did I, which mostly worked. I employed a staple gun to help graft a flap of skin to the wide opening at the end of the ribcage, and surprisingly it mostly held. On went a quick rub of oil and salt, and in went the rice! Then I built a wood-and-charcoal fire (with hyperlocal kindling scavenged from the back yard!) and let it burn down for about an hour. Using the technique I learned from the Cuban pork shoulder, I pushed the coals to the side (and added the innovation of foil above the coals that had fallen in the center) to allow for indirect heat, and on went the goat! I moved it only twice in two hours for fear of losing too much rice.

The result was a surprising success. Seven pounds of goat midsection doesn't offer much meat, but the meager helpings are really tasty without being too rich, and definitely enhanced by the smoke. Speaking of, while the rice was a bit on the al dente side, it did have a marvelous campfire flavor.

Injera | Sourdough teff pancakes | Recipe: Original, simplified version below

With 194 meals to make it through, rarely do I test a recipe before the dinner. But having never made injera and having seen so many different recipes, I did a trial run a few weeks back. The spontaneously fermented one — mix up ingredients, let wild yeasts land, then cook — was too sticky and tasted suspiciously and unpleasantly of cheese. But this one, using a known sourdough starter and with all sorts of "they don't actually use it" stuff like self-rising flour, turned out amazingly, and I chose it. Many people on the surprisingly long and controversy-ridden string of comments claimed that though the technique is non-traditional, the results replicate the on-the-ground experience, and I guess that's what I'm going for!

I'm so grateful for that recipe but I find it long and hard to follow, so I pared it down and added a bit of my experience in my version of the recipe which is at the end of this post. Simply put, if you have a hankering for injera and can get your hands on teff (Bob's Red Mill makes it and many Whole Foods Markets sell it) and a good starter, I can't imagine a better result. Tangy and nutty, moist and spongy but with a good tooth, so easy to tear off a piece for grabbing a bite of food, this is just really tasty stuff. It just takes a while to make them one pancake at a time!

Lentilles djiboutiens | Lentils with chili and spices | Recipe

My authenticity-dar is kind of spinning with this recipe — no native name given, doesn't specify the type of lentils, etc. — but you know what, it turned out to be really, really good. I used red lentils (which turn yellow when you cook 'em) and I'm glad I did, because it turned out nice and soft in a way that I'm not sure black/green lentils could have. Despite the high proportion of chilies, it wasn't too spicy.

If you make this, note that instead of draining the lentils, saving the water, and then putting it all back together, I just started sauteeing the onions and chilies in a separate pan, added them to the par-cooked lentils, threw in a bit more water, and cooked from there. Simpler and you can't argue with the tasty results!

Yetakelt W'et | Spiced vegetable stew | Recipe

This dish of assorted veggies was totally okay, but really nothing spectacular. Maybe veggie dishes are just not a big thing in Djibouti, or maybe this recipe's just a dud. Stick to the lentils and meat!

The conversation turned to the approaching storm — which has passed by the time I write this, thankful to have power and internet and glad the only inconvenience is a lack of subway service — and transitioned into an outside party!

We were going to do the next meal, Dominica, up in Boston, but given the post-Sandy mess of things, we'll be doing it from home.

And without further ado, the recipe: Injera, adapted from Burakaeyae

2 cups teff starter

2 cups teff

3 cups self-rising flour (store-bought, or make your own: 3 cups all-purpose flour plus 4 teaspoons baking powder and 1 teaspoon salt)

Night before: Best done in big glass bowl. Mix starter and 2 cups of teff. Knead it a bunch, like 10 minutes. Will be really dry. Then add luke-warm water, 1/4 cup at a time, thoroughly mixing each time. Mix until it's watery. Test: dip hand in batter, should slip off quickly only leaving a thin residue. Let rest overnight.

Next morning: Should see three layers with liquid in middle. Stir. Save one or two cups for next time if you plan to make again. Blend this starter mix, either 1 cup at a time in the blender, or with an immersion blender. Blend until you only feel a very small amount of grit. Pour this into a large pot or other big vessel.

In your now-empty glass bowl, put the self-rising flour. Add warm water, mixing by hand until soupy. Blend again, should take less time than the teff.

Scrape the flour batter into the teff batter. Mix thoroughly with your hand. If it doesn't pass the thin-residue test, add a bit more water until it does. Cover with a lid and let rise, longer the better. Then put in fridge for at least 45 minutes.

Before dinner: Give yourself plenty of time, it can take at least a half hour to make them all. They don't need to be hot so you can do it in advance.

Heat up a pan; non-stick will make your life easier, something with low edges like a crepe pan is best. Get it really good and hot, sprinkle on a bit of salt, then pour some batter on. Quickly tilt around to fill the diameter of the pan; it may take a few tries to get the right amount so it's not too thin or too thick. Cover with a lid to get it to steam a bit.

Once it crisps a bit on the edge, use something wide like a super-wide spatula or a flat baking sheet to remove. (If it's non-stick you might be lucky and able to just slide it off). Let cool for a bit on a clean cloth napkin or towel or cooling rack while you make the next injera, then move onto a plate for keeping. You need to let each injera cool on its own for a bit before putting on the pile to prevent sticking.

Sprinkle on a bit more salt every time, not only is this good for flavor but apparently it helps make the bubbles.

Photos by Laura Hadden, who's looking forward to no more puns on this country's name.

Meal 48: Denmark

Danish cuisine doesn't exactly have a high reputation, among gastronomes nor dietitians, so I had pretty low expectations for the meal. While Denmark famously produces a whole lot of dairy and pork, it has a historical reputation for sending the best stuff abroad and keeping the remainder to feed the populace. Well, I am happy to report that so long as bold, rich flavors are welcome, Danish food is actually pretty good! For this meal I tried to evoke the spirit, if not the reality, of the smørrebrød — literally, butter-bread, the open-faced sandwiches on rye that are the most distinctive and lovely part of the cuisine. While a really good host might have made them for the guests, we set bread, butter, and toppings on the table, and let folks just have at it.

We were pleased to welcome a whole bunch of first-time Noshers! Raven's the only one who'd been before; we were thrilled to welcome Jeremy, Lars (a real half-Dane!), Dada, Julie, Bijou (another half-Dane!), Jess, and Allison (a fellow countries-of-the-world food-schticker at 26dishes!).

Rugbrød | Sourdough whole rye bread | Recipe

My initial research a few weeks back made it clear that a fresh, dense-but-moist, whole-grain sourdough rye is a core component of Danish cuisine. I found several recipes in searching, but none really struck the intersection of seeming like something someone in Denmark would actually make, and speaking the sort of baking language I understand.

So what luck when I did the search again — specifying "rye chops" because I had the cut grains on hand — and found this marvelous recipe that just happened to be posted a day or two prior! If you already have a sourdough starter, it's no big deal, you just have to plan several days in advance so you can take part of your starter and feed it with rye, and then spend the required day and a half of rising and refrigerating, 2.5 hour bake, and another 24 hour rest before slicing.

The bread is just great. Rich, malty flavor with a very strong backbone of that hearty rye flavor, but what's most wonderful is the surprisingly light crumb and moistness you just don't expect from 100% rye. The only recommendation I can add to the recipe is to remove the bread from the pans before it cools too much; I made the mistake of cooling in the pan, and of the three loaves I made, only the one with corrugated sides released. The other two taste great but are no good for slicing.

Akvavit | Spiced spirits

Akvavit, from the Latin aqua vitae or "water of life," is an infusion of spices into vodka. I guess I could have bought some at the store, but what's the fun in that? Cobbling together indications from several sites, and ignoring suggestions to start with just a few spices, I threw in about a dozen, including cinnamon, coriander, caraway seeds, cardamom, cloves, anise, star anise, and dried lemon peel. I should have left it for a few weeks but only started a few days before the meal, so to give things a head start I toasted the herbs to release the oils, and also gave the bottle a shake every time I walked by the kitchen.

Nobody claimed to love it, and to be fair it was a pretty heady combination of flavors, but I was pleased for what I think passes as a Scandinavian complement from Lars: "Well, this is better than many commercial versions!"

Frikadeller | Fried meatballs | Recipe

 
Denmark creates a lot of dairy, but dairy cows aren't the best for eating. So what to do? Well, grind up the beef and fry it in butter! The recipe's evolved, and now you'll often see pork and/or veal either in place of or mixed in with the beef. The recipe that Allison provided calls for pork but I messed up and bought beef instead (probably remembering the history more than the recipe!) while at the Meat Hook. I then got pork, so it was a blend. And such a tasty one! As Allison says, "If pork is king in Denmark, butter is king." So, a royal dish indeed. And thanks to Jeremy for frying them all up!

Leverpostej | Liver pate | Recipe

Corinna, a colleague of mine, cautioned against setting up for sandwiches — not only would it take "a lot of preparation," but "you would have to make leverpostej." Tradition demands it! And since I don't pass up a good opportunity to bake with rye, well, I had to make this liver-based pâté.

Now, I can find palmnut sauce, green plantains, and homemade lard easily in New York. But who knew, in a city that loves its bacon and many other parts of the pig, that it would be so hard to find something as elemental as pork liver? After increasingly frantic calls on Friday to some of Manhattan and Brooklyn's best-regarded butchers, all of whom said "I could get it for you in a few days," I finally found a winner in the Meat Hook in Williamsburg, which also kindly ground both the liver and the fat for me. So note, if for some reason you want to make this dish, please call ahead to your butcher and make sure they're ready.

We didn't end up with any photos of the dish, which is just as well because it's roundly unattractive. But for those who enjoy pâté-like dishes, it's a treat to have one that's freshly made. One suggestion is to ignore the recipe's idea to serve warm; apparently it's most often served cold, which also makes it easier to slice.

Syltede rødbeder | Pickled beets | Recipe

I almost didn't make this, because the beets at the Fairway were shockingly soft. You want beets soft after cooking, not before. But while I was at the Meat Hook, the little produce area in the Brooklyn Kitchen half had these beautiful, local beets that I just couldn't ignore.

Now, a cooking secret for you. I don't know a reliable way to avoid getting stains when cooking. Even when I wear an apron, stuff seems to find its way onto my shirt. So when I'm working intensively with beets or pomegranate or the like, I just take my shirt off. Maybe it increases the risk of a burn on my stomach, but I know I won't stain the clothes! Anyway, so I boiled the beets, cooled them in an ice bath, slipped off the skins, and sliced them while still warm. I threw together a homemade pickling spice with bay leaves, mustard and coriander seeds, cloves, broken cinnamon stick, and probably a few other odds-and-ends I forget, and left it just overnight. Well, the flavors definitely melded, and the beets were very popular, both as a smørrebrød topping and also on their own.

Smør, Marinerede sild, Danablu | Butter, pickled herring, blue cheese

Much as I try to make things myself, sometimes you just gotta buy it. No way I was going to churn my own butter (though I've heard you can) or make my own blue cheese, and even though I tried to find fresh herring to pickle my own, I totally struck out and got some from Shelsky's down the road. Anyway, all of these were excellent smeared on the rye bread for some smørrebrød action.

Kold kartoffelsalat | Cold potato salad | Recipe

Be sure to use the freshest potatoes you can find, because there's not much seasoning in this salad so the potatoes are meant to shine. However, there is heavy cream and mayonnaise. Yum! I think I was more of a fan of the more vinegar-and-bacon direction of an Austrian potato salad, but I definitely see the value of this creamier kind.

Grønkal | Creamed kale | Recipe

Despite the name and appearance, there's no cream here, just a butter-flour-milk roux with boiled and chopped kale thrown in. I think there was too much sauce for the amount of greens.

Is | Ice cream

Turns out the Danes are the #1 per-capita consumers of ice cream in the world. I too the opportunity to clean out a bunch of ice creams I'd made over the summer: vanilla, mint, saffron-cardamom-pistachio-rosewater, and peach sorbet.

 

We had a great time, as Lars, Bijou and Allison regaled us with stories of Danish life and culture, and the soundtrack played local pop and other sounds.

Next week we head to a place that also has sourdough-based bread, and plenty of meat and butter — and that's where the similarities end, 'cause it's the little East African nation of Djibouti.

Photos by Laura Hadden, who finally found a rye bread she likes.

Meal 47: Democratic Republic of the Congo

What a special night! 75 guests, most of whom had never been to a Nosh before, gathered in the beautiful ballroom at Hostelling International on the Upper West Side, for a meal of classic Congolese dishes.

The idea came from Ari, the community engagement manager at the hostel, who saw our email on The Listserve and reached out to see if we might want to do a Nosh with them. With a big venue and kitchen, we decided to align it with World Food Day and make it a big fundraising opportunity...and at the end of the evening, that made for $1,400, or 5,600 meals to people in need! According to the WFP, the Democratic Republic of the Congo — the former Zaire — ranks lowest in the world for human development and hunger, and 70% have inadequate food. Needless to say, a rich and tasty meal like ours, with plenty of meats, vegetables, and oil, is far beyond the reach of most Congolese.

It turns out it would have been hard to find a more convenient neighborhood for cooking the meal. Less than a mile away is a wonderful little African market that had the palmnut sauce, cassava powder, and other specialty goods I needed, sold by a very friendly and enthusiastic proprietor. The manager at the nearby Gristedes let me borrow a shopping cart to haul back all the meat, and the cart proved very handy for hauling back a huge load of greens, plantains, and other produce.

There's no way we could have done this meal without the help of our many volunteers, who helped set up, cook, and clean up. The huge kitchen area comprising four ranges, two sinks, and dozens of pots and frying pans was buzzing with chopping, frying, stirring, and only one having to find the maintenance staff to crank up the ventilation hoods. Huge thanks to everyone who pitched in! And we owe an enormous debt of gratitude to Ari and the rest of the staff at the hostel who were incredibly friendly and accommodating.

Arachides rôties | Roasted peanuts

These freshly shelled peanuts came in little hand-tied baggies, a dollar a piece. So simple to throw them in a hot, dry frying pan, shake 'em around for a few minutes until they start to darken, then toss in a bowl with a little salt. Great as a snack or a topping.

Poulet mwamba | Chicken in palmnut sauce | Recipe

Not only did we cook forty pounds of dark-meat chicken, but to get it to cook faster (and to follow the recipe), we had to cut it into bite-sized pieces. Turns out I learned the hard, and potentially stupid, way that a glass cutting board isn't meant for cleaver-whacking:

Fifteen minutes later and Laura was back with a cutting board, I kept whacking away at chicken limbs, and Jason set to work browning the hundreds of chunks in five frying pans of red palm oil across two stovetops, his camera slung across his shoulder like a bandolier.

Ari, our incredibly gracious host at Hostelling International, smiled wistfully as he entered the kitchen. "It's so comforting that you're making the hostel smell like palm oil!" Once you know that rich smell, something kind of at the intersection of thick lotion, paprika and mineral oil but in a good way, it's hard to forget. Turns out, we used not just the oil, but also the thick pulp rendered from crushing palm nuts. Thinned a bit with some water, and livened up with salt and chilies plus onions and garlic sauteed in the pans after browning the chicken, it all cooked up into two big pots worth of thick and very rich stew, a very stick-to-your-ribs endeavor. We also made a vegetarian version, with eggplant and zucchini and an extra dose of onions, which was arguably tastier than the chicken version.

Boeuf sauce arachide | Beef in peanut sauce | Recipe

"Goober," the folksy nickname for the peanut, comes from the Kikongo name for the groundnut, nguba. You can make a tasty peanut sauce with just about any meat, and in fact I'd intended to make it with goat but I couldn't find that in my short shopping time, so beef it was. As you can see, the list of ingredients is very simple, but the result is really satisfying and complete. I picked up some surprisingly flavorful chili powder from Mali, maybe that did the trick. Whatever the reason, there was certainly none left!

Bitekuteku | Callaloo greens | Recipe

I did a whole lot of research around this one. I wasn't relishing making yet another dish from frozen cassava greens, so I was happy to see this dish for a different type of green. But I wasn't confident I'd be able to find it fresh. I was all prepared to substitute collards or chard, but lo and behold, the produce shop across the corner from the hostel had it! It's yet another of those foods that crossed the Atlantic in the slave trade, and somehow it ended up with the name "callaloo." Anyway, I cleared them out of all 16 bunches.

Who knew how much labor callaloo requires? The stems are pretty tough, but the leaves are haphazardly arranged, so removing them takes a whole lot of labor, for which Alex and her support crew deserve particular praise. Then you have to blanch them in boiling water with baking soda, and even with two pots going at a time, that took a while. We got a head start on the timing by sauteeing the green onions and eggplant ahead of time and dropping in the greens. Happily, it was really tasty, and the big crowd made fast work of it.

Fufu | "Stiff porridge"

Practice is starting to make perfect! I'm finally starting to get the hang of it, I think. This time we used a blend of corn and cassava flours, used the big-ass paddle I bought a few months ago, and I recruited Sarah's strong arms and energy to mix it up. She stirred a small amount into the big pot of just-boiled water, then added more of alternating flours until it got kinda thick, then stirring like mad until it got really thick. (Jessica also helpfully suggested that one person hold the pot steady while another grips the paddle with both hands and uses upward motion against the side of the pot to smooth out lumps.) The fufu turned out thick enough to grab with your hands, and tasted like mostly nothing...so, success! Also, it just ran out at the end of the evening, so maybe it's dumb luck but I'm glad we made the right amount.

Pili pili | Hot sauce | Recipe

This one's even simpler than the hot sauce for Comoros. Seeded hot peppers, onion, garlic, and a bit of oil. Simmer for an hour. Done. Quite spicy, richly flavorful, crowd pleaser. I thought I was being responsible by washing my hands like 20 times after cutting all the scotch bonnets, and I'm glad I did. However, I only gave the pot a standard cleaning — and the next morning's oatmeal turned out spicy! Lesson learned. Wash everything a lot after making hot sauce.

Bananes plantains au four | Baked plantains

Fried plantains are always the tastiest. But it takes a lot of work and time and makes a royal mess, as we discovered for the Cameroonean meal. So, we got most of the fun for about 10% of the work by simply peeling the plantains, slicing them in half, and baking the off for a half hour. Thanks to the abundantly equipped kitchen, we had six trays going across three ovens! And every last plantain was gobbled up.

What made us perhaps the happiest from this meal, even beyond the beautiful space and the people who went back for thirds and the money raised, was that most people stayed far longer than they had to, making new friends around the dinner table. Having made it just about a quarter of the way through the nations of the world, it's the joy of combining adventure and community that has become so motivating!

Stay tuned for our post from Denmark!

Photos by Jason Falchook, Chrys Wu, and Laura Hadden. 

Meal 46: Cyprus

As a solitary island in the eastern Mediterranean, Cyprus has seen millenia of influence from outside nations and empires. From Venetians to Ottomans to English, the appeal of a pied-à-terre located between Asia Minor, the Nile, Palestine and Greece has held strong appeal. The geopolitics are strong as ever today, with a split between Turkish Northern Cyprus and the Greek Republic of Cyprus.

For this meal we focus on the latter, primarily because that's the entity with UN membership but also that's because our friend Iva grew up there. All the while the food demonstrates its history while maintaining distinctive aspects of its own. And while it doesn't feature in any recipe, yogurt was the thick and creamy star that held it all together.

Joining us for this pleasant, post-mosquito night on the back porch, in addition to Iva, were Rachel (who's got a great project going with Oldest Living Things in the World), François, Emma, Nathan, Martyna and Martyna's mom. We tried out a new approach where every guest asked Iva something about Cyprus, which was a great way to learn about daily life and culture.

Horiatiki | Rustic salad

If you've ever had a Greek salad, this is a pretty similar beast, with tomatoes, cucumbers, green peppers, olives and oregano. What makes this Cypriot is the halloumi cheese, which is moister and firmer, and a bit less salty, than feta. Also the dressing is based on lemon juice rather than the vinegar you sometimes see.

Pourgouri pilaf | Bulgur wheat | Recipe

I think I see a bit of Middle East influence in bulgur, or cracked wheat, in this dish! Though the flavor was simple, it was definitely enlivened by some thick yogurt.

Makaronia tou fournou / pastitsio | Noodle, beef and béchamel casserole | Recipe

I'd be surprised if it wasn't the Venetians who introduced the pasta used in this casserole which is well known as a Greek dish but which Iva claims is originally from Cyprus. It was certainly tasty, but what was supposed to be a thick and fluffy bechamel of flour, milk and butter was quite runny and kind of drooped down like a cobbler rather than floating on top like a meringue. I think it was my fault for adding the second half of the milk too quickly rather than slowly incorporating it patiently into the pan of milk and flour. Be that as it may this was still plenty yummy.

Louvi me lehana | Black-eyed peas with chard | Recipe

A beautifully rustic combination of legumes and greens. Interestingly, dried black eyed peas cook much more quickly than normal beans, which is good to know if you have limited time. The dish overall was nice and a bit tangy with the lemon, but honestly the leftovers were bolder and in my opinion better when I added red wine, sumac, roasted garlic, Aleppo pepper and more lemon juice.

Melomakaronia | Honey cookies with olive oil, orange, and spices | Recipe

These cookies are traditional for Christmas but I can see why they're popular year round. Densely made with olive oil, orange juice and rind, and fresh ground cinnamon and clove, and then dipped in a solution of honey, sugar, and more spice, you don't need more than one or two to feel satisfied! Iva generously brought a bottle of Commandaria, a port-like dessert wine known as the world's oldest continually produced type of wine!

And that does it for the C's! If you're around in New York on October 14 we'd love to have you for our biggest Nosh yet, honoring World Food Day with Democratic Republic of the Congo. Buy tickets!

Photos by Laura Hadden, who was grateful to have Iva back from Cyprus for this meal!