Paisano: Treats on the 4th
Paisano: Treats on the 4th
A few years back when I lived was living in Eugene, Oregon I got a call from the Paisano the last week of June. It was an odd call. First he didn't really sound like himself — there was something funny in his voice. He sounded off. Second, he wanted to know if he could come for a visit.
Although I didn't know him as well then, I did know the Paisano never asks if he can visit and certainly never offers warning. He either shows up on my doorstep or calls me to come pick him up at the nearest airport, bus station, train station, or even gas station. On this occasion, he said if I didn't mind (didn't mind?) he would like to visit for a spell and thought he'd take the train up from California in a couple of days if that was Ok. WTF?
As usual I got a bear hug and kiss on both cheeks. As usual his baggage was a single military canvas duffle bag (no insignia, only the scar of a badge and a bleached section to leave you wondering which military). As usual his grey hair was a bit shaggy and his beard was immaculately trimmed. But on the drive back to my apartment he was a bit less ebullient than usual, his laugh a tad less hearty. When I asked if he knew how long he was staying he said he had to be in Vancouver at the end of the week.
July 4 was on a Tuesday that year, and I'd arranged to take Monday off to prepare for a party I was having on the 4th. I lived about half a mile from the University of Oregon stadium and each 4th the stadium hosts a big fireworks display — I had a near perfect viewing spot in my backyard. I figured we'd have a collection of munchies while watching the fireworks and then come back inside to eat dinner.
Sunday evening we talked about the party and menu. Paisano, as a matter of course, wanted to change everything, but gave up surprisingly easily when I resisted. So I told him I wasn't happy with the "bites" I'd planned on munching on while watching the fireworks and asked him to come up with something. We spent the rest of the evening tossing ideas back and forth and then went grocery shopping Monday morning.
I knew better than to push him about his problem. He puts Dick Cheney's secretiveness to shame. If I asked a direct question I'd get a direct answer — but maybe not a true answer. With the Paisano you listen between the lines and if he trusts you and wants to, he'll tell you. It took until Tuesday when we were prepping for the party for him to start talking.
With a chefs knife in a one hand, a glass of wine in the other, and array of ingredients spread across the counter, he began to talk.
His oldest brother, Michael, was dying of kidney disease in a hospital in Vancouver. They were close, but the connection didn't occur until Paisano was grown up, ten years was far too much distance to overcome as children. And, perhaps because the connection had come so late, it was particularly fierce. And now my friend was going to Canada to say goodbye. This was not something he was good at.
Eventually the guests arrived for my party bringing blankets and lawn chairs. Paisano immediately ditched me to handle the final dinner prep on my own while he served his hors d'ouevres, made new friends, and watched the fireworks.
Paisano made a half dozen meze or tapas, but these two were the most popular. They would be perfect to munch on July 4.
So we went to the store, came back and spent the day making Michael's favorite foods — "I can't cure him, but I can feed him" — and around 5:00 that evening I put the Pasisano on the train to Vancouver. When we parted he hugged me with particular vigor.
"In my family I am the baby so you must be my younger brother. When I am dying, bring food."
I will, brother.
Note: Pasisano is a fictional character created for a column published twice monthly on Gather.com.
A few years back when I lived was living in Eugene, Oregon I got a call from the Paisano the last week of June. It was an odd call. First he didn't really sound like himself — there was something funny in his voice. He sounded off. Second, he wanted to know if he could come for a visit.
Although I didn't know him as well then, I did know the Paisano never asks if he can visit and certainly never offers warning. He either shows up on my doorstep or calls me to come pick him up at the nearest airport, bus station, train station, or even gas station. On this occasion, he said if I didn't mind (didn't mind?) he would like to visit for a spell and thought he'd take the train up from California in a couple of days if that was Ok. WTF?
"In my family I am the baby so you must be my younger brother. When I am dying, bring food."
I said sure, come on. What else could I say? I picked him up at the train station on Sunday afternoon, July 2.As usual I got a bear hug and kiss on both cheeks. As usual his baggage was a single military canvas duffle bag (no insignia, only the scar of a badge and a bleached section to leave you wondering which military). As usual his grey hair was a bit shaggy and his beard was immaculately trimmed. But on the drive back to my apartment he was a bit less ebullient than usual, his laugh a tad less hearty. When I asked if he knew how long he was staying he said he had to be in Vancouver at the end of the week.
July 4 was on a Tuesday that year, and I'd arranged to take Monday off to prepare for a party I was having on the 4th. I lived about half a mile from the University of Oregon stadium and each 4th the stadium hosts a big fireworks display — I had a near perfect viewing spot in my backyard. I figured we'd have a collection of munchies while watching the fireworks and then come back inside to eat dinner.
Sunday evening we talked about the party and menu. Paisano, as a matter of course, wanted to change everything, but gave up surprisingly easily when I resisted. So I told him I wasn't happy with the "bites" I'd planned on munching on while watching the fireworks and asked him to come up with something. We spent the rest of the evening tossing ideas back and forth and then went grocery shopping Monday morning.
I knew better than to push him about his problem. He puts Dick Cheney's secretiveness to shame. If I asked a direct question I'd get a direct answer — but maybe not a true answer. With the Paisano you listen between the lines and if he trusts you and wants to, he'll tell you. It took until Tuesday when we were prepping for the party for him to start talking.
With a chefs knife in a one hand, a glass of wine in the other, and array of ingredients spread across the counter, he began to talk.
His oldest brother, Michael, was dying of kidney disease in a hospital in Vancouver. They were close, but the connection didn't occur until Paisano was grown up, ten years was far too much distance to overcome as children. And, perhaps because the connection had come so late, it was particularly fierce. And now my friend was going to Canada to say goodbye. This was not something he was good at.
Eventually the guests arrived for my party bringing blankets and lawn chairs. Paisano immediately ditched me to handle the final dinner prep on my own while he served his hors d'ouevres, made new friends, and watched the fireworks.
Paisano made a half dozen meze or tapas, but these two were the most popular. They would be perfect to munch on July 4.
Stuffed Cherry TomatoesThe next morning when I woke my friend had already made coffee and had eggs ready for an omelet. He was back to himself again: "I told J.D. you might be late today and he said that was ok. We must go to the store again. I need to cook for Michael." J.D. was my boss and had been at the party the night before. Arranging my schedule with my boss (and without consulting me) was pure Paisano.
24 large cherry tomatoes
4 oz chèvre
2 tbsp mince basil (or oregano, chives, tarragon, …)
2 tbsp finely minced red onion
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp white pepper
Remove tops of tomatoes and core (a demitasse spoon is perfect for this task). In a small bowl combine all other ingredients then stuff into empty tomatoes. Serve at room temperature. (Note: these are best if the tomatoes are never chilled, but they can be chilled for picnics and such.)
Tuna Stuffed Eggs
6 hardboiled eggs — shelled and cut in half
1 can oil-packed tuna
2 tbsp finely-minced red onion
2 tbsp mayonnaise
1 tbsp Dijon mustard
2 tsp lemon juice
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp smoked hot Spanish paprika
In a small bowl beat together the egg yolks and all other ingredients until smooth. Spoon into hollowed out egg whites. Chill and serve.
So we went to the store, came back and spent the day making Michael's favorite foods — "I can't cure him, but I can feed him" — and around 5:00 that evening I put the Pasisano on the train to Vancouver. When we parted he hugged me with particular vigor.
"In my family I am the baby so you must be my younger brother. When I am dying, bring food."
I will, brother.
Note: Pasisano is a fictional character created for a column published twice monthly on Gather.com.
Technorati: Food | recipe | paisano | deviled eggs | stuffed tomatoes | appetizers | hors d'ouevres | tapas | meze
Labels: appetizer, hors d'ouevres, meze, paisano, recipe, tapas
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