“That’s what Mama said.”
“She said that, did she?”
Paskha:
3lb (1.35kg) farmer cheese or ricotta
4 sticks (450g) unsalted butter, softened
2½ cups (560g) sugar
8 egg yolks
1 cup (225ml) heavy whipping cream
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
Optional:
1 cup (175g) golden raisins or sultanas
Run farmer cheese through the ricer twice into a large mixing bowl to make it as smooth as possible.
In the large bowl of a stand mixer cream butter with 1 cup (200g) sugar until the mixture becomes like thick sour cream.
Fold into farmer cheese until smooth.
Cream the egg yolks with 1 cup (200g) sugar until white. Fold into the cheese mixture.
Whip the heavy cream with the remaining ½ cup (100g) sugar until it becomes soft and thick.
Fold carefully into the cheese mixture.
Add vanilla and cardamom, and golden raisins or sultanas if using.
Fold the mixture into a cheese cloth, folded over two or three times, and hang like a hanging plant over a pot to catch the liquid for 12–24 hours. After it’s set, refrigerate. Or, you can rig something up in the fridge, as long as it’s hanging a few inches off the bottom shelf. Using a prepared Paskha mold doesn’t drain it properly and leaves it too soggy. It’s good to get as much moisture out as possible.
Anthony and Vikki sat at the table. Easter had come and long gone, it was miserably wet and cold outside, and they hadn’t been to the playground for a week. This Saturday they remained in the apartment, cleaning, reading, playing hide-and-seek. Now it was dinner time. She was glaring at him, he stared back, unfazed. He would soon be three. She tried humoring him. But Anthony would be humored only when he felt like being humored. The dinner remained untouched on his plate.
“Come on, bud, you got to eat something. Eat a little.”
“Don’t want to. We had it five hundred times and forty-six. We had it for eighty-seven minutes in a row. Don’t want to.”
“Anthony, we’ve had it twice!”
“All the time. I want cabbage pie.”
“I don’t know how to make cabbage pie.”
“I want fresh bread.”
“I don’t know how to make that.”
“I want mushroom soup.”
“I can’t make it.”
“I want cookies with jelly in the middle.”
“Can’t make those. I’ll give you some jelly, though. It’s the only thing you eat anyway.”
“Didn’t my mama tell you how to make them?”
“She told me how to make eggs. She told me how to make tuna.”
“I don’t want tuna!”
“Well, it’s on your plate, Anthony, and there’s nothing else. So eat it.”
“Don’t want to.”
“You’re not doing anything else until you finish it.”
“Fine.”
They sat for a few minutes longer.
“Ant,” said a defeated Vikki, “want to go to Grammy’s? I’m sure there’ll be pasta.”
“Don’t want pasta.”
“So what do you want?” Vikki snapped. And looked away. Anthony was quiet. They didn’t speak while the water dripped from the faucet, while the rain dripped outside. “Ant,” Vikki said, brightening, “want to go up to Aunt Esther’s?”
“Yes,” the boy said instantly. “Yes! Rosa makes bread pudding. I love bread pudding. And the meat thing. Meat in a pot. I like that.”
Aunt Esther was Alexander’s father’s sister. She lived near Boston with her housekeeper Rosa, who had taken care of Alexander when he had been a small boy himself.
When they were walking in the rain under an umbrella to take the bus to Grand Central Station to spend a week with Aunt Esther, Vikki, holding Anthony’s hand, said, “I’m doing the best I can, bud. It’s not easy, you know.”
“I know. When is Mama coming home?”
“Soon, bud. Real soon.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Aunt Esther
Vikki and Anthony were on the train heading up to Barrington where Esther lived. They were both next to the window. Anthony was making palm prints on the glass. Vikki stared out at the passing scenery. Now Anthony was the one who had cheered up, and Vikki was gloomy.
“You gloomy like a Sunday,” said Anthony, quoting a popular song that was being played on the radio. Vikki grumbled something to him about things he wouldn’t understand, about being invited to go dancing by no less than three perfectly good naval gentlemen recuperating from the war. “Why so gloomy?” Anthony pressed on. “Hungry? You will have food soon. You will have pot meat and maybe a punkin pie.”
“No, Ant,” said Vikki, squeezing and tickling Anthony sitting on her lap, now squirming. “No pumpkin pie in spring. Pumpkin pie in the fall. And we have food at home, too.”
“We have no food. We have eggs. I want bread pudding.”
In Barrington, Esther and Rosa were elated to see Anthony. Esther, as usual, begged Vikki to leave him with them, “Just to give you a little break, sweetheart. You’re so young and pretty. Don’t you want to go dancing?”
“Me?” said Vikki, with a casual wave of the hand. “Oh no, not me. I don’t dance, no. I’m just here, looking after Ant until Tania comes back.”
“Give yourself a little break, honey,” said Rosa.
“No, no break necessary. I’m fine. Really,” she added, seeing their skeptical faces, seeing Anthony’s skeptical face. “I’m fine. I have nothing to do. Just look after the boy. Besides, I promised Tania.”
Esther and Rosa spent the week playing with Anthony and cooking. Vikki slept till noon, stayed up late, ate the food they made, had her clothes washed and ironed. The weather cleared, warmed up; it got sunny. They went down to the beach, flew kites, collected sea shells, took pictures. They had a picnic in the chilly April wind on Nantucket Sound, waded in the icy water in their bare sandy feet. Anthony ran after the squawking sea gulls like a little boy, finally.
And morning, noon, and night, he was fed like a king. Food was brought to him, and fed to him. He was asked what he wanted, and no request was denied. So when Anthony said he wanted meat in a pot, he got pot roast. When he said he wanted corn soup, he got winter chowder. When he said “punkin pie,” there was Rosa, making Anthony a punkin pie in the spring.
And Vikki, who had been fed like this all her life by the grandmother who raised her, watched it all and understood.
Pot Roast
Start with the most expensive cut of meat you can afford. There is no escaping it—the more expensive the meat, the better the pot roast. Rump roast is good, bottom round. Top round. Shoulder roast. Beef grills and roasts better in peanut oil than olive oil.
4–5lb (1.8–2.25kg) rump roast
5 tablespoons peanut or canola oil
1 large onion, coarsely sliced
4 garlic cloves, coarsely sliced
6 large potatoes, peeled and quartered, or 10–12 small new potatoes, peeled and left whole
6 carrots, peeled and cut into 2-in (5cm) chunks
1 11oz can Campbell’s Tomato Bisque soup, or any other can of concentrated tomato soup, or an 8oz (225g) can plain tomato sauce, or 1 cup (225ml) passata
1 cup (225ml) beef broth or water
1 cup (225ml) red cooking wine
salt and pepper, to taste
Leave rump roast out of the fridge for 30 minutes, then rub with salt and pepper. Heat oil in large heavy-bottom pot. Brown meat on all sides, until rich dark brown, about 4 minutes a side. While meat is cooking, throw the onions all around the meat, and brown them, too. Add garlic. Add potatoes, carrots, tomato soup, broth or water, wine, cover completely and cook in oven at 275°F (140°C) for 5 hours, or 325°F (170°C) for 4 hours, or 350°F (180°C) for 3 hours, checking to make sure there is enough liquid. If you keep the lid tightly closed, you shouldn
’t have a problem. Serve with warm bread.
Macaroni and Beef Casserole
Esther told Vikki she had taught Alexander’s mother how to make this, and Jane Barrington made it for Harold and Alexander when they still lived in the United States. Alexander liked it, but Harold had loved it, and Alexander grew to like it more because his father liked it. And now, when Aunt Esther made the casserole for Anthony, who liked it okay, she said to him, “This was your daddy’s favorite meal when he was a little boy,” and Anthony liked it more because his father had liked it.
2 tablespoons butter
1 onion, very finely chopped
3 garlic cloves, grated
1½lb (700g) ground beef sirloin
1lb (450g) elbow macaroni, partially cooked and drained
1 cup (50g) fresh breadcrumbs
4 tablespoons melted butter
You can make simple sauce for this recipe, or you can use some leftover sauce, if you have any.
To make simple sauce:
¼ cup (55ml) olive oil
2 tablespoons butter
6 garlic cloves, grated
48oz (1.35 liters) plain canned tomato sauce, or passata salt and pepper
Preheat heavy-bottom pot on medium-high, about 2 minutes, add oil, heat another 2 minutes, turn down to medium. Add garlic and sauté 30 seconds. Add tomato sauce and adjust seasoning. Bring to boil, turn down heat and simmer, covered, while you prepare the other ingredients.
In a heavy skillet, heat the butter, fry onion until slightly golden, add garlic, cook 30 seconds, add meat, brown, add salt, pepper to taste.
Cook the pasta al dente, drain, and add a little butter. Add the beef mixture and tomato sauce, stir well. Turn out into a prepared, greased large casserole dish. Sprinkle with 1 cup (50g) breadcrumbs and 4 tablespoons melted butter. Bake at 350°F (180°C) until breadcrumbs are crunchy and golden. Serves 150. Just kidding. Makes great leftovers.
Winter Chowder (in Spring)
3 leeks
8 slices bacon, cut into ½-in (1 cm) pieces
3 large all-purpose potatoes
1 large head celery
1 butternut squash or 2 zucchini
2 cups (450 ml) chicken broth
2 cups (450ml) water
½ teaspoon dried thyme
1 teaspoon salt, or to taste
½ teaspoon black pepper
1 cup (225ml) half-and-half, or equal quantities of cream and milk
Rinse leeks very well in cold water, make sure to get out all the sand and grit, then cut off roots and dark leafy tops. Cut each white stalk lengthwise, then crosswise into ½-in (1 cm) pieces. Rinse again, if necessary.
Preheat a large heavy-bottom skillet on medium. Fry the bacon pieces until they’re wilting and the fat is released. Add leeks, cook together with the bacon, stirring occasionally, until both brown, about 10 minutes. Meanwhile, peel the potatoes and cut into small chunks. Wash celery, cut into ½-in (1 cm) chunks. Cut squash or zucchini open, discard seeds. Peel and cut into 1-in (2.5 cm) chunks.
Place potatoes, celery, squash (or zucchini), chicken broth, water, thyme, salt and pepper into a 6-quart (5.4-liter) pot, add leeks and bacon. Mix well, bring to boil, turn down the heat to the lowest simmer, cover completely, and simmer for 90 minutes until all vegetables are soft.
Remove 2 cups of the vegetables, mash them with a fork, return to broth, add half-and-half, stir, heat through, and serve.
To vary:
omit celery, add ½ cup (75g) frozen corn, or ½ cup (75g) frozen mixed vegetables, or 1 cup (150g) thinly sliced raw carrots.
Ham à la Cordone
Cathy Cordone was Esther’s next-door neighbor in Barrington. Every New Year’s Eve, she would come with her husband and son to Esther and Rosa’s and bring not a Napoleon, but a ham with brown sugar glaze. The war put a stop to large hocks of ham, but at the end of 1945, right before Tatiana went to Germany, she came to spend New Year’s Eve with Esther and Rosa, bringing Vikki and Anthony, and got a taste of Cathy’s ham, newly bought, and glazed. As she was eating, and only half-listening to Esther telling her how much Alexander had once liked ham, (was there anything Alexander did not like?) and how much Harold liked ham (was there anything Harold had not liked?) and how Esther bet there had been no ham in the Soviet Union (“You are right about that, Esther, there wasn’t much.”), Tatiana’s mind wondered. She recalled how she had journeyed to Iowa, and had spoken to the mother of the soldier who had been approached in the remote castle of Colditz by a man named Alexander Barrington; how she had been in touch with Sam Gulotta, her contact in the State Department, and had heard the curator of the Hermitage Museum, Josif Orbeli, explode his name into her heart and testify to the reasons he got his most precious works of art out of a besieged city.
And so, as Tatiana ate Cathy Cordone’s New Year’s Eve feast, she knew that Alexander was not dead but alive, knew she was not a widow but a wife, and thought how much Alexander would have enjoyed a piece of ham, and wondered, too, how long it had been since he had likely had one.
The Marinade: (Prepare two days before your event.)
4 garlic cloves, grated
4 teaspoons grated fresh ginger
1 cup (220ml) sweetened pineapple juice
½ cup (110ml) maple syrup
¼ cup (55ml) soy sauce
Place in medium bowl, mix, refrigerate overnight.
The Ham:
A whole ham
25–30 cloves
1 can sliced pineapple with juice
One day before your event, buy the ham: uncut, unspiraled, unbasted, as plain as can be, still on the bone. Score the ham in a diamond pattern and set with cloves in the crosscuts. You’ll need about 25–30 cloves for a whole ham. Then pour the prepared marinade over the ham, making sure it gets inside all the diamond cuts. Cover and refrigerate overnight.
The day of the event, preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C), baste with the marinade, cover loosely with foil, place in oven, and heat 1 hour, basting every 15 minutes. After an hour, take off the foil and heat uncovered another hour, basting every 15 minutes. Half an hour before it’s done, put the pineapple slices on top. Pour a little pineapple juice over.
Great potluck party dish—but also, if you’re hiding your family on an island no one ever heard of called Bethel, living on the quay of one of the tributaries of Suisun Bay, hiding but pretending you’re living, and it’s Christmas, and your two men, your son and your husband, who at any moment can and will be wrenched away from you, are trying to catch a prehistoric sturgeon, this is a good dish to make for them to celebrate your brief yet eternal togetherness.
Rosa’s Bread Pudding
“When Alexander was a little boy, I used to make this for him,” Rosa told Anthony.
“I know. Did he love it?”
“He loved it like you.”
“I love it a lot.”
“Yes.”
“Did he eat with large spoon right out of oven?”
“Yes. Like you.”
“Did he burn his tongue?”
“Yes, dear boy. Just like you. Now be careful. It’s awfully hot. Wait just a minute, just one minute, Anthony. I know it’s good, but it’s too hot—Anthony!”
Anthony began to cry because he’d burned his tongue.
“What did I tell you? You’re impossible. Vikki!”
1 stick (110g) butter, plus 2 tablespoons, plus extra for greasing
1 quart (900ml–1liter) half-and-half or light cream, or 1 quart (900ml) milk
4 eggs, well beaten
½ cup (110g) sugar
½ cup (100g) brown sugar, plus 2 tablespoons for sprinkling
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
10 slices white bread (You can use oatmeal bread, challah bread, buttermilk bread. Stay away from crusty loaves: they have too much water content and make for watery bread pudding.)
Preheat oven to 350°F (180°C). Butter a medium, deep ovenproof dish. In a he
avy-bottom 3-quart (2.7-liter) saucepan, combine half-and-half, beaten eggs, sugars, cinnamon and vanilla, and bring to boil, then take off the heat. Wait five minutes, then add the stick of butter, and stir until it dissolves. Cut the crusts off the bread, reserve. In the prepared dish, arrange the white square pieces of bread in a single layer, pour some of the cream mixture over it. Arrange another layer, pour on more mixture. Continue layering until all the bread is gone. Crumble the crusts to make 1 cup (55g) crumbs, melt 2 tablespoons butter, mix with the breadcrumbs, sprinkle on top of the bread pudding. Sprinkle the 2 tablespoons brown sugar on top of the breadcrumbs. Bake for 45 minutes in the preheated oven. Cool slightly, eat while still warm. Serve with whipped or heavy cream. Refrigerate the rest. It’s good cold, too.
After they came back home, Vikki tried to make bread pudding for Anthony, but she put in too much bread and not nearly enough milk. There was stuff in that recipe that didn’t make sense to Vikki. Why would the bread suddenly expand so much as to overflow the pot? Why did the butter burn on the bottom? Why wasn’t it sweet enough? Did she put in too much cinnamon or too little? Nothing made sense. Yet the boy ate it pretty happily every time, and asked for more.
And then one day in July, she picked up Anthony from playgroup, and took him to Battery Park. After he’d played on the swings, Vikki bought him ice cream, and they sat on a bench looking at New York Harbor.
Vikki said, “Ant, I have to tell you something.”
“What?”
“I have good news.”