I only remember two things from Jewish holiday dinners at my grandparent’s house. After all it was about 35 years ago since I was last there and let’s face it, we don’t remember all that much from when we were small. The memories are vivid, yes, but not plentiful. So all that stands out is every holiday my grandfather saying “Try a little wine.” And my grandmother yelling at him, “Harry, she doesn’t want any wine.”
Ever since high school I have been in love with Greek food. My grandparents befriended their new neighbors who happened to be Greek and a whole new world opened up for me. To this day, the wife made the best pastitsio I have ever tasted, either here or in Greece! With that first bite, I heard the angels sing and a lifetime obsession was born.
I moved to New York City right after college. Two weeks after to be exact. I know my parents and my boyfriend at the time were not thrilled but I had to “get out of dodge.” It wasn’t so much a desire to move to New York as it was a burning need to finally leave Philadelphia. You see I grew up there and went to college there, so as you can imagine, I was chomping at the bit to leave.
When I mention the words “olive oil cake,” I am always surprised at the reactions I get. They range from “what cake?” to “eew” to simply wrinkling their nose. Each time I am utterly amazed how many people have not heard of olive oil cake and consequently how many people are missing out on something so wonderful.
I was having my daily phone conversation with my mother and was going over my plans for apple crumb cake bars. You see, I always talk through my recipe plans with my mother before I start. I am convinced it bores the hell out of her but she always so politely pretends to care. (She has zero interest in baking. Zero.) So I am discussing my plan to cut up the apples when she interrupts me and says “What if you use apple butter? No working mom wants to slice apples.” “Hmm good point” I reply. “Ain’t nobody got time for that.”
