So as most of you know I enjoy cooking. Recently I stumbled upon a great Thanksgiving-for-one. No, it's not anywhere near Thanksgiving. No, I didn't plan on eating a "Thanksgiving-ish" meal. It just kinda came together. Earlier this week I boiled a chicken (for some mole' a friend had given me.... ohhh mole') and saved the broth. I didn't have a whole bunch of mole' so there was a lot of chicken left. Enter: creativity.
A friend, who also loves to cook (http://parsnipsaplenty.com), came to visit a couple weeks ago and re-introduced me to polenta, it's like grits kinda. So as it came time for lunch and my stomach started to growl I thought to myself "What do I have to eat?" The following recipe will show you what transpired after this:
Chicken and Basil Polenta
1/2 cup water
1/2 cup chicken broth
1/4 cup milk
2 Tbs. fresh basil, finely chopped or 1 tsp. dried
pinch of sage
1/3 cup coarse yellow cornmeal/yellow grits/ качамак
salt and pepper to taste
Bring water and broth to boil. Add milk, basil, and sage then return to boil. Whisk in yellow corn meal and turn down heat to medium-low. Continue to whisk until very thick then remove from heat.
Now for the pseudo-Thanksgiving dressings! Heat up chicken or turkey (I just used part of the chicken I had boiled). Spoon polenta onto a plate put the chicken on top then sprinkle with dried cranberries, I really like Craisins with Orange Flavor(r). And that's it!
Friday, June 20, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
The Абиторински Бал
... or Prom on crack.
Last weekend I went to the Ball for the 12th graders. In my town in Bulgaria the 12th graders go on an excursion for a couple days with all their 12th grade class-mates from their high school. Then they have a Ball, or Prom, in town for all the graduates city-wide. I didn't get to go to the beach with them on the excursion, but I did make it to the Ball.
The students invite the teachers that they like to the Ball. The students all have custom-made dresses and suits and dress up very fancy for this occasion. It's one of the biggest events in town every year.
I showed up at 8 pm to the restaurant where the festivities were to take place. I was nervous and apprehensive... was my dress too nice? was it nice enough? would I be able to find my students? what other teachers were going to be there?
Shortly after entering I found the table where my colleagues were sitting. I knew all of them... thank goodness. I was not over-dressed and not under-dressed... fears relieved. I hadn't found my students yet, but I was sure that sitting with all the other teachers from my school would solve that issue shortly.
But as I did say before, this is no ordinary Prom... it's Prom on crack. They served a 5- course meal. There was music and dancing during, between, after, before, all the time. There were two different singers that came and went and a band and a DJ. My conservative American nature was not too shocked to find that alcohol was part of the menu (I'm becoming Bulgarianized). It does still surprise me when I see students drinking with their teachers though. All students are of age (which is 18 here), but still nothing I am used to seeing in the States.
So these reasons make for a crazy Prom but not quite a Prom on crack, just wait. So I arrived at 8 pm, by 10 pm we had spent two hours on our first course and the students had spend an hour and a half dancing with DJ music. Then the shirts came off.... literally. I don't know what song, I don't know why, but all the sudden over half the guy students in the room had their shirts off. I tried to hide my complete shock at this turn of events. Thankfully the shirts went back on after a couple of songs... I was worried. Then came the balloon popping, out of the blue someone would pop one balloon then 10 more pops would follow. This happened several times during the night. The table dancing was always a cause for concern. When students were particularly fond of a song one or two of them would get up on their table and sing along. This seemed to be monitored carefully by the table of observing teachers, because if the glasses on the table shook they all shot horrible looks to the student and told them to get down.
I did get to dance with my students and I loved that. It was really neat to be asked by the kids I had taught all year to come to the dance floor and do the dance circle (a very inter-cultural concept). I also got to talk to a few of them more as friends than as a teacher. I think it's a lot easier to make that transition here. Towns are small, friendships varied.
Around 1 am I was tired and ready to go home, as were two of my other colleagues. So we packed up and left just as the rest of the town was arriving. After a certain point in the evening, or rather early in the morning, anyone in town who wants to is welcome to join the festivities. A friend told me it went on 'til 5 or6 in the morning.
Overall it was a very fun and interesting experience. I was glad I went.
Last weekend I went to the Ball for the 12th graders. In my town in Bulgaria the 12th graders go on an excursion for a couple days with all their 12th grade class-mates from their high school. Then they have a Ball, or Prom, in town for all the graduates city-wide. I didn't get to go to the beach with them on the excursion, but I did make it to the Ball.
The students invite the teachers that they like to the Ball. The students all have custom-made dresses and suits and dress up very fancy for this occasion. It's one of the biggest events in town every year.
I showed up at 8 pm to the restaurant where the festivities were to take place. I was nervous and apprehensive... was my dress too nice? was it nice enough? would I be able to find my students? what other teachers were going to be there?
Shortly after entering I found the table where my colleagues were sitting. I knew all of them... thank goodness. I was not over-dressed and not under-dressed... fears relieved. I hadn't found my students yet, but I was sure that sitting with all the other teachers from my school would solve that issue shortly.
But as I did say before, this is no ordinary Prom... it's Prom on crack. They served a 5- course meal. There was music and dancing during, between, after, before, all the time. There were two different singers that came and went and a band and a DJ. My conservative American nature was not too shocked to find that alcohol was part of the menu (I'm becoming Bulgarianized). It does still surprise me when I see students drinking with their teachers though. All students are of age (which is 18 here), but still nothing I am used to seeing in the States.
So these reasons make for a crazy Prom but not quite a Prom on crack, just wait. So I arrived at 8 pm, by 10 pm we had spent two hours on our first course and the students had spend an hour and a half dancing with DJ music. Then the shirts came off.... literally. I don't know what song, I don't know why, but all the sudden over half the guy students in the room had their shirts off. I tried to hide my complete shock at this turn of events. Thankfully the shirts went back on after a couple of songs... I was worried. Then came the balloon popping, out of the blue someone would pop one balloon then 10 more pops would follow. This happened several times during the night. The table dancing was always a cause for concern. When students were particularly fond of a song one or two of them would get up on their table and sing along. This seemed to be monitored carefully by the table of observing teachers, because if the glasses on the table shook they all shot horrible looks to the student and told them to get down.
I did get to dance with my students and I loved that. It was really neat to be asked by the kids I had taught all year to come to the dance floor and do the dance circle (a very inter-cultural concept). I also got to talk to a few of them more as friends than as a teacher. I think it's a lot easier to make that transition here. Towns are small, friendships varied.
Around 1 am I was tired and ready to go home, as were two of my other colleagues. So we packed up and left just as the rest of the town was arriving. After a certain point in the evening, or rather early in the morning, anyone in town who wants to is welcome to join the festivities. A friend told me it went on 'til 5 or6 in the morning.
Overall it was a very fun and interesting experience. I was glad I went.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Field Trip
There's been a few little field trips in the past weeks and I feel like commenting on some of the language differences in the small country of Bulgaria. Keep in mind that Bulgaria is the same area as Tennessee but shaped more like a square than a rectangle. I could drive(if I were allowed to drive at all) from the Black Sea in the East to Western most point of Bulgaria in 7 hours (provided the roads were like interstate roads, which they're not, but just for comparison's sake we'll say they are).
I started in the Southwestern region, three hours south of my town, where I was taught the language made things a little difficult because I can't really tell the regional specifics there very well since that's what I learned. It was easy to tell that they talk slower than in my region and they don't enunciate quite as much. Next I went to the South central region, three hours southeast of my town, where my Bulgarian friends have told me they replace the letter "A" with "IA". The language was also much softer there than in my town as well and I was starting to get the sneaking suspicion that maybe my region had the harshest speech in Bulgaria. Then it was on to the Northeast, about three hours east of my town, where the differences were apparent from the second I set foot off the bus. Almost half of the population spoke Turkish, a language completely different from Bulgarian and unintelligible to me, and that rubbed off on their Bulgarian skills. Turkish is more fluid and less harsh than Bulgarian, therefore the Bulgarian spoken in that region was really slurred and not very harsh at all. They could understand me perfectly! I found out that my region is definetely the harshest speaking place in Bulgaria. Every "H" is said gutturally, every letter with staccato. When i say the word for bread, hle- ap, I have to spit out the "H" and "P" to be understood. Talking becomes a physical activity. With every word I have to use my whole upper body to provide the force for each consonant. Today I spent an hour with my tutor going over the different pronunciation for hour and o'clock, which are the same word with a different stress. I am usually understood, unless people can't get over the fact that I'm not Bulgarian, but now I'm trying to work on the specifics and I think I might retreat! Bulgarian's a harsh-sounding language to begin with and to add more harshness... well maybe it's not necessary.
So I was all over the place, but as I came back up to my town and walked home some magic happened.
I was carrying all my stuff, and almost to my door, as I started to notice the way the trees hung over the street, the sun shining through their fresh spring green leaves. The air smelled like pollen and must with a light flower scent wafting through some places. As I started to enjoy the moment I walked by the pine trees and notice that they had started growing. The new, vibrant green contrasted vaguely with the deep, rich growth from other years. I smiled and looked down to see the last tulips holding on to the chilly weather and the irises looking to the warm months to come. It was an amazing five minutes until I reached my door.
*I apologize, this blog should have been posted on May 10th but due to some Euro-American date digit swaps it thought it was to be posted on Oct 5th... the metric system isn't the only confusing difference.*
I started in the Southwestern region, three hours south of my town, where I was taught the language made things a little difficult because I can't really tell the regional specifics there very well since that's what I learned. It was easy to tell that they talk slower than in my region and they don't enunciate quite as much. Next I went to the South central region, three hours southeast of my town, where my Bulgarian friends have told me they replace the letter "A" with "IA". The language was also much softer there than in my town as well and I was starting to get the sneaking suspicion that maybe my region had the harshest speech in Bulgaria. Then it was on to the Northeast, about three hours east of my town, where the differences were apparent from the second I set foot off the bus. Almost half of the population spoke Turkish, a language completely different from Bulgarian and unintelligible to me, and that rubbed off on their Bulgarian skills. Turkish is more fluid and less harsh than Bulgarian, therefore the Bulgarian spoken in that region was really slurred and not very harsh at all. They could understand me perfectly! I found out that my region is definetely the harshest speaking place in Bulgaria. Every "H" is said gutturally, every letter with staccato. When i say the word for bread, hle- ap, I have to spit out the "H" and "P" to be understood. Talking becomes a physical activity. With every word I have to use my whole upper body to provide the force for each consonant. Today I spent an hour with my tutor going over the different pronunciation for hour and o'clock, which are the same word with a different stress. I am usually understood, unless people can't get over the fact that I'm not Bulgarian, but now I'm trying to work on the specifics and I think I might retreat! Bulgarian's a harsh-sounding language to begin with and to add more harshness... well maybe it's not necessary.
So I was all over the place, but as I came back up to my town and walked home some magic happened.
I was carrying all my stuff, and almost to my door, as I started to notice the way the trees hung over the street, the sun shining through their fresh spring green leaves. The air smelled like pollen and must with a light flower scent wafting through some places. As I started to enjoy the moment I walked by the pine trees and notice that they had started growing. The new, vibrant green contrasted vaguely with the deep, rich growth from other years. I smiled and looked down to see the last tulips holding on to the chilly weather and the irises looking to the warm months to come. It was an amazing five minutes until I reached my door.
*I apologize, this blog should have been posted on May 10th but due to some Euro-American date digit swaps it thought it was to be posted on Oct 5th... the metric system isn't the only confusing difference.*
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