….. new beginnings made me nervous. Even if over brunch.
This story is shared by my husband, giving his own side of the tale of when we first met. And similar to mine, it flows into a courtship of brunch, at times even more so, than the start of our relationship.
This is a story about leaving Sicily, an inquisitive brunette, and the humble pancake.
I grew up in Catania, my home town in Sicily. With over 500k inhabitants, I have always considered it to be a proper city. When I would compare my life to the life of other fellow Sicilians coming from smaller towns, I could see drastic differences, making me feel very much like the city-mouse of the children story, given the access I had to options because, you know, of my city life. And yet, when I started traveling on my own in my late 20s, I realised how much there was out there. I learnt that I was actually the country-mouse and did not know it.
Growing up in southern Italy is great in many ways, but it does not expose you much to anything that is not southern Italian. There is life as you know it, and there are movies and series (always dubbed in Italian), which show you places, people, and ways of living which do not feel real. Travelling reduced the gap between the two things, sometimes in a shocking way. It was like discovering a side of me which I did not even know it was there already. I, the laziest person I know, discovered I had an impetus curiosity about basically everything and an untameable eagerness to see the world through the eyes of people who grew up in places very different from Catania. I discovered passions I did not know I had, and I discovered non-Italian food. Mind you, eastern Sicilian food is still the best food in the world (for me) but it was amazing learning that I actually like Indian food, that Thai food is delightful, and that there are days I could just eat North American comfort food (yes, I mean Kentucky Fried Chicken and burgers). And then, there was the soul-food, sharing stories and connecting with people over meals. A realization that life is about context, that in ‘difference’ there is richness and common ground can still be found. And what a wonderful feeling that is, to start feeling home anywhere in the world, just because you got to share something you love with someone who loves it too. With ‘it’ that could be a thought, a view of the world, or a delicious meal.
Sarah would tell you that I tend to talk a lot. And, indeed, this is a long premises to give you a way to understand what happened in my mind and heart when, on the same day, I discovered the best brunch I have ever had and also met the woman who will become my wife. All of which happened during my first days in Lebanon.
I arrived in Beirut not even a month earlier, and Lebanon already seemed familiar. The traffic, the warmth of people, the food around every corner… it reminded me a lot of my hometown, with all its contradictions and incredible untapped potentials. The fact that I was in a long-distance relationship that was starting to show alarming signs of ending was something that made me sad, but also motivated me to build my own comforting corner in the new city. Enter Juliet.
Now, tell me if this is not destiny: through a common Canadian friend who I had met in London, I was introduced to this wonderful Irish woman who arrived in Beirut some time earlier. It turned out that we had lots of friends in common, as Juliet and I both worked and lived in Juba, overlapping our presence in South Sudan, even if we never met there. That alone was enough for Juliet to do something very generous, sharing her newly formed circle of friends with me, the newcomer. Read: I am a lucky bastard. We are going to meet for brunch, in this place in one of the liveliest corners of Beirut. This is great! A new group of friends, just getting to know each other, which means that the circle is not closed, and I could find my way in (as I already liked Juliet from the first chat, I was ready to gamble that I would have liked the rest of her group). I cannot screw this up. I need to make an effort. Fine. I will be early. If these people will become good friends, there will be enough time for them to learn that punctuality is not my thing.
Sarah was the next to arrive, and there was no way she could be for real. I mean, how many times did you meet someone who asks “how are you?” and truly listens to your answer? Anyway, not that this really mattered, considering how busy my senses were to deal with the smells coming from the kitchen and how nervous I was meeting new people, in a new place, in a new context altogether. Although I was no stranger to travel or making friends, new beginnings made me nervous. Even if over brunch.
Brunch, for a southern Italian, is a very weird thing. It took me years (seriously) to accept it as a concept, and a bit longer to appreciate it fully. Now I think it is my favourite meal, as I learnt that I love that freedom to have sweet and/ or savoury mains at the table, at the same time. Something that is nothing less than revolutionary for my home culture. And weird. So, here I am, for brunch, in Beirut, in a little restaurant named after an Oscar Wilde short story which I love, and talking to this young brunette, smiling while looking me in the eye listening to my answers to her questions. So many questions! All about me. No way she is really interested. And yet, she is asking follow up questions… wait, the menu says that they serve green Bloody Marys, is that a thing? And buttermilk pancakes! Not that I can properly look at the menu, because this girl I just met is really talking to me, and I do not want to be rude.
On that day I ordered pancakes. Pancakes are the most mysterious thing for me, given my first 26 years of life in Sicily. They are sweet, but you can eat them with sausages or bacon, and they can be a main. And they are made of the words pan and cake. So many things that are not supposed to go together based on what I know of the world. And wait, I can have a side of potatoes with it? Nonsense. I will have a large portion with maple syrup on the side, thanks.
In all this, Sarah is chatting with me, but her attention is equally dedicated to the other people who arrive to the Happy Prince. Finally, I can properly look at the other items on the menu, and spot something called Monte Cristo. It sounds even weirder than the pancakes. I am still reflecting on how a triple decker toast with ham and cheese could have jam and sugar as part of its serving, when I hear my name. Sarah is introducing me to someone who just arrived. I mean, I literally just met this young woman, and she is introducing me to others using some of the information I shared with her earlier. The nerve. I decide that she is faking it. Nobody could be that nice for real. Young and foolish. Also very beautiful, but that does not matter. She seems as excited about the food as I am, but she said she is vegetarian so she is clearly pretending to be interested on the menu. Oh well… good thing I figured you out already, Sarah. I will play the game because you are nice (even if you are TOO nice), but I totally figured you out.
My classic Bloody Mary and pancakes arrive, as it does the rest of the food. It is delicious. Seriously, the best brunch I had ever had. Great flavours and portions. The magic of eating sweet and savoury together, when it is well done, is there and I decide already that I want to come back every weekend. Plus, conviviality takes over and I manage to speak with everyone around the table. It is a great bunch of people! Thank you, Juliet! At the end of the day, thinking back, I remember that Sarah was basically the host of the table, making sure everyone could speak with everyone and no one would be ignored. The nerve.
I did not know this at that time, but that brunch was the first of hundreds of brunches at that very table. Those people will become my Beirut family (with some critical addition along the way), and that restaurant will be our headquarters. The wonderful staff serving the tables will call us “the Monte Cristo Crew”, and we will, without fail even if not always in full numbers, meet there on Saturday or Sunday mid-morning, every week, in whatever state from the night before we would be. Only once I went there after sunset, and it must have been more than one year later. I went there on a date, for dinner, with Sarah. Yes, because another thing I did not know on the day of that first brunch, is how wrong I was in my evaluation of that brunette. Not only she was not the inexperienced humanitarian I thought she was (ask her about her Iraq days…), but it turned out that her kindness, her gracefulness, her food enthusiasm, all about her on that day, everything was real, not fake. She was honest, and real, and warm, and as curious about food as I am. I would have learnt the truth during the next few months, speaking with her about everything and anything. The two of us became good friends, supporting each other and learning to count on each other. The “too good to be true” scepticism with which I judged her when trying to read the menu and responding to her many questions about me was replaced by a sincere admiration and awe for such a rare combination of traits. Also, did I mention she was (is) beautiful? As friends we learnt a lot about each other, chatting, often over brunch, of music, food, work, and relationships. In hindsight, that first brunch set in motion a series of events which filled my life with friends, joy, and love. I did not know it yet, but it was the first step of the most important story of my life. And so, brunch, as a meal, this weird meal that can be placed in almost any hour as long the sun is still out, became synonymous of friendship, laughter, sharing, and, eventually, love. And I, coming from the most anti-brunch culinary culture, was definitely converted to it. So much so that I vowed to have brunch with my wife every weekend. And, then, with our daughter as well. But this story comes later.
Fluffy Canadian Pancakes
Makes enough for a cozy brunch of six, or enough for four with leftover pancakes to be noshed on throughout the day when passing through the kitchen. You know exactly what I mean.
Ingredients
300g of self-raising flower
2tsp of baking powder
1 tbsp of golden caster sugar (you can go up to 2 tbsp, but anticipate the copious amounts of maple syrup to come later)
4 large eggs (or 5 medium, or 3 extra-large)
35g of melted butter
300ml of milk (whole is best)
Scant pinch of salt
Bigger scant pinch of cinnamon
Enough non-flavoured oil and butter for cooking
Method
Pull out your extra-large mixing bowl, a medium bowl, grab a wooden spoon and a whisk, a pan and a spatula. Melt the butter on the stove, and leave to cool slightly. Turn your oven on to about 75°C/160°F and put in a heatproof dish.
Mix the flour, baking powder, sugar, salt and cinnamon in your extra-large bowl. In your medium bowl, mix the eggs and the milk, and then add the slightly cooled butter. Having pre-mixed the eggs in the milk should prevent the dreaded egg-scramble, but do keep in mind the heat of your butter.
Tip the wet ingredients into the dry, and use your whisk to add in air as you mix it all about. Ideal if you can let the mixture rest a few minutes while you pour yourself another coffee.
Make sure your pan is well pre-heated on medium-high heat, though you will know best the temperament of your stove. Add a knob of butter and about a tablespoon of your oil (vegetable works great here), and using a ¼ cup measure (equivalent of about 4 tablespoons) scoop out your batter into the greased pan. Be careful not to overcrowd.
When you see bubbles work their way to the top of the pancake, and the sides are starting to go brown, turn them over to cook on the other side. The first pancake will not turn out. This is ok, just roll with it, it’s the law of the universe.
Place the pancakes in the warm oven you turned on earlier, and repeat the scooping, flipping, and placing in the warm oven until all the batter is used up. You may need to add more butter and/or oil to the pan between batches. Trust your instincts, and don’t over think it – it’s only brunch.
Call everyone around the table. Invite everyone to add lashes of butter, and generous spoonful drizzles of maple syrup (bonus points if you’ve warmed it up!). Maybe add some berries or sliced bananas. Pour more coffee, enjoy the company, and slowly make your way through the humble plate of comfort.