Stuffed cabbage soup

 

 

Stuffed cabbage soup is what you make when you bought the ingredients to make stuffed cabbage only to realise you just don't have the time to go through the whole process (after you have been pushing it off for three days in a row) and your ground meat really needs using up. And guess what? It is just as good (or at least we thought so), very comforting, warming and full of flavor, and can be ready in under an hour, so I knew you would appreciate if I shared.

I used potatoes because I had some that were starting to sprout, but adding raw rice (about a cup for the amount below) would probably be more fitting, since stuffed cabbage is often filled with ground meat and rice. Up to you entirely, but make sure you add more liquid if you do this, as rice generally absorbs more than potatoes while cooking.

Also, I used pimenton de la Vera because that is what I had and I love the smoky flavor it adds, but using spicy Hungarian paprika - or any other sort - is more than ok since this soup is loosely based on Eastern European stuffed cabbage recipes.

The amounts below are just a suggestion, I usually eyeball them depending on how liquid or spicy or meaty I want the soup to be.
 

Kafta-style meatball salad with yogurt tahini dressing

Yesterday I was able to leave the office a little earlier than usual so I decided to do something I hate almost as much as filing my papers: buying a bathing suit. A one-piece bathing suit.

Let me recreate the scenario, just so you can cringe a little. Because I know you've been there.

When: beginning of sales.
Where: a department store, Ladies' lingerie & beachwear section.
Who: myself and a million other ladies.

A few notes:

- I live in a country where the average woman is petite and has a good figure

- I live in a country where women often have beautiful olive skin
- I am a pale, freckly blonde
- I live in a country where thongs and Brazilian bikinis reign

- I want the '80's back, when one-piece bathing suits were cool (and when I looked great in a bikini so it didn't matter)

- I have had two children in the past 5 years

- I ain't getting any younger

- My bikini top and bottom are completely different sizes (and no, not in the good way i.e. larger on top, smaller on bottom)

 - No bathing suit looks flattering with your underwear sticking out of it.

A few questions:

- Why is there neon lighting in changing rooms?

- Why are the best mirrors just outside the changing room?

- Why do most changing rooms have flimsy curtains instead of doors?

- Why does the old bag in the changing room next to mine force her embarassed husband to go with her?

- Why does he have to stand right between changing rooms, exactly where the flimsy curtain doesn't reach?

- Why, o why do bathing suits never look as good on my rack as they do on the sales rack?

I actually made it out with two nice one piece bathing suits (I'm telling you, no one buys them anymore) and this time the changing room actually had doors. So I'm not complaining. But after seeing each and every shadow cast on my thighs (where there shouldn't be any shadows) by the neon lighting, I am increasing my running schedule and having more of this for lunch.

As you can see all the way down below, the kids loved it. My son was partial to the yogurt sauce while my daughter devoured at least 15 meatballs. They were also a great help making the meatballs.

Child labor

Kafta recipe loosely adapted from Joumana's.

Trilogy: ragù, bechamel sauce and lasagne

The week end started pretty badly.

Our little one brought home some nasty germs from day care on Wednesday and by Friday the whole family was hit by the dreaded stomach flu. I woke up early feeling pretty awful only to remember that F was leaving on a business trip and staying away a day and a night.

I had two choices: give in to my feeling of impending doom and nausea or pretend it wasn't happening and go to work. I opted for the second in a moment of relative well-being only to regret it soon after. I had to get some urgent things done at work and decided I would rush home once everyone had left the house and lie in bed feeling sorry for myself. Until the call came: our older one revisited her breakfast just as they were walking out the door. Several calls ensued to organize a baby sitter and let husband leave during the craziest part of my work day (before the stock market opens at 9:00am). This, while feeling like worshipping the Porcelain God myself and dreading the 36 hours stretching in front of me alone with the kids. All I really wanted to do was curl up in fetal position under my desk and cry.*