Armenian Food

Come on-a My House for New Year's Eve

2007-12-23T19:45:00.000-05:00

Part of every Armenian holiday celebration is an abundant table covered with delicious food. And that was the theme of the 1951 hit song Come on a My House, originally recorded (reluctantly) by Rosemary Clooney. Composed by two famous Armenian-Americans, Ross Bagdasarian (who would later create the children's favorite Alvin and the Chipmunks under his David Seville stagename) and his cousin, William Saroyan. It was Saroyan's one and only effort at popular songwriting for an off-Broadway musical titled The Son. The tune had a little bit of sexual inuendo, though it was subtle enough for the conservative fifties. There's even a reference to a Christmas tree!

Here's some excerpts from the original lyrics:

Come on-a my house my house,
I´m gonna give you candy
Come on-a my house, my house,
I´m gonna give a you apple a plum and apricot-a too eh
Come on-a my house, my house ,
I´m gonna give a you figs and dates and grapes and cakes eh
Come on-a my house my house,
I´m gonna give you Christmas tree
Come on-a my house, my house,
I´m gonna give you marriage ring and a pomegranate too ah
Come on-a my house, my house,
I´m gonna give you everything - everything - everything

Armenians in Armenia still keep the time-honored tradition of visiting each other's homes on New Year's day. And they don't even have to say "Ari im toon," "Come on to our house" in Armenian. Anyone who knocks at your door is a guest, though we don't advise you to give everything like the song suggests.

You can hear the tune on this EZ-Tracks player, too.

Click here to get Free Music at EZ-Tracks.com

We wish everyone a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Shnorhavor Nor Tari!

Irina Petrosian & David Underwood

Number Twerve

2007-07-24T15:55:00.000-04:00

Once again, here's our favorite cartoon. How hard is it for an Armenian guy like Harut to get some fast food?

Harut's rap video about his visit to the khorovats store.

A Cook Is Only As Good As His Pots

2006-08-03T18:43:00.000-04:00

Out of the many odds and ends that I collected as I wrote ARMENIAN FOOD: FACT, FICTION & FOLKLORE, one photograph that was not included in the book is this picture of common metal cookware used in the past by Armenian villagers. The photo comes from a 1963 book written by the famous Armenian ethnographer S.D. Lisitsian and published in Yerevan. It describes details of the life of rural people in the Zangezoor region. While the photo’s quality is poor, the details of the old pots and pans are still visible.

What is surprising about this old cookware is that while the items may look similar, each one had a special purpose and function, and was used for cooking and serving different kinds of food. For example, one of the bowl-shaped pots was called a lagian, and was used only for holding honey. Another lagian was dedicated for making and storing yogurt, matsoun. My favorite, the first on the left in the second row, is a special pot for distributing matagh, the boiled lamb soup that is traditionally offered in Armenia as a charity meal.

Many of these antiquated pots are rarities now, but they are still popular. Just not for cooking. People pay big money for them as antiques, for use as home and restaurant decorations.

IRINA PETROSIAN

Read about matagh and other Armenian food customs in our book ARMENIAN FOOD: FACT, FICTION & FOLKLORE by Irina Petrosian and David Underwood, ISBN 1411698659.

P.S. ARMENIAN FOOD: FACT, FICTION & FOLKLORE has been selected by the Forbes.com Book Club, and will be listed along with other titles of interest to international business executives and world travelers. Thank you, Forbes!

Technorati tags: Armenia, Armenian, Armenian Food, Food, Cuisine, Culture, History

A Day of Oghormi at Nerkin Sasnashen – Honoring the Dead

2006-07-26T15:08:00.000-04:00

Armenians honor their dead with symbolic offerings of food and drink. In ARMENIAN FOOD: FACT, FICTION & FOLKLORE, we describe this and other funeral customs in the chapter “Feeding the Dead.” I observed these rituals for the first time on September 2, 2000, during my second visit to Armenia. But this was not a memorial occasion for any Armenian dead. It was in remembrance of 17 of my countrymen, yes, Americans, who lost their lives in the skies above Armenia on September 2, 1958.

With a small group of friends, we departed Yerevan early in the morning and headed toward the southwestern foothills of Mount Aragat, Armenia’s highest mountain. We were going to the small village of Nerkin Sasnashen. It was there that the tragedy had occurred in one of the seldom remembered instances when the Cold War became deadly hot.

On that September day in 1958, a U.S. Air Force C-130A airplane, Flight 60528, was patrolling the Turkish-Armenian border, collecting signal intelligence by receiving and recording radio and other electronics broadcasting out of the Soviet Union. Such missions flew on a daily basis as part of the West’s efforts to monitor the communist armed forces. Today, it’s mostly satellites in orbit that collect such information, not airplanes.

Some say that it was an error in navigation. Other blamed the Soviets for “meaconing,” broadcasting false signals to interfere with the snooping planes racing around their borders. For whatever reason, the American plane crossed into Armenian airspace, and was immediately spotted by air-defense radars. Three Mig-19 fighter jets were scrambled from Erebuni Field in Yerevan, and within a few minutes, the American plane was shot down. There were no survivors.

We found the monument just outside Nerkin Sasnashen village. It’s surrounded by stone-covered hills, a rocky, desolate wasteland. The place and the incident had been kept secret by the communist government. But the local villagers didn’t care about such secrecy, nor that those who had died were, at that time, considered enemies. Not long after the shoot down, the people of Nerkin Sasnashen erected a stone cross monument, a khatchkar, out of Christian sentiment and respect. This was done despite the disapproval of local party leaders. The original khatchkar was replaced in 1993 with a larger obelisk monument that stands there today.

It was a somewhat eerie, almost surreal scene: the empty space of the badlands, the boulders strewn everywhere, and my Armenian friends surrounding me as I read aloud the names of those who had perished. Undoubtedly, those American names sounded foreign and unfamiliar to them. Finally, I said a brief prayer in English for the fallen airmen and for their families.

My friends had remained respectfully patient and silent during my eulogies. When a bottle of spirits appeared, it was their signal that my part of the ceremony was over. Now permit us to show respect in our own way, they were telling me. And, as is the Armenian custom, our host, Rubik, began to pour shots of vodka for everyone, so that we could make memorial toasts to the deceased. Reuben told us he regretted that he had not remembered to bring any lavash bread, cheese, and herbs to accompany the vodka. But that was okay. After visiting the monument, we would visit a restaurant and pronounce the same toasts again. Armenians also share food when they visit cemeteries as a traditional sign of respect.

As we reflected on the tragedy that had occurred 42 years ago, a solitary figure came slowly walking down out of the hills. It was a shepherd who had been tending his flocks farther up the mountainous range. It was easy to see he had been staying in those badlands for quite awhile. He was very thin and had an unkempt salt-and-pepper beard. His clothes were ragged and his skin was deeply tanned.

The shepherd asked if I had had a family member on the American plane that was shot down. I said no, and I explained that it was on this day, 42 years ago, that the incident had occurred, and that we were there to give a prayer and show respect. We were quite surprised when the shepherd said, “Has it really been so long ago? I remember. I saw it.”

He had been a young boy, riding home on a school bus, when the driver suddenly pulled off the side of the road. “They flew over my head,” the shepherd explained. “The Migs were chasing the American plane, and it turned and starting going up. A Mig shot it with avtomats [machine-gun cannons], and it began to burn. They shot again, and the right wing came off. The burning wing was falling directly towards our school. Another Mig went after the wing and shot it to pieces, and the school was saved. The American plane crashed straight down and exploded. Soldiers came from Gyumri and Yerevan, and the roads were closed for days.”

We offered the shepherd a glass of vodka, and he joined us as we raised our glasses. Reuben made the memorial toast: “These men were sons, brothers, and fathers. May they rest in peace. Oghormi.”

Oghormi, “Bless your soul,” is the traditional Armenian blessing said at cemeteries and funerals. “Oghormi,” I said, trying to pronounce the foreign word as best I could. We drank, and then Reuben cast a small splash of vodka toward the monument itself in offering.

Armenians, like other Orthodox Christians, believe that prayers for the dead give the deceased comfort and blessing, an unfamiliar concept for someone like me who was raised in the Protestant faith, where heavenly rewards are considered to be the ultimate comfort. Also new to me were the rituals of bringing food and drink to share with the deceased, gifts of life symbolic in the faith of an eternal life. But as I stood on that stony place, thinking about the 17 young men who had died and how much the world has changed since then, it all somehow seemed the right thing to do.

DAVID UNDERWOOD

You can read about Armenia’s customs of “feeding the dead” in ARMENIAN FOOD: FACT, FICTION & FOLKLORE, by Irina Petrosian and David Underwood, ISBN 1411698659.

Technorati tags: Armenia, Armenian, Armenian Food, Food, Cuisine, Culture, History

Apricots, Unhappy Marriages, and the Mafia

2006-07-20T20:40:00.000-04:00

Actually, I didn’t intend to write an apricot blog today. But I spoke with my folks in Armenia in a phone call, and they said, among other news, it is unbearably hot and that apricots are selling for 300 drams (about 70 cents) per kilo. This is an accurate indicator of Armenia's inflation. Just four years ago, a kilo of apricots could be bought for about 10 cents. Yes, 10 cents! But worse yet, tsiran, apricots, are just not as good as they were last year. Everyone is disappointed at the small size of this year's tsiran.

Yes, it is apricot season in Armenia which means that apricot-related themes dominate Armenian news. Journalists are trying to find new metaphors to enliven their annual reports about the apricot harvest and the price of apricots at Armenian markets.

The term “apricot republic” has become an Armenian journalistic cliché. Perhaps it’s appropriate, since bananas are expensive imports for Armenia. If there is any news pointing to lawlessness, backwardness, or dependence on foreign money, chances are that the story will include the expression “apricot republic.”

Recently, apricot coverage has intensified thanks to the annual Golden Apricot International Film Festival. Apricots are blessed as part of the festival’s opening ceremony. Photojournalists try to find some bridges between apricots and the cinematic participants. This year’s highlights included pictures of Armenia’s newly-appointed Minister of Culture, Hasmik Poghosyan, wearing an apricot-color dress. Another photo showed the president of the festival, Atom Egoyan, eating an apricot at the opening ceremony of the festival.

A new turn in the apricot theme was introduced by the Russians. Out of the blue, on July 10, Russian authorities decided the crossing gate at its Kazbegi-Verkhny Lars border with Georgia needed “reconstruction” and painting. The gate was closed and all cross-border travel halted. This unannounced remont (Russian for repairs) resulted in backed-up traffic and business losses of thousands, if not millions, of dollars, drams, and rubles. Tons of apricots from Armenia intended for export to Russia spoiled in their shipping trucks. And, as a result, the apricot was integrated into the theme of disappointment over Russia’s treatment of Armenia.

The idea of a bad Armenian-Russian marriage was played over and over again by Armenian media commentators. The plot is always the same: a disappointed wife complains that her husband takes her for granted, and in desperation, to improve the marriage, she is open to different strategies to make him more attentive to her needs. But it’s somewhat amazing that Armenians who have lived so long with Russians and who are so well-versed in Russian literature can still believe in happy marriages. After all, it was Anton Chekhov, a famous son of Russia, who declared: “If you are afraid of loneliness, do not marry.”

Thus, disappointment with the Russians added an international touch to apricot coverage. An article in the Armenian newspaper 168 Hours was headlined “Between Authoritarianism and an Apricot.”

But the apricot is not limited only to Armenia’s mass media. There is also the established genre of apricot gossip. Its main theme is that there is always someone who cheats customers and affects apricot prices for the worse. In fact, one definition of democracy in Armenia is “a system where everyone has an equal right to feel cheated by their fellow Armenians.”

The latest apricot-related gossip is that Armenia’s mafia created an artificial monopoly this year when it forced fruit farmers to accept “offers they could not refuse.” Apricot and cherry exports are very profitable and, supposedly, have attracted attention from organized crime. Rumors say that even armed guards were dispatched to the larger orchards to enforce the terms of such contracts, so that no apricots will be sold on the side, to local markets. This crooked ploy is aimed at Armenia’s main competitors, the fruit merchants of Georgia who pay their growers higher wages and then sell the majority of the crop in Georgia itself. Armenian apricots are popular in Georgia and enjoy high demand. As a result, so rumors say, Armenia’s crime bosses demand only the best grade of apricots for their export businesses, and only the worst apricots, the smallest, are left for local sale.

In order to make the best apricot preserves, called korizov tsirani mooraba, you have to have large, mature apricots. The recipe is unique in that it includes the sweet kernels of the apricot pits, a delicious touch virtually unknown in the West. Pits from small, runty apricots don’t yield an adequate nut when cracked, so it is next to impossible to make the prized preserves this year. That is bad apricot news, indeed.

IRINA PETROSIAN

If you want to read more about Armenia’s delicious apricots and other Armenian fruits, please check out our book, ARMENIAN FOOD: FACT, FICTION & FOLKLORE, by Irina Petrosian and David Underwood, ISBN 1411698659.

Technorati tags: Armenia, Armenian, Armenian Food, Food, Cuisine, Culture, History

Half Full or Half Empty? Armenia’s Silver Cups

2006-07-14T09:31:00.000-04:00

Being welcomed as a guest in Armenian homes was the most pleasant aspect of our book project. And it’s in those private spaces that the best of Armenia can be found. But the privacy of those beautiful, warm homes is also a troubling sign. It’s become a way of “inner emigration,” a method of shielding away the troublesome interactions of a too-often harsh outside world. Disillusioned with corruption, politics, and the depressing public spaces in Armenia, perhaps it’s only natural that so many people want to “cocoon” inside the comfort of their homes.

When the subject of politics and the state of Armenia would arise, my friends would wave their hands in frustration and say something along the lines of, “Don’t bother even talking about it. It’s useless. I live my life, I work at my job, and I take care of my family as best I can and just try to provide a good home.”

It sometimes seems Armenia can be everything you want it to be, good or bad, depending on what you want to see. Affluent people will tell you how happy they are to be in Armenia, how everyone should pitch in to improve the country, and what a spiritual, cool, and fun experience they are having. Many others will lament Armenia’s widespread corruption, the hardships of daily life, and their desperation to escape by any means possible. Bitter frustration and hateful apathy lie at the other end of Armenia’s spectrum. Whether the glass is half-full or half-empty, optimist or pessimist, examples of both can easily be found by anyone visiting Armenia.

We encountered two optimistic and creative individuals in Yerevan when we visited the home of Mamikon and Paitsar Mkhitarian. One of Mamikon’s specialties is creating silver drinking vessels designed in ancient, oriental styles, embellished with animals and mythical figures. They are cast in beautiful silver and intricately decorated; they are pieces of extraordinary art.

“This is technically wrong,” he said, pointing to the legs of a large goblet, also called a rhyton. “They’re not supposed to have legs. A cup bearer would bring the drinking cups, hold them for the drinker, and take them away. They were never intended to be set on a table.”

The Mkhitarians started building their home in Yerevan’s Kond district about 11 years ago. Yes, they started in 1995, one of the worst years in the history of post-Soviet Armenia. But it seems they discovered a solution for the miseries of the “dark years,” by keeping busy at their craft.

“Now they rush to build new houses in this area,” says Mamikon. “At that time, when I was building, many Armenians were leaving without any hope for this country. But look at it now.” He gestures toward the newly-built houses that now surround his home, some of them so close that they block the once scenic view of Old Kond.

The upper floors of his home are not completed. “Building materials’ prices went way out of control. Wood prices skyrocketed.” But though the upper levels are still under construction, the first floors were beautiful.

The Mkhitarians call their home “Mkhitarian Arvestanots,” which would translate in English as “Mkhitarian Studio.” Mamikon’s wife, Paitsar, weaves elaborate carpets and paints. Their sons, Haik and Vardan, are young artists, displaying their family’s talents with their own projects.

I had to wonder how they live and do daily chores together when both Mamikon and Paitsar are so creative and are so much into their arts. When do they find time for the mundane tasks of keeping a home? Almost everything in their home is handmade, created by Mamikon and Paitsar.

Pomegranates on a table are a typical home decoration. But this was an unusual house. Thus, as you can see in the picture, dried fruits and nuts filled an ornamental basket on the floor. The house was filled with creative touches and artistic decorations. And so much of Mamikon's work reflects Armenia's history. If you look at the top of the carved wooden columns, you can see the traditional ram's head design used in Armenian homes thousands of years ago. He explained it was a good luck symbol, and then he smiled, perhaps being hopeful that the old adage will come true.

Mamikon also explained that he was planning to make connections with the reviving wine industry in Armenia, and hoped to find ways to include his art of making decorative wine-drinking cups in ancient style into marketing campaigns for wine in Armenia. The wine industry in Armenia is still developing, though with a careful eye on neighboring Georgia which has a well-established wine culture.

Mamikon’s amazing silver cups and goblets, along with his knowledge of the history of wine and drinking customs, inspired us to do research about ancient drinking rituals, and we include a chapter about Armenian beverages and drinking customs in our book.

IRINA PETROSIAN

Read about wine, cognac, toasting customs, and ancient Armenian drinking rituals in the new book ARMENIAN FOOD: FACT, FICTION & FOLKLORE by Irina Petrosian and David Underwood, ISBN 1411698659.

Technorati tags: Armenia, Armenian, Armenian Food, Food, Cuisine, Culture, History

Sunflower Seeds: Eat! Spit! Be Happy!

2006-06-29T14:24:00.000-04:00

There’s no doubt about it, sunflower seeds, semushka, are the favorite snack in Armenia. Elderly ladies sell them on every street corner. They measure the seeds in small crystal shot glasses and deliver them to your hand, wrapped in funnels made of old newspapers. A typical Armenian gathering is everyone sitting around the kitchen table, nimbly cracking and eating semushka. We included a sidebar story in our book about the Armenian love for sunflower seeds, and we explained how those little black seed hulls have become somewhat of an obstacle to downtown Yerevan’s modernization.

I didn’t think anyone else in the world could match Armenians in sunflower seed consumption, but I recently learned that they might have some competition: the Assyrians. Having a bad history day, I had to ask Irina, “Who exactly were the Assyrians?”She replied, “They fought against Urartu, Armenia’s forebearers. We beat them, ran them off.” Hmmmm. Is that really what happened? I wondered. Just to be sure, I consulted the Wikipedia online database: “Assyrian people (also known as Aramaeans, Chaldeans and/or Syriacs) are an ethnic group inhabiting today, parts of Iraq, Iran, Turkey, Syria, and Lebanon.” I read on that the Assyrians have no homeland of their own, and like Armenians and other Christians, they suffered greatly during and after World War I.

Michael Abdalla wrote about the Assyrian love for sunflower seeds in his report, “The Evolution of Assyrian Traditional Culinary Practices.”

Assyrians are particularly fond of various roasted products. Those containing oil yield the pleasant nut flavor after roasting. Seeds are washed, sun-dried and boiled for a long time in salted water with some ash added. On occasion, they are roasted in heated sand. This writer does not have precise information on the amount of seed consumption (watermelon, pumpkin, or sunflower) in an average Assyrian family. Suffice it to say that it is substantial, and seeds provide a rich source of mineral substances, oil, and protein.

Attention must be paid to the technique and tempo of getting “flesh” out of the seeds with only the tongue, but without use of the hands. Even now that they are in diaspora, Assyrians cannot give up this delicacy. In places such as Sodertalje [Sweden], some of the Swedish students, following the example of their Assyrian friends, bring seeds to school in their pockets, and eat them during breaks.

It is said that when sunflower seeds packed in small plastic bags began to appear in Swedish shops in the 1970s, Assyrian emigrants would buy up all the stock. Until that time, bird breeders had been the principal buyers of seeds. When Assyrians later discovered that the seeds they purchased also contained sand, they continued to buy the product and sifted the sand [out] at home.

Irina sometimes feels the call of the semushka, and we get a big sack of seeds (from the grocery, not the birdfeed store). Sunflower seeds are widely sold in the US, but they are nowhere near as popular as they are in Armenia. And, leave it to my inventive countrymen, there are now American versions of sunflower seeds flavored with hot jalapeño peppers and salsa, barbecue sauce, ranch-style buttermilk dressing, and nacho cheese. I believe Armenians would recoil in horror at the sight of sunflower seeds tainted with such artificial additives.

I considered how life is full of strange coincidences when I saw the name of the number one marketer of sunflower seeds in the US. Their bags are embellished with the amazing motto: ‘EAT! SPIT! BE HAPPY!” I can attest that Armenians do this regularly, but maybe not in that exact order.

DAVID UNDERWOOD

Read about sunflower seeds and other Armenian munchies in the new book ARMENIAN FOOD: FACT, FICTION & FOLKLORE by Irina Petrosian and David Underwood, ISBN 1411698659.

Technorati tags: Armenia, Armenian, Armenian Food, Food, Cuisine, Culture, History

Green Peppers, Diarrhea, and My Vengeance

2006-06-20T17:18:00.000-04:00

International travelers always face the risk of gastrointestinal distress when eating strange new foods or drinking the waters of foreign lands. Americans who visit Mexico call it “Montezuma’s Revenge.” Visitors to Armenia have yet to come up with a specific name for this inconvenient and often embarassing malady. Armenians call it loots.

My first loots affliction came during a visit to Armenia’s famous mineral water resort, Jermuk. I suspected the water I had drunk from a street fountain by Yerevan’s main bus station. Then I wondered if it might have been the kebab I dined on in a café-in-a-cavern next to Jermuk’s big gorge-spanning bridge. Or perhaps it was the iron-rich volcanic fountains of Jermuk itself that I had drank from in the Hall of Waters. I don’t know. Whatever the cause, I was soon trapped in my hotel room’s lavatory, my head between my ankles in cramped misery. Irina was pounding on the bathroom door, and I wish I had a 10-dram note for each time she called out, “ARE YOU FINISHED?” No, I wasn’t finished, heaven help me.

My second time of troubles was after I ate a piping-hot, deep-fried ponchik, Armenia’s version of a Krusty Kreme doughnut. I bought it from a street vendor, and it looked and tasted great. I don’t know what kind of oil was used to cook that fried fritter, but it must have been spiked with some good old Soviet-era motor lubricant, or else some of that awful, indigestible, invented-in-the-West Olestra stuff. Thank heaven it occurred on a day of full water service and I was able to flush the toilet at 15-minute intervals.

Armenians have lots of folk remedies for diarrhea, and many were given to me as I thrashed and grimaced in my sorry state. The common remedy is pomegranate juice, and soon my lips were stained red from drinking so much of it. But to no avail. My insides continued making rude noises, and no one dared come between me and the bathroom.

Next, a strong solution of boiled mint leaves was prescribed, but it, too, failed to settle my internal eruptions. In desperation, I put myself on a diet of plain boiled rice, and this did provide some relief. But my digestion flared up again in the worst way after my very next meal of Armenian food.

Finally, a trip to the apteka, the pharmacy, yielded a packet of Immodium, and my ponchik-induced diarrhea came to a halt. Unfortunately, my entire digestive system shut down for about three days after taking the medicine. I began to fear I had gone too far in the other direction, and that I’d have to get more ponchikis to resume my normal bodily functions. But, at last, my intestinal tract regained its equilibrium, and I was able to enjoy Armenia’s delicious cuisine once again without fear of the consequences.

“Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord,” and it was really not my intention to make revenge upon my Armenian friends and family when I treated them to some American food. In my luggage I had packed a big jar of McCormick’s Chili Powder, a couple of boxes of instant Potatoes Au Gratin, and, for dessert, two whip-and-chill Cheesecake mixes.

The kitchen was filled with curious Armenian spectators as they watched this foreigner cooking a huge caldron of Indiana-style chili. Unlike our American neighbors to the South and West, Midwesterners like me include macaroni and kidney beans in our chili. Such would be considered blasphemy by Texans and other chili purists. But I knew my Armenian guests wouldn’t protest my recipe. In fact, they eagerly lined up with bowls in hand when the chili was ready, and the big pot was emptied within a half hour. The second course, Potatoes Au Gratin and Ham, was also downed as fast as it could be served.

I thought the dinner had been a great success, and I was quite proud of my efforts as an unofficial ambassador of American cookery. Then I began to notice them going back and forth to the house, some faster than others. “David-jan, es inch du beretsir mer glukh?” meaning “David, what did you do to us with that concoction? We didn’t do anything bad to you. Why were you so cruel to us?” I learned that all who had partaken were lined up at the bathrooms. Young and old, all were laid low with the trots. Perhaps I should have warned them not to eat two or three bowls of chili one after the other, as many of them had done. Maybe I should have spaced out the servings over a few days, and not done a full-blown American dinner all at once. Who knows?

A wise person learns from his or her mistakes. Here are a few guidelines and some insider tips for those who may find themselves in, well, an uncomfortable situation:

1. Train yourself in the lexicological intricacies of diarrhea. The term for diarrhea in Armenian is loots, but never use it as a verb. Turned into a verb, lootsel, the word means to solve a problem or a math question. “I got into loots” means “I have diarrhea.” Note: you do not have it; you got into it, which intensifies the drama.

Another colloquial expression is tsrel. But it probably shouldn’t be used in polite company. It is considered gross and rude. In Armenian slang, cowards and fraidy cats are called tsran because, well, you know what can happen when a person is suddenly frightened and needs to change clothes.

2. Don’t use Pepto Bismol in public. It is not sold in Armenia, but it is well known as the “pinky tablets.” Artasahmansti, foreigners, have gained a wimpy, sissy reputation for always “washing their food down” with the pink bismuth tablets, for not being able to digest food naturally. If you must take medication, do so discretely, not at the dinner table.

3. If you are stricken with diarrhea while visiting an Armenian home and you are offered any home remedies, ask for preserves made of panda, Armenia’s small, wild pears. They are quite delicious, and they really can fortify one’s constitution. Armenian women keep panda preserves on hand for “tightening the stomach.”

4. Remember that water from public fountains and meat purchased from street vendors can cause loots. But don’t believe all the stories you may hear about digestion-wrecking Armenian foods. For example, once we were invited to a friend’s house in Yerevan for dinner. Irina was in the kitchen with the other women, helping prepare the evening meal. I heard lots of laughter, and it went on and on. When Irina sat next to me at the dinner table, she whispered, “See that bright green pepper? Don’t you dare touch it. Don’t shame me.” She later explained why.

Our hostess had been telling the gals in the kitchen that she once worked as an administrator at the Erebuni Hotel in Yerevan, during Soviet times. She said that the word tsitsak (long green peppers) was a code name for diarrhea among the hotel staff. The cleaning personnel hated tsitsak. They blamed it for the extra cleaning and linen laundry they had to do after foreign guests ate their fill of the spicy peppers.

I was somewhat skeptical about this story, having eaten my share of spicy chili peppers with no regrets. So, at a later date I tried the tasty, hot green tsitsak. Nothing happened to me. I suspect that the true source of the hotel guests’ miseries and embarassment was the meat they were eating along with the fresh peppers. Nonetheless, brave souls who wish to test the tsitsak might consider doing so in isolation, like I did.

5. No matter what, no matter what anyone tells you, carry some toilet paper or paper tissues with you. While Yerevan’s public toilets are slowly improving, especially in the downtown area, you will still have to buy a cup of coffee to gain access to a café bathroom. Better yet are the city’s major landmarks. At the Cascades, a cleaning lady immediately follows to tidy up after you’ve used the restrooms. The same is true at the Tashir Trade Center, though you’ll have to pay the restroom matron 50 drams up front for the meager ration of four or five sheets of toilet tissue. So don’t give away all your small change.

DAVID UNDERWOOD

If you’d like to learn more about tsitsak, panda, and traditional food remedies in Hayastan, read our book, ARMENIAN FOOD: FACT, FICTION & FOLKLORE, ISBN 1411698659, by Irina Petrosian and David Underwood.

Technorati tags: Armenia, Armenian, Armenian Food, Food, Cuisine, Culture, History

Stale Bread, Hard Éclairs, and Whispering Monik

2006-06-14T17:21:00.000-04:00

Armenia is a post-Soviet country. Even after 15 years, it still bears the marks, blemishes, and scars of the Soviet Union. I wish it was a Got-Over-It-Soviet country, but that’s still not the case. In the everyday stuff of life, you will find the infections of Sovietikus (or Sovetitis) still stubbornly clinging. It’s easy to see when you’re shopping for food.

We visited many food shops in Armenia while we were researching our book. They’re Hayastan’s most flourishing businesses. After all, everyone has to eat! But the competition between them is fierce.

Some of the larger food stores are switching to more of a self-service, supermarket-style format, but many shops still require close contact with a saleswoman, usually on station behind the store counter. And each store clerk has her own techniques for moving the merchandise. I call one common ploy the “Strategy of Stale Bread.”

Suppose you are shopping at the bakery counter. You’re looking for some nice, fresh-baked matnakash bread to take home to your family. The saleswoman leans close and whispers, “Don’t take those loaves. These over here are better. They’re not stale.”

The scene is repeated at the pastry counter: “Don’t buy those Napoleons. They’re old,” says the store clerk. “These Éclairs are fresh, delivered just this morning.”

And so, the customer is very happy because she received some insider information, a special favor, and didn’t get stuck with the couple-of-days-old bread or rock-hard Napoleons. But think about it. What’s really going on here is that the saleswoman is creating a network of loyal customers. They’ll keep on buying from her because she gives them access to the best quality products.

This sales strategy works. In Yerevan, I saw a small food shop in my neighborhood that was filled with a long line of customers. There was hardly any room for another person to get past the front doors. Why didn’t some of the shoppers go to the other neighborhood store? After all, it’s larger, it’s close nearby, and it has virtually the same products in stock. Plus, they could get waited on without the hassle of standing in queue. The answer: Because Monik, the store clerk, knows them, and she will point out the very best of the store’s wares.

The first sign of change in this bastion of post-Soviet culture will arrive when some bold shopper has the gumption to ask Monik, “Well, then why do you keep this other bread in your shop if it’s stale? After all, someone is going to buy it. You can’t warn everybody. Know what? Maybe I shouldn’t be spending my drams in a store that keeps stale bread on its shelves and then tries to pass it off on unsuspecting customers.”

The Stale Bread Strategy is a direct descendent of food service during the Soviet times. Back then, you had to create a personal connection with a salesperson in order to obtain any quality food. Additional money had to be offered, too, if you wanted to stay in the shopkeeper’s good graces. There was no other way.

It will be a bright new day in Armenia when you can ask, “Hahts tarma?” and the saleswoman will actually smile and answer, “Our bread is always fresh.” But, if she winks and whispers like she’s revealing some great gastronomic secret to you, well … as they say, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Before signing off, here’s a quiz question for you:

Americans say: “Easy as apple pie.”

Russians say: “Easy as a steamed turnip. (Prosche parenoi repi.)”

What food do Armenians invoke when they want to express that something is easy to do?

Post a comment here if you know. But it’s not fair to look in my book for the answer. Well … if you can’t wait for the answer in my next blog, then go ahead and sneak a peek.

Irina Petrosian

ARMENIAN FOOD: FACT, FICTION & FOLKLORE, ISBN 1411698659, a culinary journey across the land called Hayastan, by Irina Petrosian and David Underwood.
“Food is the portal to Armenia’s past and present-day culture.”

Technorati tags: Armenia, Armenian, Armenian Food, Food, Cuisine, Culture, History

Number Twerve by the Flashtoon Team

2006-06-13T10:58:00.000-04:00

How hard is it for an Armenian guy to get something to eat in America? A group of animators, the Flashtoon Team, has shown us. Hayk Manukyan, Tigran Tashyan, and Daniel Militonian made this hilarious cartoon, posted at this address:

http://www.flashplayer.com/animation/numbertwerve_movie.php#bottom

You need the Flash plug-in for your browser, and be sure to turn up the sound. It's funny!

Irina

Food is the portal to the past and present-day culture of Armenia. Authors Irina Petrosian and David Underwood take readers on a culinary tour of the land called Hayastan in their new book ARMENIAN FOOD: FACT, FICTION & FOLKLORE, ISBN 1411698659.

Technorati tags: Armenia, Armenian, Armenian Food, Food, Cuisine, Culture, History

Peeled Narinj Peaches, Lost Zeal, and Doctor Seuss

2006-06-12T18:10:00.000-04:00

Blog by David Underwood

When you’ve lived somewhere and begin to miss it, it’s the little things that come to mind. After living in Armenia for most of 2005 while Irina and I researched and wrote our book, it’s no surprise that I am sometimes unexpectedly returned to Hayastan by my memories. It happened recently when I saw peaches for sale at my local supermarket. The phrase “vitamina” echoed through my thoughts, thanks to Yeva, my big-hearted Armenian mother-in-law.

It was August, and Armenia’s peach harvest had begun. The bazaar stands had big, beautiful peaches stacked up waist-high. The best are the rosy Narinj variety, and sometimes they’re as big as softballs. And take my word for it, they are absolutely out-of-this-world delicious.

Yeva bought several kilos of peaches after haggling with the fruit seller to lower the price by a few drams. After we returned home, she put them in a big bowl. I observed her peeling them one after the other, as if she was peeling potatoes. I had no idea what her intentions were for those juicy Narinj.

She smiled at me and declared, “Vitamina!” with a strong stress on the second syllable. “ViTAmina!” It’s the highest praise for food, meaning it’s full of vitamins and great for your health. She brought the piled-high bowl of fruit right up to my face. “Eat, Davit-jan. Vitamina!”

Peaches are one of my favorite fruits, but I had all ready eaten a bigger-than-usual lunch, so I had to respectfully decline at that moment. I went outside, and just a short time later, here came Mom-jan beckoning again with the bowl full of Narinj.

“Che, che, Mom-jan, I am full,” I told her. She grinned, shook her head at my Armenian-like stubborness, and slowly went back into the house.

After I returned indoors to work on the book, the scene repeated yet again. Here comes Yeva, her bowl in both hands. “Eat, Davit-jan, eat.” I began to feel like I was in the famous Dr. Seuss children’s story, Green Eggs and Ham.

I will not eat them here.
I will not eat them there.
I will not eat them anywhere!

I truly like peaches, I really do, but I was just too full to eat at the time. I didn’t have any room left, as we say in English. Never discouraged, Yeva brought a saucer, placed it next to my laptop computer, and deposited three pieces of the juicy Narinj, each hunk bigger than my hand. And after awhile, the heavenly peachy aroma did its work, and I ate the luscious peaches. This pleased Yeva to no end. She was all smiles in her eventual triumph.

Dear Yeva is getting on in years, and she admitted that she no longer has the “hahves,” the zeal, for cooking that she did when she was raising her own family. An American would say, “After all these years, I got tired of cooking,” but that’s not the Armenian way. She said, “My zeal was lost.” It’s a particular pattern of the Armenian language that’s very noticeable, almost a linguistic dodge of sorts, a grammatical disconnection from direct responsibility. “Blame the zeal that left, not me,” one might say.

Another example, “Trashs ekela,” would translate into English as “I didn’t shave today,” but literally it means something like “My whiskers visited me.” In other words, “Blame the whiskers, not me.”

The phrase “I am hungry” goes as “Sovats em,” literally “Hungry am [I].” See what I mean? Unlike English, the pronoun “I” just isn’t there, isn’t used much. But that’s a food for thought for those who like “reading” society through the language in which people converse.

My dear mother-in-law may admit that her “hahves,” her zeal for cooking, has left her, but, in her heart, she still felt the need to serve and provide, especially for her visiting American son-in-law.

Until next time,

David Underwood

Read more about Narinj peaches and the reasons why Armenians are so obsessed with vitamina in Armenian Food: Fact, Fiction, & Folklore.

Technorati tags: Armenia, Armenian, Armenian Food, Food, Cuisine, Culture, History

Gretaaaa…. Jan, Where Oh Where Can You Be?

2006-06-11T19:30:00.000-04:00

Our search for stories about Armenian food eventually took us to the Matenadaran, Yerevan’s national repository of ancient manuscripts. We weren’t particularly keen on searching through such rare tomes on our own. After all, the books, manuscripts, and miniatures at the Matenadaran are priceless, historic treasures of Armenian history. We were determined to locate a specialist whose academic interests also included food culture, someone to guide us in our research.

“Do you know anyone who can assist us in finding references to cuisine in the ancient Armenian texts?” we asked.

First person: “What? OK. Go straight, then turn right. There is a man there. He may know. He knows everything,” was the reply, accompanied with raised eyebrows.

Second person: “About food? Oh, yes, we had a researcher named Greta. She was interested in ancient Armenian recipes. She even published something about her findings from ancient manuscripts.”

Now we got excited. “How can we contact her?” we inquired.

“She is gone, went to Los Angeles.” He pointed with his hand, imitating the flight of an airplane.

“Do you know her address in Los?” we asked.

“Go to the Ethnography Institute on Charents Street, and ask for Rhipsik. She used to be Greta’s friend. She will know all about her.”

Third person, at the Ethnography Institute: “Rhipsik’s isn’t here right now. You could check with Nelli, who’s her friend. Nelli’s the one who can tell you where to find Rhipsik.”

Unfortunately for us, Nelli was also out of town. But we got a lead on an acquaintance of Nelli, who might know when she would be back.

At this point, we threw up our hands and wearily quit our Sherlock Holmes efforts. Discouraged but still determined, we retreated by metro and marshrutka back to our apartment. The next day, we would have to do our own careful searching in the library catalogs.

So, Dear Greta in Los Angeles, wherever you are, we heard that you made some very interesting findings about the food culture of ancient Armenia. If you ever read our blog or book, please contact us. We still want to review your research findings. Friends or friends-of-friends of Greta need not reply. By the way, the folks from the Matenadaran asked us to pass on their warm greetings, if we ever find you.

Irina

Technorati tags: Armenia, Armenian, Armenian Food, Food, Cuisine, Culture, History

Sexy Sarik & Khorovats Barbecue

2006-06-06T17:38:00.000-04:00

Armenians love barbecue, called khorovats in Armenian. That's one reason the "Meat and Fish" section is one of the biggest chapters in our book, and rightfully so. If you want to see an Armenian's eyes light up with joy, have a big barbecue party on a beautiful sunny day. And that's exactly what we did.

Roadside khorovats stands are as common in Armenia as McDonalds restaurants are in the US. And, no, there are no McDonalds in Armenia. If you visit Armenia's beautiful Lake Sevan, it seems there is a khorovats vendor along each and every mile of the lakeside highway. An Armenian barbecue is usually made with big, thick cuts of pork, and is cooked over the hot coals from a hardwood fire.

So, we invited our friends and family for a big khorovats picnic, a full day of fun in the sun with lots of good eats. Our chef-of-honor was Sarik Simonian, a self-proclaimed champion khorovats and kebab maker from Yerevan. Sarik means "Little Mountain", but he's the big guy when it comes to barbecue. If you ever fly to Armenia, you'll probably pass Sarik's home on your way out of the main Zvartnots airport. As you can see from our photos, Sarik is strikingly handsome. If he were a Hollywood actor, he could be the Armenian Yul Brynner, or Patrick Stewart, or maybe Telly Savalas.

We decided to make good use of Sarik's culinary skills. While David introduced the younger members of our party to the art of throwing frisbees (see David's posting below), Sarik fired up the mangal (grill). We attempted to learn some of Sarik's secrets for making delicious Armenian barbecue. It was a great interview, and we included his khorovats knowledge in our book. Sarik clearly validated his reputation as a master of the grill.

After observing Sarik's culinary expertise, we got out the digital camera for some photos. We noticed that Sarik had worn his "Long Beach State" tee shirt for the occasion, perhaps a gesture to ingratiate himself to us. As he started removing the delicious chops from the hot shampoors (skewers) with his bare hands, we began shooting. But then it was his turn to ask us some questions:

"How's this pose?"

"It would be great for the cover of your book!"

"Will you send a copy to President Bush?"

"Do you think American women will see my picture?"

Sarik's khorovats was exquisite, mouth-watering, and unbelievably tasty. To make everyone reading this blog hungry, here's a listing of our picnic-day menu:

Pork Khorovats a la Sarik
Grilled Potatoes
Grilled Eggplant
Lavash Bread

Until the next blog,

Irina

Khorovats barbecue, an ancient Armenian king called "The Carnivorous", and lots of other meaty information is in the new book, ARMENIAN FOOD: FACT, FICTION & FOLKLORE, ISBN 1411698659, by Irina Petrosian and David Underwood.

Food is the portal to Armenia’s past and present-day culture. This culinary journey across the land called Hayastan presents the rich history, wondrous legends, and fact-filled stories of Armenian cuisine. In their book, authors Irina Petrosian and David Underwood take readers on a memorable tour of Armenia by way of the kitchen, answering questions such as:

What ancient Armenian fable warned against genetically-altered food?
What little-known Armenian fruit may have helped Noah on the ark?
What was the diet of David of Sassoun, the legendary Armenian Hercules?
What was the influence of the Soviet Union on the food ways of Armenia?
What strange and exotic fruits and herbs are sold in Armenia’s markets?
Why do Armenians go to cemeteries to “feed” the dead?
What role did coffee and lavash bread play in Armenian marriage rituals?

For those curious about one of the world’s most ancient cultures, or who are contemplating a trip to Armenia, the book provides extensive details and little-known information about both ancient and modern Armenia.

Frisbees, Carl Sagan, and Armenia
by David Underwood

Every time I visit Armenia, I include a couple of frisbee throwing-discs in my overstuffed luggage. Frisbees aren't popular in Armenia. I've never seen any for sale in the shops, and none ever being tossed by Armenians. I bring them to share with the Armenian children because it’s a quick and easy-to-learn recreational activity. After a few minutes of hand demonstrations, the Hye kids are snapping the frisbees back and forth like champs.

You can't visit a park in the US without seeing someone hurling frisbees in a game of throw-and-catch. In fact, a huge frisbee golf course is just a block from our home in Bloomington, Indiana. Frisbee zealots have tried unsuccessfully to get it included in the Olympics, but the traditional Greek discus remains the Olympian flying disk of choice.

When I cram my frisbees into my suitcases, I always think of the man who first brought them to Armenia: the late, great astronomer and astrobiologist, Dr. Carl Sagan. Sagan is well remembered for his Cosmos TV series, and his many best-selling books, one of which, Contact, was made into a popular film starring Jodie Foster.

Dr. Carl was one of the few Americans to visit Soviet Armenia in the early 70s when he attended an astrophysics conference at the Byurakan Observatory, located on the southern slopes of Mount Aragats. During the breaks between discussions about supernovas, quasars, and "millions and billions of stars," Sagan amazed the conference attendees when he initiated a frisbee toss-and-catch on the stony grounds next to the futuristic-looking Byurakan Observatory dome. The scene is described in the biography Carl Sagan: A Life by Keay Davidson, and it always comes to mind when I'm preparing for the arduous journey from Bloomington to Yerevan.

I don't know why Armenians have never taken to the frisbee, because they're great at it. And it's an inexpensive, hard-to-wear-out piece of sports equipment. Perhaps it's just resistance to something new. When visiting Armenia's famed mineral water resort at Jermuk, I did some frisbee throws with the son of one of the Ministers of Parliament. The MP gruffly grunted in disapproval, and had only this to say: "What a silly game!" I wish he could see the many groups of young people outside my window right now, all having a great time as they play frisbee golf.

But that's OK. It doesn't matter if Armenia's politicians can't appreciate how much fun it is to throw and catch a frisbee. The children do, and I've seen lots of happy smiles as a result. That makes it worth the risk of bursting my suitcase seams when I shove in the frisbees.

Technorati tags: Armenia, Armenian, Armenian Food, Food, Cuisine, Culture, Barbecue

Sparkle to My Eyes!

2006-06-06T17:19:00.000-04:00

The book is born. Sparkle to my eyes!

After almost 3 years of work, our book is published. Since no Armenian is nearby here in the hills of southern Indiana to give me a traditional achkaluis (an expression literally meaning light or sparkle to your eyes, uttered on hearing good news), I am telling myself achkaluis!

Hours of writing, rewriting, struggling with photographs, talking, waiting, asking, reasking, checking and rechecking. OK, enough of exaggerating our painstaking efforts ... after all that, my co-author husband and I can finally see the book listed on Amazon.com, and we can see the first few hits as readers start to buy it.

If books.google.com ever gets updated again, you'll be able to search select pages of the book. But don't hold your breath waiting for them. I'm told it may take months. SIGH! There is a preview that actually works online at www.Lulu.com/Armenia that includes the table of contents, our introduction, the tzhvzhik (liver-and-onions) chapter, and, finally, the book's index.

The book is ARMENIAN FOOD: FACT, FICTION & FOLKLORE, ISBN 1411698659, and it's about the culture and cuisine of Hayastan, as Armenians call their country. Our book tells the story of Armenian culture, its history, its folklore, its myths and legends, and, of course, its delicious food. If you're interested in Armenia or international cuisine, please check it out. No, it's not a cookbook, but, yes, it's got a few recipes in it. We reluctantly put those in because readers of the first edition, published in Armenia, kept asking us to do so. We had no intention of producing a cookbook because there are already so many good Armenian cookbooks in print. In fact, they're so numerous that we included a 2-page-long index listing of as many as we could identify.

So why are we doing a blog? Are we such blowhards that we can't stop writing about the subject? Well, maybe so. The path was so blissful that even the idea of reaching our destination is sacrilegious. Actually, we want to have a good forum for our readers, and blogs are great for that. Since the book just went on sale, we're hungry for feedback, good or bad, but hopefully not too flamingly bad. And, as happens in so many big projects that span years of effort, we've got lots of material that is interesting and entertaining, but just didn't make the cut when we wrote our book. Plus, it's a chance for us to tell the story about the making of ARMENIAN FOOD: FACT, FICTION & FOLKLORE, how we wrote it, where we went, and how we survived it all! It's kind of a free bonus for those who bought our book and, hopefully, an alluring device for those who are considering it. And even if you don't buy it, maybe you'll find our blog interesting and, hopefully, amusing. Laugh all you want. We don't mind. After writing this book, we can take anything in good stride.

We had many strange adventures, made some remarkable discoveries, and suffered a disappointment or two as we researched and wrote the book. And we met lots of wonderful people in Armenia, and quite a few colorful characters, too.

Our homebase while we were creating the book was Vanadzor, my original hometown, located in the northern, mountainous Lori province of Armenia. I had lived in Moscow for many years, and in Yerevan, Armenia's capital city, after that. Then I lived in the United States for awhile. So, going back to Vanadzor was a true homecoming for me. And during our almost-a-year in Armenia, we travelled all over the country collecting information for the book.

David, my husband and co-author, liked staying in Armenia, even though he sometimes yearned to hear spoken English now and then. He will also be posting to this blog. David is from the hilly woodlands of south-central Indiana, and even though he's travelled across most of the US, visiting Armenia and later living in Armenia was a profound experience for him. One of his life-long dreams was to visit and see the Soviet Union. He never suspected he would one day fulfill his curiosity, even though the USSR had ceased to exist by the time that he finally made his visits. David's also a skilled computer engineer, and my family was rather surprised when he set up a small computer network on our work table at home, dubbed "The Book Factory".

Ronnie, our then-three-year-old son, had been staying with my family for awhile before we arrived. There he was learning to speak Armenian, eating good, healthy Armenian food, and generally becoming a little Hayastantsi! He, too, helped us with the book project. More about that later.

Sarik Simonian comes to mind as one of the most colorful characters out of many that we met when we were working on our book. He was one of those Armenian men who does not have a formal education but, as Armenians say, "Everything comes out of his hands." He's extremely skillful, a great guy, and a terrific friend.

Sarik is a master of the grill, a champion of the barbecue, and we included some of his barbecue secrets and know-how in our book.

You can read about our photo-and-khorovats session with Sarik in our next blog post. Don't miss "Sexy Sarik and Armenian Khorovats Barbecue".

Irina Petrosian

P.S. Here's a review of the first, published-in-Armenia edition of ARMENIAN FOOD: FACT, FICTION & FOLKLORE, from the leading online news site, www.ArmeniaNow.com:

REVIEW OF ARMENIAN FOOD: FACT, FICTION & FOLKLORE - FIRST EDITION

Technorati tags: Armenia, Armenian, Armenian Food, Food, Cuisine, Culture, History