Greater than 70 years in the past, my French Canadian mom made a street journey from Montreal to Fresno to work as a registered nurse. She didnât know something about Central California. She had by no means heard of Armenia or its individuals. However love can shock you. She met my Armenian American father and settled into life on a dusty winery.
My mom wasnât an knowledgeable in her adopted delicacies, however she had Armenian buddies who have been: Sally, our neighbor, and her sister Ruby. Every autumn after the grape harvest, the three ladies would collect in Rubyâs kitchen to make giant batches of kufta, a stuffed meatball. It took two days to cut, cook dinner, knead and assemble all of the elements. Wonderful-grained bulgur was blended with floor beef or lamb to make its outer protecting.
In my household, kufta grew to become a Christmas Eve custom. The meatballs have been provided together with ham, turkey and yalanchi, lemony grape leaves crammed with onions and rice. The eating desk was crammed with salads and desserts made by buddies and neighbors. Our celebrations burst with power. Everybody feasted on foods and drinks. Santa arrived with presents, and at last buddies would play guitar and piano as we crowded round them to sing carols.
A yr or two after my mom died, I used to be visiting my dad and within the kitchen, I noticed 4 stainless-steel cylindrical containers coated with tight lids, old style bandage holders she had most likely recycled from the surgical suite the place she labored. I lifted a lid and noticed that the canister was half filled with golden-brown bulgur. Along with kufta, my mom had used the grain to make a nutty-flavored Armenian pilaf. Making that pilaf was a breeze for me. Perhaps it was time I discovered to make kufta.
I took one lesson from a buddy, then fumbled my manner via yearly enhancements. If I put together the filling the day earlier than, it nonetheless takes me 4 hours to place collectively 75 meatballs.
By now, making kufta at Christmas has grow to be not only a vacation custom, but additionally a meditation. I cup a portion of the uncooked beef and bulgur combination in a single hand and mould it into a skinny patty with the opposite, my left thumb urgent into my proper palm in a round movement, the repetitive actions like working via a string of prayer beads. I take into consideration the previous. I ponder the long run. I really feel the meals in my fingers and grow to be centered within the current.
In the midst of the flattened patty, I place a spoonful of por, a spicy mound of lamb and onion that may rock the palate. I rigorously pull up the uneven edges of meat across the combination and kind a easy ball, including a splash of ice water to hydrate the bulgur on the outer floor. One down, many prayers to go.
I can see my fingers turning into my momâs fingers. I hardly acknowledge the broad knuckles and wrinkled pores and skin as my very own. I miss her. My father died 3Âœ years after she did. I miss him too.
Within the Gospel of John, a grain of wheat stays a singular seed, resting alone â till it dies within the Earth and âbears a lot fruit.â In my coronary heart, I perceive this. On this agricultural area of California, I stay it.
The unique kernel of wheat disappears in changing into greater than itself, producing a higher bounty that may be shared. Human beings have the identical skill, as soon as we get out of our personal manner. Tempered by loss and alter, everyone seems to be chargeable for constructing new relationships, household and neighborhood.
Christmas Eve celebrations occur at my home now. The massive batch of kufta sits in my freezer till I cook dinner the meatballs in a pot of boiling broth. New buddies and sweethearts add to household and outdated neighbors. For every visitor, I’m grateful.
None of this grace can be mine if my mom hadnât taken an opportunity. Our state wanted nurses. She answered the decision. She discovered her strategy to the Central Valley. I discovered my strategy to kufta.
Danielle R. Shapazian is a registered nurse and author who lives in Fresno. She is the founder and director of the San Joaquin Valley Bookfest.
