On Baklava

So, I attempted baklava for the first time (post coming soon). I don't love cooking with phyllo and use it only rarely to wrap & bake cheese. But baklava...I've had it Greek, Turkish, Lebanese, and Syrian, with tiny cups of sweet tarry coffee. And now Azerbaijani, which has several features to commend it, including its phyllolessness (nonphyllotude?).

But baklava as a species is great. How great? I first had it as an adult at a classic Greek diner across the street from my grad school dorm. They kept a huge pan of it on the counter in all its golden glory, and I distinctly remember having it for the first time. And ever since then, when the Tardis stops at a new spot, I check the phonebook for baklava-related restaurants.

Then I phone the nearest Orthodox church and ask when their festival is. Because getting baklava and other butter-laden pastries at an Orthodox parish festival is a sure thing. Years before I became a coffee drinker, I'd have the super strong coffee with it because nothing else tastes right. The Antiochan Orthodox Cathedral of St. George in Toledo has a blow-out festival lasting several days, including a petting zoo of Middle Eastern animals and camel rides.

And then there's Houston. The Greekfest I went to in the NASA area of Houston at a park doesn't have camels, but everything else you could want, from camel statues with clocks in them to icons (both to venerate in a portable chapel and to buy.) They very considerately have a pastry sampler box available, which gets packed while you watch a lady magically fry wet dough marbles into the Greek version of zeppoli. And at the checkout there's a pile of golden bread loaves to take home. There's a dance floor, flasks of ouzo mysteriously materialize after dark, and a whole lot of good time is had till the wee hours. And then nine months later, on the full moon, all 26 rooms of the maternity floor of the Clear Lake hospital are full. I can attest to it personally.