If the beans weren’t Greek enough

I made feta filled fry bread. I got up early to do this since, you know, bread dough, kneading, rising, resting, shaping. I also had to make the dessert, the not-greek, no-bake orange creamsicle pie.

I was just cutting up tomatoes and cucumbers for salad when I got the call . . . sick kids. What can you do? I sent leftovers home with grandparents. I’d do it all again though. This was a kick ass meal. And that fry bread . . . ooh mama.

Griechenland aus Deutschland

Right at the moment I am so tired I could fucking sleep in the kitchen with my face in the sink and my butt on the stove (on low though). Last night I was twice as tired and we walked across the street to the Greek restaurant. Somehow Greek food in Europe is in a higher class of cuisine than it is in the USA. I am not sure why but I think anything bad can be basically traced back to Donald Trump. 

I’m lucky that I do not live across the street from this place. I would live there. We ordered saganaki, fried cheese, and beans as appetizers. The cheese was fabulous but these beans, giganda plaki or some such thing were just beyond compare. I ordered moussaka as my main course but I’d have been perfectly happy just to have had the cheese and beans, as it was we didn’t eat all of either thing, and there was a salad under the cheese that we didn’t even touch. And then came the moussaka. It was just gorgeous and fabulous. 

If the exquisitely handsome greek waiter hadn’t been outside smoking, with the smoke wafting back in on us, it’d have been one of my all time favorite meals despite the fact that I had to repeatedly rest my face on the tines of the fork to keep from sleeping at the table.