Nancy Mehagian - Sirens Feast: An Edible Odyssey

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NANCY MEHAGIAN

FROM HUQUA PRESS
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A few names have been changed and some dialogue invented, though I admit to possessing an excellent memory and in many cases dialogue is verbatim.

Though countless versions of the I Ching exist, the one I have used for over forty years is the I Ching or Book of Changes, the Richard Wilhelm translation rendered into English by Cary F. Baynes with a foreword by C.G. Jung, Bollingen Series XIX by Pantheon Books.

According to the Tibetans, when a soul is about to reincarnate it envisions mating couples and chooses its parents based on whatever traits need to be cultivated or lessons need to be experienced in its next lifetime. The idea made perfect sense to me. I was a hungry soul so I chose parents who were going to feed me well.

My beginnings were mythical; that is, I was born in a town named for a mythical creaturethe Phoenix. In the classical legend the Phoenix gives birth to itself. The young Phoenix then gathers the ashes of its predecessor into an egg of myrrh and flies to the city of the Sun where it deposits the egg on the altar of the Sun God.

As a first generation Armenian-American, my life began far from the land of my ancestorsvictims of persecution and genocide. Phoenix, Arizona is where my family rose from the ashes. They brought with them the food and culture of their predecessors, their own Phoenix eggs, and did in a sense deposit them in the Valley of the Sun. As a child the image of that mystical bird was emblazoned in my spirit and kindled in me an urge for adventure. Food and pleasure became intertwined in my very being as my large extended family gathered together to cook, eat, play games and share stories. In my family everything was pretext for a great feast.

A good cook is like a sorceress who dispenses happiness. So wrote Elsa Schiaparelli, the avant-garde Parisian fashion designer. She could have been describing my mother. Observing Mom in the kitchen was to witness a kind of alchemy. She could be feeding our family of four or preparing a fundraising dinner for 500. She smiled through it all and made it appear effortless. Perhaps more miraculous was the effect her food had on people. No one ever turned down her invitations to dinner and she collected friends the way some people collect stamps or coins.

When I first heard the Sirens call, luring me away from home, naturally I chose to follow my appetites and discovered for myself how cooking for people creates instant bonds. My insatiable curiosity carried me to some of the most remote outposts in the world and it carried me into the realm of dreams. As my cooking skills developed and I grew emotionally, the courses I prepared became richer in flavor, more layered with seasonings and ultimately more satisfying. Allowing myself to journey with my senses helped me to enjoy life in all its facets and fed me the way I so love to feed others.

My travels always brought me back to the table. In order to absorb other cultures I needed to digest all they offered. Tasting what others cooked expanded my world and writing this book has carried me back to some of my most memorable meals. As Anais Nin once wrote, We write to taste life twice. And so I offer up my adventures and my recipes and invite you to dine at my table, to share in a celebration for the mind, body and soul. Dont say I didnt warn you. I told you I have a big appetite.

After a good dinner one can forgive anybody, even ones relatives.
Oscar Wilde

Dont you dare have that baby today, Florence, and ruin our dinner, my Aunt Mary admonished my mother, waggling her finger in my mothers direction. Christmas is the most important holiday of the year for an Armenian family and dinner is usually so deliciousstuffed grape leaves, roast turkey, buttery rice pilaf, salads, pumpkin pie, delicate pastry and thick black coffee served at the end of the mealno one wants to miss a single dish of the feast.

Aunt Mary was the family matriarch so my mother did as she was told, sitting quietly on the couch as though genetically programmed to obey and to please. Shortly after my parents returned home my mother went into labor. At 4:00 a.m. my father drove her to the hospital. I was born at noon, exactly, on December 26. Im convinced I wanted to spring forth like a grand gift and having been made to wait developed a certain impulsiveness. I became the wild child of the familyanimated, curious, naughty. Hyperactive is what I would have been called if that label existed in my youth. From my earliest memories I was constantly being compared to my older brother Richard, who, according to my mother, was perfect. The apocryphal story my mother tells about Richard is how she once gave him a Hershey bar telling him he could not eat it until he had finished his dinner, and that he fell asleep with the chocolate melting in his little hand. I never exercised such restraint.

I remember eating so much when I was a kid my shoulders would ache. Overfeeding was the way my mother tried to slow me down, though I hardly think it was a conscious act. My family loves food. And no wonder. Were Armenians. Were known the world over for our highly refined cuisine. Who hasnt heard of shish kebab and pilaf ? Our table has always been laden with culinary delights. Believe me, no one has ever accused me of being a starving Armenian.

Although I only had my brother Richard, I grew up with a multitude of relatives. I loved when we could all be together during holidays and the traditional Armenian picnics we attended, except for all the pinching I had to endure.