Chapter 7

Almost a Full House

By early evening, the house felt full. There were ten adults and eight children, ranging from newborn Abe, Deena’s latest grandchild, to Joe. Lisa’s brother, John, drove from Seattle. Her cousin Becky flew in from Phoenix. Others had come from their homes in towns nearby. Some members of the New York branch stayed home. Also missing were Lisa’s daughter and her mother, Claire, who was in Florida.

Lisa tried to lose herself in the pleasure of the gathering. The sound of so many relatives in one place was like a childhood song. Lisa listened for familiar notes: the clap of the refrigerator door; the clink of ice in glasses; the mix of voices, male and female, high and low. Over and under, a train of children whistled through the house.

That first night, they ate informally. Lisa sat at the outdoor table with her grandfather and some of the mothers and children. Their little heads echoed each other: dark curls in different sizes.

They ate from the giant bowl of pasta salad she had helped her aunts make. It was child-friendly, but still different. They had reworked the familiar American dish by adding olive oil, feta cheese, and fresh oregano from the garden.

If this were the last gathering in this house, would the children remember the taste of their great-grandmother’s garden?

Lisa had brought a large leg of lamb in a cooler. It was now in the fridge. She had been marinating it in olive oil, lemon, wine, rosemary, and oregano. At noon, twenty-four hours after starting the marinade, Lisa would cook the roast. She would add the garlic as whole cloves. She would make slits in the flesh with a knife, like her father taught her.

After three hours of roasting, the meat would fall off the bone. She would put the potatoes right in the pot, too. They always came out oily and crunchy on the outside, and soft on the inside. No one could resist her father’s recipe for lamb.

In Lisa’s family, her mother had done most of the cooking, but sometimes her father cooked on Sundays. Jack had remained Greek in his cooking. He always made his mother’s recipes.

His food was so different from the typical North American fare they ate during the week: tuna bakes with melted cheese, hot dogs in white buns, iceberg lettuce covered in ranch dressing. As children, Lisa and her brother took their father’s efforts for granted. Sometimes, they even complained about the foreign flavor.

When Lisa grew up, she appreciated his genius. At dinner parties, she cooked like Jack. Her guests always praised the food. She looked exotic, her hair dark and curly and wild. She wore gold hoop earrings, like all her aunts. She collected Greek folk music and played it for her guests.

Her parents might have tried to hide their roots, but Lisa celebrated and shared her ethnic heritage. It was a big part of her identity.