My name is Megs. But who I am isn't exactly that important. Who I would like to introduce is Ursola Elizabeth Josephine Calleja.

Also known as my Grandmother.

My grandmother is and was a lot of things: a knitter, a baseball-watcher, a strong-willed woman, and a cook. In fact, according to my dad, she was a fantastic cook. And I've decided that these recipes should live on in my kitchen. The traditional dishes, the family favourites, and the smells of the Mediterranean. I've created Maltese Mondays. This blog is a nod to the Maltese cooking of my grandmother.

Let's talk about Ursola Elizabeth Josephine, or Lena, for a second. After surviving World War II in a country that was routinely attacked for its prime location, she met a boy, got hitched, packed her sons and belongings into very few suitcases (belongings, not the sons), left the majority of her family, and hopped on a boat across the entire Atlantic to Halifax's Pier 21. Then she got on a train and raised five boys and her brother in a one-bedroom apartment without speaking English. In inner-city Toronto.

And I'm often wishing my apartment had hardwood floors.

So I've basically established that my grandmother's a boss. Carrying on her cooking probably seems like such a trivial thing. But once a week my kitchen's going to be Valletta on a weekday. Full. Of. Food.

I should mention that I have one other Grandmother as well, also a mighty fine cook, whose homemade buns are better than yours. Why did I choose Lena's cooking and not Elsie's (to whom, by the way, I owe my middle name)? A few reasons. For one, Elsie kept recipe cards. In English. Elsie also had daughters who know many of her recipes. Elsie was also cooking until about 8 years ago so many children and grandchildren (all, like, 80 of us) have been able to carry on the Moore cuisine. Lena didn't have any of that; she never told anyone her recipes. So I've gathered my dad's memory, a few things I was exposed to or that I remember from fam-jam potlucks many years ago, traditional recipe books and what I saw/smelled/tasted in Malta. Perhaps down the line I'll instill Scottish Sundays, without the haggis.

My treasured travel companion.

Ever met a Maltese Scot? What on earth is that? A plaid-wearing, loud-talking gal with a love for Limoncello? This adorable creature? Well, you are about to find out.

Welcome to Maltese Mondays.

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Ħobż biż-Żejt

I've figured out Maltese letters.
"bread with oil".
How could this go wrong?

Hobz biz-zejt is traditionally made with crusty bread, olive oil, tomato puree, olives, capers, and if you're feeling funky, tuna or anchovies or gbejniet (we've discussed this delicious invention in "soppa tal-armla").

Salt and oil and bread. Get in my belly.

 It's made almost like an open-face sandwich, baked in the oven till crispy. My bread was a crusty flatbread, so it turned out almost like a pizza. Delicious, Mediterranean, pizza-flatbread.

I also used cashew ricotta, because there is nothing that food won't do.

My grandmother moved in with us when I was eight. On a split-level house in the middle of the court, it was sort of like the Brady Bunch. With a lot of Maltese yelling. When we're upset, we yell. When we're happy, we yell. The varied emotions in between: yell. We also talk with our hands, so watch out if we're excited. Kissing usually follows.

I have many wonderful memories of growing up with my Grandmother living with us. When porcelain Mary-Lou lost a foot to the dreaded hardwood floors of '95, G. Lena was there, ready to knit my doll some badass boots. I taught Grams Michael Jackson dance moves when I was twelve. When I came of bar-hopping age, she'd yell "rum and coke!" as I left. Oh, Grams.

Cooking tunes: Thingybob (feat. Keith Anthony) "The Man I Used to Be". I just really love Robert Carbonaro. His voice soothes me- call me a sucker for the Maltese accent coming through as he sings :)
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