Jenny

Alarmingly Good Caponata

I thought I’d break in the new kitchen by making a familiar dish to accompany Raj’s Friday night pizza. Since I haven’t cooked in months (due to living conditions), I wanted to make something that I occasionally crave–eggplant caponata. It’s best prepared a couple of days in advance because the flavor gets richer over time.

I bought the ingredients over the last two visits to two grocery stores, looking high and low for items that aren’t particularly exotic as you can see on the ingredient list. First on the list, the eggplants, well, as you can see, they are TINY and have very little meat. What’s strange about them is that they have already been hollowed out to remove the seeds. I wonder how this was done because the caps are still on each of them. I had Raj ask the nut and spice guy if the store had any pine nuts, but I don’t think he understood what we were asking for. Anyway, I found pine nuts and currants in the rice aisle. Go figure. I also needed extra virgin olive oil and the Italian brands were three times the Jordanian produced one’s so we’ll see how Jordanian evoo tastes as well.

Yesterday I set out to spend the afternoon in the kitchen, getting the feel of the stove top and oven. I diced the eggplant, fired up (operative word) the propane oven to 450 degrees (which smells like gas) and set my pan of diced eggplant in the oven to roast for 35 minutes. As I was prepping the next stage and with about 27 minutes left on the timer, the fire alarm in the hallway blasted off. Good god. Raj was at work, I didn’t know how to turn it off, and as I went racing to find the step-ladder, I was panicking about who I’d go to to get help. The neighbors? I don’t know them. The guard outside? I’m not supposed to talk to him (and he doesn’t speak English)…so I tried pressing the button on the alarm, but it didn’t shut off. I pulled on it and surprisingly the whole thing came out of the ceiling. Even out of the ceiling, I still couldn’t get the battery out because the ceiling plate was attached. I immediately turned on the vent above the stove, opened the window, and flipped on the switch for the fan (as you can see in the photo which does very little to circulate air). It was very stressful to say the least.

In the end, it still tastes good, but different. I suppose this is the Middle Eastern version of eggplant caponata.

Serves 8

2 large eggplants
3/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 tbl. kosher salt
1/2 tsp. freshly cracked pepper
1 yellow onion, cut into 1/2-inch dice
4 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
1/4 cup pine nuts
1/4 cup dried currants
1 tsp. red pepper flakes
1 cup tomato sauce
2 tsp. fresh thyme leaves
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees. Cut off the stem and blossom ends from 1 eggplant. Stand the eggplant upright and cut down on 4 sides around the core to rid the eggplant of its seedy heart. Cut the 4 sections into 1-inch cubes. Repeat with the second eggplant.

In a large bowl, toss together the eggplant cubes, 1/2 cup of the olive oil, the salt, and the pepper. Turn the eggplant out onto a rimmed baking sheet and spread in a single layer. Bake for 30-35 minutes, or until browned, stirring once or twice if some pieces begin to burn. Remove from the oven and set aside.

In a large saute pan, heat the remaining 1/4 cup olive oil over medium high heat. When the oil is almost smoking, add the onion, garlic, pine nuts, currants, and red pepper flakes and cook, stirring frequently, for 4 to 5 minutes, or until the onion has softened and the pine nuts are toasted. Stir in the tomato sauce, thyme, and vinegar, mixing well. Add the eggplant, bring to a boil, reduce the heat to medium low, and simmer for about 5 minutes, or until the mixture has thickened. Remove from the heat and let cool to room temperature. The salad will keep, tightly covered, in the refrigerator for up to two days.

Serve the salad at room temperature.

[This can be made in advance. In fact, it tastes better the second day. I prefer it warm and served with focaccia or toasted slices of a baguette.]

Living in Amman

The New Digs

I’ve been here for almost two weeks and I’m just about finished getting organized (or at least as organized as one can get without having a car and access to supplies at a store). Our home is essentially a blank canvas to decorate, but I’m finding that decorating the place is rife with challenges. For example, I wanted to hang up a bulletin board in my “office.” I’m well versed in hanging up pictures and can even handily use a drill, but the walls here are cement, so my attempts at hanging anything myself are futile and damaging to the wall.

Yesterday some maintenance people came over to remove a door to the kitchen and to hang my pan rack. When I explained to them that I wanted the door removed from the kitchen, you would have thought that I had asked to be set on fire. Imagine a kitchen exposed to guests? Anyway, I wanted the door removed because there isn’t any space for my butcher block that I’ve alway placed below my pan rack. They removed the door , installed the pan rack in the ceiling, and promised to come back sometime next week to build shelves in a very strange and atrocious open cabinet. I plan on covering the TWO open cabinets with fabric that I’ve ordered.

Let me preface these photos by saying that these are very preliminary. I promise it will look much better in a few weeks time. I’m open for suggestions and anyone who comes up with something fabulous for the entrance room gets a PRIZE.

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Travels

The Dead Sea

We just got back from two nights at the Dead Sea, the lowest point on Earth. The resort was amazing and the sea was mesmerizing. It was 105 degrees or so, but at least it was dry heat, and not a dry resort (plenty of alcohol).

This would be the PERFECT location for a yoga retreat with the amenities and spa selections available…

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Living in Amman

Tea and Biscuits

After breaking down to R about my frustrations of being confined to this apartment, he took it upon himself to find SOMETHING for me to do that would get me out of the house and off his back. Mind you, his something, is never my something. He came home last night and told me that in addition to finishing paperwork at his workplace, I’d also be attending a party. What type of party I wanted to know and he answered, “Tea and Biscuits.” What kind of party is that? I would have understood “A tea” or a “Brunch,” but biscuits? I inquired further, which made him angry. “What’s the big deal what type of party it is? It gets you out and you can meet some of the ladies.” Yep, just what I want to do, meet some ladies.

I angrily got ready for the party this morning not knowing what to expect or what to wear to such an occasion. I got to the party and was met by the hostess. This biscuit party turned out to be a breakfast. No biscuits in sight. Along with about twenty or so ladies (housewives) were two men. What do you call men in this situation–men whose wives are the one’s working? Housemen? Househusbands? Regardless, I didn’t socialize with any of the housewives, just one of the housemen. He was pleasant enough to talk to and while I was engaged in conversation with him, it gave me the opportunity to size up the crowd. No recognizable purses in sight and nary a pair of shoes that caught my attention.

Upon returning from the biscuitless party, I ran five miles in the stinky gym and then laid out by the pool for an hour. The pool is decent, minus the children splashing my purse (yes, the B). It has plenty of lounge chairs and there were few people there (until school gets out when I imagine it will be crazily busy), but adjacent to the pool area is patio seating, which is awkward because I felt I was on display to the people in suits having lunch. I was hesitant at first to take off my clothes to reveal my bikini. I could just see R’s reaction to me in a bikini next to men lunching. He’d be annoyed and embarrassed and would feel the need to ask me why I have to show off that way. I suppose I could wear a frumpy one piece, but then again, I’m sure other men would be psyched to see their wives rock a bikini like me. Ok, just kidding. I’m not that obnoxious. Well, maybe just a little, but when you’ve done nothing but workout like a fiend for the last year and when you can’t wear anything revealing day in and day out here, there are times when you just want to strip down to the bare minimum.

Living in Amman

Reality Setting In

I arrived on Friday evening and was welcomed by R with a messy apartment and an overwhelming sense of elation at what lay ahead. This euphoria lasted until Sunday when I had my one and only interview and then reality began to set in. I applied for a “Controller” job of middle school at an international school. I knew nothing about the school, but just before I left the States, someone contacted me to see if I’d be interested in interviewing. I was psyched and looking forward to the possibility of getting a job so quickly and without assistance from R. R agreed to take the afternoon off from work to drive me to the school for my 3:30 pm interview, which was extremely generous because I didn’t want to have to take a taxi which would have created a whole slew of issues (i.e. calling a taxi without a cell phone (mine’s not ready yet, it has to be “unlocked” and won’t be ready for three days), giving the driver directions to my home–I’m not sure where I live yet…).

I arrived at the school and was yelled at by a guard who spoke no English. I tried to explain that I was looking for the office because I had an interview. He looked angry and pointed off somewhere. Thanks for the help. I found a bookstore and inquired in there, but the guy working inside had a hard time understanding what I was saying. I walked up the stairs and found a building that said administration. I walked over to a woman in a window, similar to a bank teller behind a glass wall, and told her that I had an interview. She asked me to take a seat. I tried relaxing, but I could feel my heart racing. It’s one thing to be nervous for an interview, it’s another to be nervous about navigating in a place where English is a second language.

Eventually someone came out and asked for me. I followed her into an office where I sat down and she began the pleasantries of how I was doing. She made some small talk about me and inquired about my last name. Apparently there’s a family at the school with the same last name so she thought I was married to a Jordanian. She asked if I had any children, to which I replied no, just a dog. She said, “Well, hopefully soon.” She asked to take a picture of me for my file and printed it out and stapled it to my paperwork. I might add that the picture was heinous–I looked bloated. She told me that first I would be interviewed by the Controller, followed by the director, and then if I made it beyond this point, I would come back to observe in a classroom, followed by a teaching demonstration, and finally interviewed by someone who would fly in from Lebanon. Another woman walked into the office, exchanged a few pleasantries and then whisked me off to another room with the file and the ugly picture stapled to its the front cover of the file folder.

We sat down and the “Controller,” took out an interview checklist. She proceeded to go down the list of questions: Tell me about yourself. I gave her a quick overview of my professional qualifications from classroom teaching to university teaching. She said, “So, you want to get back into teaching?” This was the first clue that this was not an interview for “Controller?” She asked what year I graduated from college. I asked, “You mean, undergraduate?” I couldn’t remember and asked if she had my CV. I pulled it out so that we wouldn’t have to continue this way since it was all in front of her. She asked me to describe three of my best traits. I felt like I was interviewing for my first job going through this trifling list of questions. Eventually, the job description came up: teaching English. So I guess because I’m a native English speaker, that’s the only thing I can teach? No, thanks.

Next we moved onto the SABIS system, an educational system developed in Lebanon that the school uses. I described to her what I had gleaned from the website. I found her description in sharp contrast to what the web touts as a back to basics type of program. SABIS schools essentially dictate what is taught, how it’s taught, and when it’s taught, followed by weekly tests to insure that the subject matter has been mastered. I had my teaching portfolio and some class made books with me to share, but based on this type of program, I don’t think creative writing samples with accompanying artwork and pictures of my amazingly decorated classroom would have won me any fans. I let it go.

Finally we got down to the money question. She wanted to know what my expectations were. I explained to her that four years ago when I left the classroom, I was making 72k, USD, so naturally, it would have to be somewhere in line with that. The look on her face said it all. This was not going to happen. In fact the interview was over. She told me that the average salary at the school was 20k to which I added, but I have a PhD. No response. She explained that I would only work for ten months, but get paid for twelve. Really? Does that logic work with Jordanians? In the end 20k is insulting and their school day is from 7:30am – 4pm. I could work three times the hours for one-quarter the pay? End of interview. I didn’t even move onto the next step, the interview with the director.

So the interview was terrible. I put all of my hopes into landing a job quickly so that I wouldn’t have to face my reality. I’m stuck here, in an apartment with no friends, no access to anything, completely codependent on my husband until I can drive, which he assures me I will be able to do next week. In the meantime, it’s depressing and frustrating. There’s nothing to do; I’m limited to two TV stations that stink; there’s nowhere in the immediate vicinity to go, and the prospect of finishing my organizing of the apartment is daunting because then I’ll really have nothing to do.

Living in Amman

No More Expat Project at Blogger

I wrote the above blog back in April after R had abandoned me for Amman. At the time I was living in a corporate apartment in Old Town, Alexandria. I thought I was roughing it living in a studio with a gym, a pool, and Whole Foods next door. Now as I look back on those two months, I realize what a great place I’ve left to arrive here, to not much of anything. Anyway, I wrote the blog under the title ExpatProject, Jen in Jordan through Blogger, but I can’t remember my password and when I tried to retrieve or even attempt to sign in, I couldn’t figure anything out because blogger here is in Arabic script, which I obviously do not read. Suffice to say, I am moving the blog and have renamed it to Jen Maan in Amman and am now using WordPress, which is in English. Thank God!

Living in Amman

Moving to Amman

Since October R and I have been planning our sojourn from the comfort of Northern Virginia, to Amman, Jordan. Moving abroad is something R has discussed since we met and being the super wife that I am, I’ve agreed. Perhaps I’m nervous, unsure, and selfish in my assessment of what life will be like there, but I’ve come up with a gripe list to vent my frustrations:
Top Ten Reasons I’m Annoyed with Moving:

I have to give up my job: I love this job, my students and the administration. Raj owes me BIG time for this one alone!
I cannot find ANY yoga studios in Amman. I practice yoga five days a week. I’m also certified to teach it (and I do teach one yoga class a week at my school), but as a lazy yogi, I prefer to be led through a practice instead of leading myself in one. Herein lies the problem. If I can’t find a studio, I’ll have to commit to a personal practice. Good god!
People–men or women–do not run outside (nor do they walk much). Translation: If I want to maintain my exercise regimen of running twenty miles weekly, I’ll have to run INDOORS on a TREADMILL. Shoot me!
We will be living in an apartment. There’s nothing wrong with apartment living. However, at my age, I never imagined I’d be living in an apartment with my husband and my dog, in a place that I cannot decorate or even furnish with my own belongings (I’ve been severely limited as to what I can and cannot ship). Additionally, there’s NO DISHWASHER and the appliances are circa 1980.
Furry children are not considered family members. Shanti our miniature Schnauzer is a sweet and adorable dog. He looks like a teddy bear but barks like a beast. No one likes a barking dog–especially in areas of the world where dogs are not considered babies.
My hairdresser will not accompany me to Amman. As a bleach blond, the fear of leaving your hair dresser, whom you visit religiously every four weeks, is paralyzing. Who will be able to highlight my hair as well as my current stylist? Who will understand the intricacies of bleaching my hair in a land where the majority of women do not bleach their hair blond?
I have to find a job. This is not a monetary concern (Raj may disagree), but rather a psychological one. If I have nothing to do (and granted, I have lots of stuff that I’ve mentioned over the years that I complained I never had time to attend to, i.e. writing, reading, cooking…), I will go crazy. I need to occupy my time with some type of work for my own sanity.
My clothing is mostly inappropriate to wear. Although I’ve lived in the DC area for the last three years, I was born and raised in southern California. The laid back, summer styles of sunny California do not translate well in the conservative climate of northern Virginia, but I can only imagine how inappropriate they are in a conservative place. Most, if not all of my summer clothes are sleeveless, tight fitting, neck baring…
I can no longer secretly buy stuff and stash it away before Raj gets home. All of our mail will be delivered to his work address meaning that he will pick up ALL packages, thus requiring me to explain purchases.
Lastly, independence. Moving to a foreign country requires patience, practice, and reliance on someone else. I hate having to be codependent.