Living in Amman – Page 2 – Jen Maan in Amman

Pop-Quiz: How Do You Convert a Stick of Butter to Tablespoons?

Pop quiz of the day:

Background to the problem

You’re living in Jordan. You like to bake and are used to using unsalted sticks of butter like the one below. Notice anything different about the stick of butter? The size? The width? The package?

Say you want to make chocolate chip cookies for your STARVING and sweet-deprived husband. You need 10 tablespoons (or 1/2 cup of butter, plus 2 tablespoons). Normally, you’d use one stick of butter (equalling 8 tablespoons) and cut two additional tablespoons from another stick, right? You buy what look like ordinary sticks of unsalted butter at the grocery store, but…there’s always a but here….you open up the packaging and are puzzled. There ARE NO TICK MARKS on the packaging to indicate the measurement of butter. What do you do?

a. You get out a tablespoon and manually measure the butter (all 10 of them, what a waste of time and end up making a BIG mess–remember, you don’t have a dishwasher, either).

b. You make an estimate, knowing full well that you may have wasted PRECIOUS ingredients that are hard to come by here (chocolate chips) and are insanely expensive (pure vanilla extract–kept in the safe next to the salami).

c. You attempt to get resourceful and create your own measuring device.

d. You cry and get upset that your husband made you come here to the land of butter without measurement.

e. You _______________ (fill in the blank with your own response).

I’m sure there’s some logical explanation for how people here measure butter here, but I’m fresh out of ideas…

My answer?

Here’s my first attempt at creating my own measuring guide. It worked for the single-wide sticks, but threw me off on the BIG-DADDY, double-wide sticks.

The next conundrum: how to measure a double-wide stick of butter.

Luckily for me, my sister had forwarned me prior to moving (and based on her experiences cooking in Italy) that I’d need a scale for measuring ingredients. I bought the scale a while ago, threw it under a cabinet, never to be seen, until the butter threw me for a loop! As I was unpacking the scale I discovered, to my utter delight, a conversion booklet for all sorts of things. I flipped to the page titled “fats” and hit pay dirt. OMG! Hallelujah! Now I’m able to accurately measure my butter (along with other “fats” using the scale).

Problem solved, for me at least, so I suppose the real pop-quiz here is: How do Jordanian’s convert their sticks of butter into tablespoons?

Living in Amman

From Drab to Fab…Shanti’s Got a New Groomer

Alright, I lied. Shanit doesn’t look fab, more like sad. You see, dogs, unlike cats, are not highly esteemed in these parts. Shanti, used to monthly ‘treatments’ at the groomer and getting his teeth brushed is looking like a mess. Back in Old Town Alexandria, dogs are treated better than people (i.e. there are parks specifically for dogs, dog walkers are hard to find (because they’re booked solid despite their outrageous prices), the Hotel Monaco has ‘Yappy Hour’ in the summers for dogs and their owners). We found it so difficult to even make an appointment at the groomer that we had to have a monthly standing appointment to insure that he would be seen. Here in Amman, there are few, if any groomers, and the few that exist, operate out of veterinary clinics. Shortly after Raj arrived here, he took Shanti to the groomer/veterinarian for a hair cut. Luckily for me, I missed the trauma. As the story goes, Shanti was so upset that the veterinarian/groomer said he had to give him a sedative. Really? For a hair cut? Isn’t that overkill? (I’m curious to know how a groomer could shampoo, cut, and shave a dog that’s limp from a sedative.) Needless to say, the picture of Shanti that Raj sent to me afterwards was pathetic. He looked like a ‘plucked chicken,’ which explains the two types of dog cuts in available in Amman: shaven or trimmed (no boutique cuts). His ‘skirt’ was shaven, but nothing else, that’s why he’s sporting the dumbo, fluffy, ‘you can’t see my eyes’ look in the picture above.

As a result of the lack of grooming options in Amman, we came up with a few solutions to the dilemma. We could:

let Shanti go native and stop grooming him (but when we walk him through the trash lot around the corner at night, his fur is so long that he picks up all kinds of gunk that gets stuck in it. I really enjoyed having to cut gum out of his beard last week!)
send him back to the vet./groomer where he’ll keep getting tranquilized and will get a bad haircut (for $40 JD’s)
or, groom him ourselves with a grooming kit

As you may have guessed, we opted to try grooming Shanti for ourselves. Having never groomed a dog, Raj thought, “It can’t be that hard!” I ordered a clipper set from Amazon, but in the back of my mind I was recalling images of Schultz, my first Schnauzer and the haircuts he received under my father’s impatient hand. I’ll admit, the haircuts got better over time, but there were a number of the initial attempts that left the poor dog’s ears bloody.

Raj washed and dried Shanti and we set up shop in the kitchen (don’t cringe, there’s no outlet in the backyard for the clippers). It took about an hour and the finished product is below. It was much more difficult than we imagined (and we watched the informational DVD). Poor guy (Shanti, that is). He looks much better than he did, but this is no schnauzer cut. On the bright side, we’re anticipating saving SO much money doing Shanti’s grooming ourselves, money that I’ll surely be able to use on something for myself.

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Living in Amman

Bleaching My Way Through Amman

For the last six months, since the announcement of our assignment to Amman, I’ve been scouring the Internet for two extremely important things: a yoga studio (still nonexistent) and a reputable hair salon to get blonde highlights. Getting highlights is stressful even under the best of circumstances. When I attempt to explain the depth of my anxiety, people casually mention things like, ‘do it yourself from a box’ (all over color is not an option or worse still, let your hair grow out to its natural color (which, I might add is BLONDE. Just ask my mom and she’ll prove it to you with pictures of my childhood). The truth is, I’m not sure what color my ‘natural’ color would be, so that’s NOT an option.

Eight years ago, shortly after meeting Raj, I made the mistake of listening to my sister, Nicole, who worked with a woman whose hair we envied. She had beautiful blonde highlights and her hair was always well-maintained. We wanted her hair, but more importantly, we wanted her stylist. Nicole got the number of the stylist and we both made appointments with her separately, on different days. Nicole was up first. I don’t recall seeing her hair, but she said it was good and best of all it was CHEAPER than what we had been paying. This excited me. I went to the salon, which wasn’t in the best part of town, but what was even more disturbing was the stylist in the chair working next to mine. She/he was a transvestite and not the pretty kind–the kind that just recently changed teams and doesn’t know how to dress. Did this portend disaster? I ignored the signs. The stylist was nice and efficient. The process was different from what I was used to. She used foil, but then started saturating my hair with what I believed to be bleach because it started burning my scalp and my eyes. Most normal people would have started questioning the procedure, not me. I stuck it out counting ALL of the money I was saving and thanking my lucky stars for having such a great sister for finding this place. The stylist finished up my hair, dried and styled it, and I was on my way home to see Raj (keep in mind, we were still in the super nice courting stage). I looked in the mirror a few times before Raj got home. It looked okay to me. The color seemed a little different. I quickly called Nicole and told her about the scalding scalp treatment, which she agreed was alarming (and she couldn’t have forewarned me about this?). Raj got home and he was speechless. (Maybe he only liked me for my blonde highlights?) He tried very hard to say something nice, but couldn’t. I looked at my hair AGAIN in the light. Alright, it was pinkish and HORRIBLE. I kept trying to tell myself it wasn’t that bad. But it was.

Nicole received a few more calls, each one angrier than the last. She eventually agreed that she didn’t like her hair either…but she let me go? And she says I’m the mean one?

Raj, the metrosexual, had been seeing and following his stylist for years, moving from salon to salon with her, remaining loyal to ‘Barbara.’ I had never dated a guy who had a stylist (and spent $35 on hair cuts–even as cheap as he is!), let alone a guy who had much of an opinion about my hair. I agreed to meet with Barbara to see if she could fix my Strawberry Shortcake pink highlights. She hoomed and haahed and gave me an earful on the damage that had been done. “This will take years to fix,” she lamented and each month when I’d go in to see her, she’d point out how much more my hair would have to grow out until the damage was no longer visible (this went on for 7 years!). Both Raj and I remained loyal to Barbara until we moved to DC, sharing with her my fears of finding ANYONE qualified enough to bleach my locks. She agreed, it would be VERY, VERY difficult. [Sidenote: Did I mention that Nicole eventually started going to Barbara too? Even more interesting, she just recently returned to the same woman who made my hair pink.] Despite Barbara’s outlook, I was fortunate enough to find someone equally, if not more qualified in Old Town to manage my hair.

In researching hair salons in Amman, the only salon that was recognizable to me was Toni & Guy. I’ve never been to one, but they’re international and I used to walk by one all the time in the Mission Viejo (California) mall. I landed on June 2nd and made a hair appointment on June 3rd for July 1st, today. I was a nervous wreck going to the appointment not knowing what to expect, if I even had an appointment (because I didn’t get a phone call confirming the day before), how much it would cost (I was planning on paying in cash and didn’t know how much to bring), what to tip and the expectations of tipping (do you tip the colorist, the shampooer, and the blow out stylist and how much do you tip?)

I walked into the building that housed the Toni & Guy sign, knowing nothing other than they were on the third floor. The building was a little shabby (not as in shabby chic, either). I tried out the elevator and ended up in a parking garage (I guess I went down), got out of the elevator and tried the stairs. Luckily the stairs led to the salon and I was greeted by two lovely receptionists who welcomed me. (They were both stylish and one was wearing an LA Gear, crop t-shirt, a la 1980. Too bad I didn’t save any of mine. They’d look great with a pair of high-tops and leggings. Nonetheless, she pulled it off in a retro cool that I could never.)

The colorist immediately sat me down, offered me coffee, tea and water, and examined my hair. There wasn’t any chit-chat and he got right to work. I was worried at first. I thought I could feel the heat of BLEACH on my head, but I stuck it out. The foiling of my head took about 45 minutes and then I remained in the chair to lighten up (no steamer or heater here). In the meantime, I was served ‘special’ coffee (an espresso. I love this place!) After 30 minutes, my hair was finished and I was sent to the shampooer. My stylist asked if I had time to do a ‘treatment.’ “Sure,” I said, not knowing what the treatment was for of how much this would cost (Raj doesn’t need to know). The treatment included a fabulous 20 minute scalp massage.

When the treatment was over, I was handed off to yet another stylist who was tasked with drying my hair. He asked me how I wanted my hair, straight or full. My hair is SO straight that it’s usually not an option. I said full (let’s see what he’s got) and he did all kinds of pulling and man handling to my hair, but he got it full.

Throughout my experience, I was worrying about the cost and how much I had in my wallet. When I was finally done, three hours later, I walked to the counter and my total came to $65 for the highlight (which, by the way was a FULL and half the price of my Old Town gal) and $15 for the ‘treatment,’ so the total was $80 plus I gave a $10 tip to the stylist (I’m not sure if that’s a decent or a cheap tip or if I should have tipped the other two?). We have a fourth of July party to attend and while I was getting my hair blown out, I thought about how nice it would be to get my hair styled for the party. After paying and making my next appointment, I asked how much blow-outs cost: $7. Wow! So, I’ve got an appointment for Monday as well. All in all, it was a great experience and Raj approved of the work.

Living in Amman

Pop Quiz: What Is This? A Stage? A Theater?

Our backyard is more of a side yard shaped like an ‘L.’ It’s long and narrow on the right side of the apartment and then it extends a little to the left behind the master and guest bedrooms. There’s a strange stage-like area in the back of the yard that intrigues me. Four stairs lead up to a travertine tiled veranda space (meaning this space was designed for something, I just don’t know what). Notice the windows? They’re not ours, but this is our backyard. The windows belong to the neighbors next door (whom I’ve never met, seen, know, but have heard). I was thinking it looked pretty nice until I took this picture. You can’t see the screens, but they’re barely hanging off the windows. It’s looking kind of shabby. I avoid this area because I don’t understand it. I’m afraid the neighbors are hanging out in this room near the windows watching me take pictures. Of what? That’s the conundrum and the pop quiz…only I don’t have the answer this time.

So…what do YOU think it is?

a stage for puppet performances? The neighbors could get a behind the scenes glimpse from their view.
an entertaining arena? It’s so private and far removed from the street, but not the neighbors.
a place to relax and sip wine while talking to your neighbors through their windows?
a yoga pavilion?

What’s your take? The winner gets ALL of the apricots that are rotting on the ground. I’d make jam, lots of amazing Amman Apricot jam (apricot jam with vanilla and cardamom) that I’d send to you if I could buy Ball jars here…but like everything else that I seek out at the store, I can’t find any (I couldn’t even find limes during my last outing). You can breathe a sigh of relief. Jars are en route from the States, but probably too late for this crop. I’ll find something else to jam or pickle though with my jamming kit that’s set to arrive in a couple of weeks.

Here are a few more views to help you out: another view of the stage, view upon entering the entertaining arena and the apricot trees in the front of the side yard

Eating, Living in Amman, Travels

Souk Jara on Rainbow Street, West Amman

Monkey? Mouse? I don’t know. Either way, this adorable, edible creation made of bread was calling to Raj like a siren to a sailor to tempting him with her treats as we walked along the street en route to Souk Jara. Raj stayed strong and was rewarded with dessert later in the evening.

We ventured into Wast Amman on Friday evening, down Rainbow Street (named after the Rainbow Cinema), to Souk Jara, a summertime outdoor market. This area of Amman is home to most of the city’s upscale hotels, restaurants, and nightlife. We walked down Rainbow Street to the souk’s entrance, walking through a narrow corridor of vendors selling everything from homemade soaps, honey, clothing, hand crafted jewelry, baskets, food, and much more. It was crowded and hot and after walking through the souk empty-handed, we were in serious need of food (lest we forget, someone gets hangry and that’s dangerous!).

I had read about a cafe in the area that was highly rated called Wild Jordan, part of the Wild Jordan Center, housed in a chic, steel building. Inside, the center provides information on Jordan’s nature reserves, there’s a nature shop (gift shop with fabulous hand crafted jewelry, handbags, herbal teas and herbs all produced on the reserves), exhibitions, and of course the cafe, known for organic food, drinks, and smoothies (no alcohol, though). The cafe is small; it sits on a balcony that seats only about fifty people, but it offers one of the most spectacular views, looking over the valleys of Downtown and across the way to Roman ruins in the distance. As the sun was setting, the view of the ruins and the emerald-green minarets was magical. The food was good, not exceptional, but well worth the price for the views alone.

We headed back up Rainbow Street at about 10PM in search of a taxi to head home. The street was so crowded that it was difficult to stay together. Everyone and their grandmother were out and about drumming in a drum circle, sitting in cafes eating and smoking shisha, licking ice cream, or just hanging out on street corners. Despite the hordes, it wasn’t sketchy, maybe a little ripe, but not scary. We walked about a mile up towards the hotels and eventually got a cab a made it home to sip on couple glasses of Jordanian wine.

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Living in Amman

Good Things: NetGrocer.com & Care Packages

I used to grocery shop daily, not because I had so much time or particularly cared to do so, but I never knew what I’d be preparing one day to the next. I’d complain about how tiring it was to go three different stores (within a two-mile radius): Whole Foods, Trader Joe’s, and Balducci’s–each store promising exactly what I wanted anytime I needed it. These days it’s different. Say for instance I want to make macaroons (which I’ve been waiting to do since I purchased the cookbook, SugarBaby). I have to special order almond flour, or any other ingredients that I cannot find in the grocery stores in Amman in anticipation of one day making them. I’m sure there are specialty food stores that may sell almond flour, but I don’t know where these stores are located, nor does anyone I ask. I have vowed that once I get home, I will appreciate the cornucopia of options that these trifecta provide.

As excited as I was to tear into the NetGrocer box, the loot didn’t look as amazing as I remembered when I ordered it (over two weeks ago). It’s actually quite a sad lot: Saltines, Hormel pepperoni (the kind I’d never buy at home), chocolate chips, Baker’s chocolate, pretezls…It’s all normal, ordinary stuff I’d buy at ANY grocery store anywhere in the states. Nonetheless, as ordinary as this stuff may seem to those of you fortunate to enough to be able to get into you car and buy whatever your heart desires at any moment of the day, I’m so happy to have these supplies for my larder if ever I decide to make chocolate the chip cookies, brownies, cornbread, or macaroons that I desired on the day I placed the order.

And lastly, thanks to my parents for answering my plea for pork products, we finally have a small selection of salamis. This contraband is SO special that it’s going under lock and key, away from Raj, and will be rationed out and saved for VERY special occasions.

Living in Amman

Pop Quiz! What Is This?

I love a good pop quiz! I love to give them, to torment students with them, and love to take them. For those of you sadists like me, or at least my sister (who I know is equally guilty), I’m challenging you to figure out what these pictures are of and how they work together. This is a two-part quiz and if you already know what it is and how it works, you are SO much smarter than me. It took me a week to get it.

Part I: This a picture of something on the floor in the bathroom, the kitchen, and the laundry room. What do these rooms have in common? What is it?

Answer: Okay, you are super smart. It’s a drain. But on the floor? Why?

Part II: What is this?

Answer: No duh, it’s a squeegee, right. Is it for windows? No! What is the relationship between the drains and the squeegee?

Put it all together and what do you get? It’s actually quite ingenious. The drain I’ll grant you is disgusting looking. When I opened it the first time, I shuddered. I’d clean it out, but we have a ‘house cleaner’ who does that (and no, I’m not trying to sound obnoxious. I’ve never had a house cleaner because we could never afford one, but here it’s so cheap, i.e. see pedicure blog, that we can’t afford not to have someone clean the house). Anyway, I’ve witnessed the magic of the marriage these two items firsthand. You wash your floor with a mop and then squeegee all of the excess water into the drain. Isn’t that smart? Who knew? Well, you probably knew, but it took me a week to figure it out. I’ll let you tally your own score on this first pop quiz. Don’t be smug is you did well. They’ll get harder.

Living in Amman

Good Things in Amman: Pedicures

I’ve been pretty negative so far. I’m going through shopping withdrawals (the only thing I’ve bought are the turquoise earrings at Jerash), I’m forced to run on a treadmill (in a lackluster gym without my own personal television attached and tuned in to The Today Show to get me through my run), I’m coping with issues of co-denpendency (from my former independent self), and I am seriously suffering from not having a yoga studio to spend ALL of my free time. Despite these issues, there was a ray of hope today found in a salon in Amman. Who knew this respite could temporarily displace my frustration?

One of Raj’s coworkers generously offered to take me to her salon for a pedicure. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it was fabulous. The salon was clean and elegant. The nail technician (is that the right word?) was professional. What was even more surprising was that these nail techs were the same nationality as those in salons all across the US. Yes, they were Asian. The best part of all, the coup de gras–the only deal I’ve found in this country–the price. It was ONLY $8 JD’s. That translates to $10.40 American money. I asked how much to tip the gal and was told $1 JD ($1.30 US–please don’t make me feel badly about this!). The last pedicure I had in Old Town Alexandria was $25 for the cheapest version, plus a $4 tip and I was rushed in and out in 25 minutes. Here I spent a leisurely hour being pampered. Given the pedicure situation, things are looking up.

Living in Amman

Shanti, the Traitor

Shanti is my miniature schnauzer. The Hindi word ‘shanti‘ means “inner peace.” Shanti is anything but calm. Call him cute, cuddly, loyal, but definitely not peaceful. Shanti is sweet if he knows you, but if not, he will bark incessantly, growl, attack, and scare you to death. How pray tell was this beast bestowed such a lovely name? It was a manipulation tactic used on Raj to get him to warm to the idea of getting a dog, something he vehemently opposed. I thought that by suggesting an ‘Indian’ name it might work to soften up Mr. I Don’t Want a Dog. Raj bit and the rest is history.

Prior to moving to Amman, Shanti was ALL mine: he followed me everywhere; he’d coo when I came home; he worshipped the ground I walked on. Raj left for Amman two months before I did with Shanti in tow. As much as I missed him (Shanti, that is), I was pleased with the arrangement because I didn’t want to fly alone with his cumbersome kennel and have to deal with all of the logistics by myself. Unfortunately for Raj, Shanti was kicked off their flight from JFK to Amman because the airline claimed his barking was so bad that “he wasn’t breathing.” (I’ve seen this bark and it is terrible, but he certainly wouldn’t die. He’d eventually get tired and sleep.) As a result, Raj and Shanti were holed up in a dive motel in Jamaica, NY for eighteen hours. Raj was NOT pleased, but as you can see in the photo, Shanti looks pretty relaxed, even happy (perhaps he had found his shanti?). They BOTH made it out the next night, worse for the wear, but together. Maybe this was the critical moment that Shanti switched teams. I’m not sure, but after two months of hanging out with Raj, he’s no longer my dog, but Raj’s. Nowadays, Shanti spends his time napping on the sofa, sunning himself on the back porch, and chasing feral cats out of his yard.

Hanging Out with the Trouble Maker in Jamaica, NY

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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