Mediterranean dreams

It won’t stop raining. Too wet to go out to the garden, too wet (almost) to go for a walk up the mountain. It’s a bread day so the house is filled with the scent of loaves baking. Because I’ve been thinking about the Odyssey lately, specifically the moment when Odysseus returns to his home (in disguise), to see his old dog die on the manure heap, the faithful dog Argos who’d waited twenty years for his master to return, and because I love Telemakhos’s generosity —

Now Telemakhos

took an entire loaf and a double handful

of roast meat; then he said to the forester:

“Give these to the stranger there…” (Book Seventeen, lines 336-40, in Robert Fitzgerald’s fabulous translation)

— I’ve made some pita to have with ground lamb tonight, along with some of these ripe tomatoes, feta cheese, garden arugula in Greek oil, and maybe a glass of retsina which luckily we just happen to have in the fridge.

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