The Art of Nation Building or How I learned to Stop Thinking and Trust The Nanc

It's that time of every few years where we set up the one and only: Pappas Family Christmas Village! It's kind of a big deal... well in certain circles (ie: our house). Apparently i agreed to this earlier in the week but have no memory of it and therefore was not mentally prepared. It is a picturesque day for it though.

I've mentioned and even shown complete pictures of this majesty in previous posts, but this year you'll have the "pleasure" of going through it's recreation step by step. 

According to my mom DPL and i have an arrangement from our youth that stipulates she will get the village and I will get the trains. This is okay with me on account of I don't like owning things and also putting up the village is a real bitch. Also Scotty loves Christmas more then, like, anyone on the planet so it makes sense that she would have the opportunity to truly deck the halls every year in village form. In which case she should probably just take the trains too cause what's a village without a train?

Step 1: lug a ton of boxes up from the basement.

All the Tupperware you see in this photo doesn't even begin to cover it. Also don't be fooled by this picture!

All this + four boxes we didn't realize were missing until halfway through the set up. Then we had to go search for them in the nasty poop crawl space you can sort of see in the back of the basement picture. Also this is all only village stuff, no ornaments or light or anything else. 

This is the primary reason we have to make a conscious decision to village. And by "we" i mean Nanc decides then enlists me when i'm oBviously distracted with something else and answer something probably along the lines of, "Sure, whatever you want," in an effort to be left alone.  

The real reason is because her 18 month old Granddaughter is coming for Christmas and she wants to fill her with memories she won't remember. This is also why we've raised the village to waist height and installed door locks on all the lower cabinets in the kitchen. The picture will be adorable. 

Step 2: Clear a space.

Originally we were going to clear off the mantle and piano, but Nanc decided she wants to get the piano tuned so DPL can play it while she's home. I don't think DPL has played the piano in years and is likely not aware/prepared for this. I'm pretty sure she reads this blog though and should consider herself warned. 

I was also Okay with this on account of being morally against taking down any glamour shots of myself or DPL. The people must not be denied! 

We went with the corner. 

 

At this point Nanc decides we should push the long couch against the far wall and starts to sort of hip-check the side of it before I point out that the wall she's trying to push it too has about 10 boxes in front of it. We agreed to move it later. 

Step 3: Set up a base.

So we staple blue sheets to a wall and set up these collapsable tables and this is when the inevitable bickering begins. Nanc starts to cover the tables but not drape the white in front so you can see under them. Then i say something and she's like, "I'm not done yet!" and "there's limited sheets!" So I go to the closet and bring back some white sheets to which she replies, "Not my good white king sheets, what are you nuts?" or something along those lines. So I shut up and start the other table with the limited 'village approved' sheets. Then she starts telling me how to do it and i'm like, "You do your table, I'll do mine." And we both seem to agree that that's acceptable. At this point Phil comes in and asks, "Who's prom are we re-creating?"

It is kind of "Starry Night Banquet Hall." We actually talked about getting stars to hang on the blue sheet. This gives me the opportunity to sneak off to the kitchen are remember my motto, "Chill out and have a La Croix." When I come back Phil looks at me and asks, "Do you need a bourbon chaser?" and I politely decline saying, "No thanks, I think I need my wits about me for this," also it's 1pm. Mine's the table on the right.

Around this point I remind Nanc that I'm writing a blog and that she should feel free to take pictures of our process, which I realized later means she will only be taking pictures of me in awkward positions. So I was like, "Whatever... I just won't use them." And she said, "Oh, you'll use some of them or I'll post them all on your facebook page." So I was like, well at least there's no plumbers crack in this one:

and she said, "Oh there is, if you zoom in properly." Please don't. 

So now it's time for the train, of which i've prepared an epic pattern of two trains interweaving threw each other with figure 8's and...

the tracks don't fit on the table, which results in a new design layout and also the Christmas Tree going in the other room. 

So we put the tables parallel to each other allowing for exactly one pattern where the train tracks fit. For reasons I don't understand we left the outermost table the one that doesn't have the sheet going to the floor but honestly whatever.

It is apparently at this point I got so captivated by the village that I forgot to take pictures. So we decide to put the longer of the small tables on top of this new platform to give it some height. This requires covering it in satin which we should have done on the floor:

clearly. Hopefully this covers the photography blackmail demand. So then Nanc decides it's just not maximizing our space enough and we need to put another smaller table on top of that one which is oBviously a prime location for a ski slope. Throughout this whole process Nanc has been sporadically ironing satin in another room, something that i've failed to mention, but is an integral part of this story. So while one of these ironing events is happing I take it upon myself to start setting up the top most layer of the tri-table tournament. I think this makes sense because it's probably best if my 69 year old mother doesn't attempt to balance on two collapsable plastic tables. I'm doing just this when Nanc comes back and says, "I'm going to have to override you on this one Chris." And I say, "My name's not Chris." Suddenly I have a pretty good idea of what it's like growing up with Nanc as your older sister. But i guess we know who wears the pants in this village. This conversation follows:

Mom: I don't like the ski slope coming around the side like that, let's move it here.

Me: But then there's this weird space gap between the hill and under the table.

Mom: We can put a house there.

Me: I'm pretty sure you can't see through a hill, plus the ski slope now ends on a cliff.

Mom: We can fill in the gap with powdered snow.

Me: Why would there be powdered snow floating above a house.

Mom: It'll be fine.

At I just let Mayor Nanc do her thing. So we get the slope set up.

Mom: Why don't we put the brewery between the two slopes? That way if you need a break from skiing you can stop and have a beer.

Me: Sounds good, sign me up.

Mom: Then we can put the kids building snowmen over here. Then you can say, "Hey kids why don't you go build a snowman?" and they'll give you some peace while you finish your drink.

Nanc is full of parenting gold. Finally we finish the upper tables and i'm like, "Grab me the figures that go with these houses," and Nanc is like, "No, I don't want to put up any figures until the end, they're too fragile." So then I'm like, "Yeah, but we're not going to touch these two levels again and I won't be able to stand on the table when we get the bottom set up." And she says, "No, I don't want to put any figures on until the whole things done. We can use a step stool." And I don't care anymore. So we're here:

Do you see them?!?

She put up two figures! And in the most accessible place! No comment. Also at some point Phil has started watching a football game in the next room and is yelling to us what is happening for reasons neither of us understands. He apparently thinks we suddenly care about football. We don't. 

So at this point I think we both agree that we've had enough of each other  we're tired. So Nanc says she'll finish tomorrow with our neighbor and I have never been so happy to have to work on a Sunday. Then she says, "Oh, look at the ski slope! It leads to nowhere! Oh well, I'll just put up a fence or something. 'Ski at your own risk!'"

5 hours and a case of seltzer later and we're here:

To be continued.

Just Navajo it!

  So I was reading this book about how androids take over the planet and start mass murdering humans but a small group of survivors is able to overpower them, reinstating the US government and interweaving it with Lakota beliefs and rituals when i discovered this mysterious bread.

Apparently it can be both sweet and savory, which to me is even more impressive then a small group of humans taking out thousands of non-sentient robots.

 There are a ton of recipes for fry bread but i choose this one for no specific reason. There are various styles for different nations which you can find recipes for at the Manataka American Indian Council.  I thought Indian was politically incorrect but apparently many indigenous Americans don't care too much according to Indian Country Today and some other articles. Anyway political correctness can be ridiculous, but also you don't want to unintentionally offend anyone which is the catch 22 of modern times. One work around is to just consciously be offensive... though i guess then you'd still have to be aware of what's politically correct so you're not  accidentally not offensive.  It really is a conundrum.

Basically you mix the dough then you roll it out then you fry it. The recipe i used called for 3 cups of water but that was way too much and i only used two.

Make sure the oil's hot enough, whoops.

Much better. Tada:

 I mad some sweet (Shaking them in a bag with cinnamon and sugar:

These are delicious and taste a little like funnel cake. I left more plain because i'm a savory person.

I asked Phil and Nanc if they wanted a sandwich and Phil was all, "I'm going to lunch with Steve," and Nanc was like sure. We had some leftover chicken so I microwaved some bacon and made a California Club with Guac:

 I wrapped it in parchment because this is special. Then Nanc was taking her sweet time cleaning something and not eating it hot so Phil came by and was like, "Where'd you get that from?" And I said, "I made it." And he took a big bite and said, "What the hell are you doing making a sandwich like this when i'm going out to lunch?" so I said, "Don't worry, i'm making dinner."

When you search for fry bread recipes "Navajo Tacos" are often mentioned. So i was like, "Well that sounds delicious, I wonder what kind of spices they use?" But it's just a regular beef taco with fry bread as the shell, which was a little disappointing but also sounds delicious. So I asked Phil if we had any ground beef and he said, "Of course." But then when it was time to make dinner we only had four beef patties from Omaha Steaks.  I figured we should probably use them for burgers and not taco seasoning because it's high quality meat which resulted in "Navajo Cheeseburgers" because now anything wrapped in fry bread is Navajo. 

I wanted to heat up the bread so I broiled it with some shredded cheddar on top.  Then I caramelized some red onions because this is special.

 

I made the burgers like the Smitten Kitchen Fakeshake ones where you freeze them a little them smash them onto the hot pan. And finally lettuce, ketchup, and kiwpie mayo (that tastes like McDonalds).

 They were overall successful. So was the Navajo omelette I made this morning. Phil already asked me how to recreate that sandwich because he wants to make one "for Popou." Which i think means "for Phil" but what do I know? I'm not part of a small group of humans that take back the US from killer androids. Anyway that bread only lasted us like a day due to it's deliciousness which is probably good because it's fried bread and you shouldn't eat it at every meal. But know if you do it is a delight.

χαρούμενα γενέθλια

This title of this post is "Happy Birthday" in greek (according to Google), because Nov 1st was Popou's 98th (but really 97th) birthday! Congratulations Popou!!

So oBviously we took him out to dinner to celebrate. The conversations began with me and my dad.

Me: "Is the World Series Over?"
Phil: "What?"
Me: "The World Series. Are there any Games left?"
Phil: "Games?"
Waitress: "I think there's the last game tonight."
Me: "Oh, thanks."
Phil: "Oh, I thought you said games! Yes, tonight it the last game."

So clearly we got lost in plural-ity.
Regardless **Spoiler Alert** Houston won, so... Go Sports!!

This is what Popou had to say:



...which is clearly the correct response. Sadly that's the only pic I got of him because i'm an asshole was too busy eating.

So then on the way home we had this conversation:

Me: Hey Popou?
Popou: Yeah?
Me: You know how bean soup is fasaláda?
Popou: Yeah?
Me: So what does saláta mean?
Popou: salad.
Me: No, I get that, but like taramasaláta is a fish dip.
Popou: Yeah.
Me: So, like... *silence* what does saláta mean?
Popou: salad.
Phil: I had an aunt named vasso. So vassoláta.
Popou: There is no vassoláta. Fasaláda!!
Phil: V & F are B in greek.
Me: Okay. So like spanakópita is spinach pie, tyrópita is cheese pie, & kreatópita is meat pie.
Popou: Yeah.
Me: So what's saláta?
Popou: salad.
Me: No, but like, the suffix.
Popou: I don't know what you're talking about.
Phil: Just give up kid, we're home.

So anyway 2 days later I was craving fried chicken. This at 8pm I started making karaage. I made a marinade of Mirin(sweet saki), soy sauce(salt), sesame oil, garlic, and ginger. Then I cut up a chicken breast I found in the fridge and marinated it for 1/2 an hour (because that was the minimal time on the recipe).

*/A note on the chicken breast - it smelled bad, so i asked Phil if it was ok, and he said he had just defrosted it and decided not to use it so put it in the fridge and that it was fine. No one can be certain of the time line here so if i have food poisoning tomorrow we'll all know why #followUpPost */



Anyway so after marinating toss in corn starch. The directions said fry at 175 until if floats, but mine never floated so i took out the biggest piece and cut it in half. It wasn't pink so, done!



It was pretty good, but oBvs i should have marinated it longer because the awesome marinade that I made wasn't coming through that strongly. I happen to have a little okonomiyaki sauce on hand from a recipe i meant to blog but didn't. That and some kewpie mayo (Japanese mayo that tastes like McDonalds) and we've got a hit:




Sorry, i started eating it before i remembered to take the picture.

Well, the start of this post had nothing to do with the end, but anyway: Happy Birthday Popou!!