One of my favorite things to eat for Thanksgiving and Christmas is the classic green bean casserole. My first batch was when I was fresh out of college and with canned green beans. Luckily, my cooking skills have matured since then and I’ve adapted that classic cream-of-mushroom soup recipe to the cream-of-mushroom-soup-less country. I’ve made it with fresh fried onions in the past, but the essence of this dish is simplicity, so you can jazz it up if you’d like – but I think this version gives you the balance of fresh and fast. I like using haricot verts, the
October 30th, 5:23 p.m. Antwerp, Belgium My daughter and I are on our way to the grocery store in our car. The Belgian radio is on and as usual, I’m catching pieces of the news report. Cosette is in the backseat, listening as well. She interprets most of what she hears, which is more than my quarter. “What are they saying, Cosette?” I ask and she confirms what I had expected. “Belgium is going into lock-down again. Well, kinda . . .” A tram passes, I maneuver my car behind it to head to Deurne’s new Jumbo. I had
It’s been a wild week! Before last Monday, our television wasn’t even hooked up basic cable. On the eve of the election, my husband snaked chords across our living room floor to connect us to CNN and other news channels – the BBC, Antwerp ATV, and others. Unlike U.S. sports, which we often miss in the wee hours of the morning, the U.S. news stations were covering the election 24-hours a day. “Vinny,” I said on Thursday morning as I sipped my coffee and checked the clock, “They look great. . . how is that even possible?” My eyes darted
An American Abroad. . . Election Day 2020 Years ago, during the plane’s descent onto a runway surrounded by South African grasslands my friend turned to me and said, “Quick. What is your opinion of Bush?” We’d been traversing the globe for 24-hours. We were jet-lagged and dirty and all I could think about what how I wanted to get off the plane to sleep, shower, and eat decent non-airplane food. This was hardly the time for a political discussion. “What? Bush? What about him? I have no opinion,” I told her as I gripped the armrests with white knuckles.