Belated Memorial Day in Normandy, God Bless America!

It was rainy and nasty this morning on the way to Utah Beach in Normandy, about 4 hours from Paris. Our tour guide prefaced our visit by saying that Utah was the good beach, while Omaha was a near disaster. That was just the tip of the iceberg.

Utah Beach Memorial

 While I had heard stories from my Dad Steve about his time in the Pacific Theater during WWII, none of that prepared me for standing on the French beaches in person. The weather on D-Day was nasty, too -- but by time we got there is was sunny and nice. And the ongoing gratitude of the French people in the surrounding towns was palpable as they prepare for June 6th, the 70th Anniversary of an Allied invasion that liberated Paris about 10 weeks later. They are our friends forever, regardless of you hear about the French.

"Their Sacrifice, Our Liberty"

I can't think of anyone I knew from Stockton who died in Normandy, though legend has it that Pete Spanos fought in France and was rescued by French nuns. As far as I'm concerned, they were all here -- every man and woman who fought for liberation from The Third Reich in World War II.

Our tour group moved from Utah Beach and the amazing museum there to Pointe du Huoc, where US Rangers had the thankless task of storming cliffs to take out 6 guns that actually had been redeployed by then.German pills boxes and bomb craters dot the landscape, and you can see for yourself the dramatic destruction of rocky cliffs by the repeated bombings -- all enduring reminders of the effects of war.

We ended our visit at the American Cemetery overlooking Omaha Beach, a killing field that magnified the sacrifice made by young, sometimes under-aged Americans who believed in their noble mission. Row upon row of Crosses and Stars of David commemorate 9,387 souls, including 45 sets of brothers. That mission is not to be confused w/the war in Vietnam or misguided adventures in Iraq and Afghanistan. This was the real deal.

All I can say is "God bless America!"

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Ghosts of Easters Past (Part III)

Hristos Anestis!

Today we celebrate Easter, most likely with our families -- and mostly likely we are remembering family members no longer with us. So I offer one more photo of past Easters: a Greek village lamb roast recreated in Yiayia Sarris's backyard at 1663 W.Alpine Street (1976 or 1977) --

Mr brother George, George's friend Adrian Arima, 
Yiayia Sarris, Nick Demas, and my Dad Steve (seen from behind)...

Does anyone make real maghiritsa anymore?

Tonight my brother Bill and I will make our annual pilgrimage to the Annunciation Greek Orthodox Church in North Miami, a place that harkens me back to small-town Greece. After the liturgy, those who have stayed till the end will be rewarded with a welcoming Easter feast of the traditional maghiritsa soup, tsoureki, red eggs, feta, olives and some wine as we repeat the "Hristos Anesti" -- and I am looking forward to it. 

It will be very tasty maghiritsa, I can vouch for that -- but not maghiritsa made with lamb intestines (think kokoretsi!)  It's not so easy to procure lamb intestines these days, so most people use liver and heart along with some lamb meat.  The rest is the same: 4-5 bunches of green onions, 2 bunches of dill, a little rice and the makings for avgholemono soup.  Tasty, just not the real thing.

Growing up in Stockton, I never ate the maghiritsa that my Yiayia Sarris prepared, primarily because it smelled to high heaven while she was cooking it -- not unlike her patsa (tripe), which I did not eat or cook until recently after eating menudo in Mexico.  That's yet another story...

But when living in Greece (1968-78), I learned to never ever turn down food offered in anyone's home, especially in Greek villages. The first time I ate maghiritsa was in Ouranoupolis, Halkidhikis -- in a Byzantine tower inhabited by Joyce Loch, a legendary figure in those parts. The amazing Kyria Fani did all her cooking. Meals were served in a monk-like refectory, often accompanied by a bunch of gray cats that hovered nearby or even on the bench next to Joyce at the head of the table. One night, I came face-to-face with a dish of maghiritsa. It was (thankfully) fabulous, and I was hooked. 

My friend Vouli taught me the ropes, literally and figuratively. The intestines must be washed separately in lukewarm water using salt and lemon; then they are turned inside out on a pencil and washed again before blanching as you have done the other offals.  Make sure to get rid of that pencil!

The rest is easy: cut the intestines and offals into small pieces, saute the onions in butter, add the innards and some dill, simmer for a couple of hours in the water you boiled the meat in, add more dill and a little rice, finish off with the avgholemeno -- and you have a winner!

Kali Anastasi! But does anyone make real maghiritsa any more?

Ghosts of Easters Past (Part II)

Preparations for Easter are moving forward...Today we dye the red eggs, and tomorrow the Epitaphion is front-and-center along with the poignant Hymns of Lamentation. When I was a child, there was nothing more thrilling and mysterious than bringing the Epitaphion onto Stanislaus Street on Good Friday night. Police cars blocked traffic and people watched from their front porches, as we marched along with candles that might blow out or drip all over our hands and clothes if we weren't careful. (In later years we walked around the parking lot, which wasn't quite as exciting. Happy to report that here in Miami they still walk around the block!)

My Mom Angeline on right, along with Lefty Fotinos

For several generations, the dedicated women of St. Basil's Philoptochos have decorated the Epitaphion with flowers for Good Friday Services -- so today I am thinking about women who are no longer with us (with the help of more pictures from the photo albums located in the Fireside Room)...and also about the friends and relatives at church today and tomorrow who are carrying on those beautiful traditions. Wish I was there, too...

My Yiayias Sarris and Xanttopulos (in the 70's?)

Listening now to Αι Γενεαί Πάσαι  on YouTube and watching a 2005 Good Friday service from I.N. Μεταμορφώσεως Μοσχατου (2005) in Athens...and I can smell the incense. Tomorrow the real thing!

Ghosts of Easters Past (Part I)

Looking through the family photo collection at a series of pictures from 1937, I continue to wonder where exactly they were taken. As my grandfather Xanthoulis Xanthopoulos is in the picture, I must surmise that the place is a "farm" that the Xanthopoulos family lived on for a short period. They had a horse named "Rosie" and sold fruit somewhere. Angelo Mitchell thinks it was out on Mariposa Road. Would like to be sure of the location one day. Any thoughts out there? In any case, it is obviously Easter.

Left to right: Xanthoulis Xanthopoulos, Mrs. Lukas, my Yiayia Sarris,
Father Mandilaris, 2 unknown men, Mr. Likouri, Chris Huntalas, my Dad Steve,
and his Uncle Tony Gust. Kneeling w/the lamb is my Papou Sarris.

Thea Faith, Yiayia Xanttopulos, Mrs. Loukas, Eleni Huntalas, and Yiayia Sarris