Some of our friends started a tradition getting together for a cultural dinner night every few months. The first meal featured fine cuisine from the exotic land of Poland, courtesy of our very own Puerto Rican/Italian Polish-speaking New Yorker.
Since Reece spent two years in Ohio, we were going to serve up fried squirrel and bacon, but no one seemed too keen on that idea.
So we decided to go Mediterranean instead. More specifically, Greek.
Because who doesn't love Greek food?
I took a shot at the Greek pizza, because pizza happens to be my favorite food (besides ice cream) and I wasn't brave enough to attempt an authentic dish. I basically just bought everything that looked Greek-ish at the Smiths on 4th South around 11 p.m. yesterday and managed to make it to my car without being stabbed.
Quite the accomplishment, if I do say so myself. The not being stabbed part, that is.
It turned out to be quite delicious, thank heavens. It was a total and complete experiment and in most cases, my experiments go south pretty fast. My green hash browns for St. Patrick's Day had both Reece and Lola running for their lives.
The ever-so-talented Camille crafted spanikopita and baklava, both sinfully sensational.
Hollie made a Greek salad with a lemon vinaigrette I could drink from a cup.
And Cindy rounded it all off with donuts covered in honey. I'm fairly sure blood was shed in the fight over the last one.
I am 100 percent sold on this cultural night idea.
I'm trying to convince Reece to fly me to Asia to research our next one.