Happy Mini Pecan Pie Day!

It's Mini Pecan Pie Day here at my house, and to celebrate, I thought I'd share the fruits of my labor on this here blog.

It all started on Sunday, when I was still lingering under the distinct impression that I loathed pecan pie. I stumbled upon these teensy weensy adorable little bitty bite sized pies that are fondly known as "pecan tassies". Maybe it was their minute stature, maybe I'm just a little crazy, but I decided that I must have these pies.
As a result, I have been ruminating on tassies, tassies, and nothing but tassies for FOUR WHOLE DAYS until I finally broke down and made these suckers this afternoon.

And they. were. fantastic. The crusty burnt taste that plagues full-sized pecan pies? GONE. The measly crust to filling ratio that leaves the middle of the pie an over-sweetened gooey mess? GONE. I wish the photos could do this recipe justice.

Deliciousness, thy name is tassie.

Gooey Pecan Tassie Recipe from Penny Eisenberg
(As any tassie aficionado knows, my pies are clearly no tassies. Compared to the bite sized tassies, my mini-pies are practically behemoths. Here at Grant Ave, we are sorely lacking in bakeware so I had to improvise by making these in muffin tins.)

Other than baked goods, things are finally starting to relax around here. The last of our houseguests have left us, and as fun as it was having a month-long slumber party, a still house is a nice change. It has also allowed us to watch the following video an absurd number of times and sing our own renditions of Total Eclipse of the Heart entirely too loudly for the comfort and sanity of our neighbors.

And with that, I leave you with the worlds most addictive video:

d

Getting this over with

Hands down, no questions asked, 100% my least favorite part about blogging is the very first post (especially after a failed attempt at blogging, you know, like three years ago). So I’m just going to get it out of the way.

Tada! Excuse to not blog? GONE.

Egypt

Written last week and a little delayed, but it is the thought that counts:


I've officially been in Egypt a week and it is hard to believe that one can actually manage to do this many things in such a short period of time. Of course, absolutely no sightseeing has occurred considering it is typically around 104 degrees during the day and even after dark the temperature will remain in the 90's. Everything they say about the heat and the pollution in Cairo is true.

Of course, many things people have warned me about don't really seem to be particularly true. My roommates and I get fairly little harassment when we're dressed appropriately. The call to prayer is hardly a three a.m. wake-up call. Cab drivers only try to rip you off a third of the time and as long as you know the correct fare, you're typically good to go. The city is surprisingly cleaner than I expected and usually not that smelly. I was warned that Cairo would be the filthiest city I'd ever seen, but Tanger wins hands down in the stinkiest city competition. All in all, Cairo has been a nice surprise.

Our apartment is located on Zamalek, one of the two islands in the middle of the Nile. The island is genuinely a paradise compared to the busy streets of downtown where the school is located. The streets are lined with trees, making the pollution and the heat nearly bearable at midday, dispite being only minutes away from the bustle in downtown. Wearing teeshirts and calf bearing skirts is common and sometimes we'll even see a tank top or two. There are plenty of decent restaurants (by Cairene standards) nearby and all in all is a pretty ritzy part of town (also by Cairene standards). There are drawbacks to our idyllic location. We live on an island of expats and embassy officials and many Cairenes can't afford to live here. It feels a lot more Manhattan than Middle Eastern. However, I have to say after fearing for my life every time I cross the traffic at Tahir Square in downtown, our relatively quiet little Island is a wonderful place to come home.

So far, Cairo seems fairly livable compared to Tanger and Tunis. However, I think I just have a special place in my heart for the metropolis. 15 million people may mean pollution, overcrowdedness, and perpetual honking of horns but 15 million people also means sushi, wifi, and grocery stores. Nothing is quite like home, but the little things of convenience and consumerism make the transition a far more pleasant experience.

This weekend the international students have a mandatory study abroad orientation at a Red Sea resort. The schedule mostly calls for "fun and sun" or "breakfast/lunch/dinner" making the "mandatory" part of the orientation pretty redundant. After that, classes start up. I am only allowed to take 5 classes and I think it will be a relief after the scholastic rigor of the past year. I'm registered for Modern Standard Arabic, Egyptian Colloquial Arabic, Macroeconomics, International Relations, and a seminar on Modern Political Islam. All in all, things seem like they will all work out just fine.

Well, it has been a long few days. I returned from Marrakech on Monday morning and promptly got sick, leaving me pretty much stuck in bed, moaning and moping, eating exclusively applesauce and rice. My trip, however, was wonderful. I tried to burn a CD to upload some photos, but as always I'm having technical difficulties. Good news on the school front. I am not failing and things aren't so bad.

Anyway, here's an excerpt from the Arabic notebook/makeshift journal:

"It is the second day of our midprogram break. My roommate Sarah and I are in a small Berber village called Aremdt, located in the High Atlas about an hour outside of Marrakech. We took the night train from Tanger to Marrakech on Wednesday night and arrived the next morning at nine. We spent a miserably hot day traisping around in 98 degree weather but things perked up after a long siesta and a short drop in temperature. Marrakech seems a little bland until the sun sets when dozens of small stalls open up in the main plaza, frying fish and serving them on long cafeteria-style tables. Street performers and drummers join the snake charmers and orange juice vendors and the once-sparsely populate square fills with people. We slept that night on the terrace of Hotel Ali (essentially a finished roof and the only spot to find a cool breeze) from which we could see the entire plaza and the Koutoubia lit up on the skyline. from our mats.

The next day, Sarah and I left Marrakech and took a grand taxi into the mountains to visit Aremdt. Aremdt is a small village at 2000 m above sea level in the shadow of the highest peak in North Africa and is the location of Sarah's research site for her doctoral dissertation. In Imlil, we met her friend and research assistant, Hassan (who lives in Aremdt) and hiked up to the village. After eating Tagine and napping at his family's house, we were invited to a the second day of a traditional five-day Berber wedding ceremony.

Words really can't do the experience justice. Photos will help, but I'm not sure how to describe the peculiar feeling of being a redheaded American trying to blend in with half a village worth of Berber women and girls. Needless to say, I wasn't successful. My previous wedding experiences consisted mostly of fifteen minutes of ceremony, a few wedding mints, and a few stiff handshakes. This was nothing short of a Big To-Do. We were ushered into a room where the bride and groom were sitting, surrounded by what appeared to be every girl in the village under the age of fourteen dancing to a cassette of Berber pop music. Hassan, of course, was no where to be found, so I tried my best to look nonchalant which most likely just lo0ked like full blown social anxiety. Eventually the girls coaxed us into dancing with them, which couldn't have been any more awkward than my previous attempts to look like I wasn't there. As we danced, even more little girls came and peered in through the door, obviously eager to check out the two Americans crashing the Berber wedding.

After dancing, everyone was ushered outside where everyone had gathered for the presentation of the bridal gifts. Once more my hopeful invisibility was futile. If my hair didn't draw attention, my camera certainly did. If there is one thing middle school-aged girls love, its having their photos taken. Finally, after more dancing and singing by the older women, we finally returned to the git for the night. The village is idyllic, a welcome change from the intense heat of Marrakech and the dirtiness of Tanger. Of course, we've only been gone two days and I'm aching for a shower, clean bed, and a real toilet. But as much as Tanger has the luxuries that come with an american school, toilets, toilet paper, pingpong, landscaping, our work load keeps us perpetually in the bubble of the compound. During the week, Tanger isn't much more to us than sounds through an open window. Only the call to prayer and the city-wide cheering from the cafes during soccer matches reminds us that we're far away from home."

State of the Union

First and foremost, my access to certain websites and chat programs is limited thanks to Morocco's wonderful state-wide internet filtering system, but fortunately Blogger is ok.

I am two weeks into the Tanger program and have had very little time for extracurricular internet activity. My typical day starts at 8am with breakfast, then I have class from 9am until 1pm, an hour break for lunch, and then class again until 3pm. I typically have a one-on-one session with my teacher at 3pm and it lasts between half an hour to two hours. After dinner, usually around 7pm, I start my homework and work until midnight.

Unfortunately my Arabic class at Georgia State ended almost a semester behind every other program, which resulted in me needing to skip ahead six chapters to catch up with everyone else in my class. Typically we cover one chapter every day or two because technically each day is the equivalent of one week during a normal semester.

Thus is the life of an intensive Arabic student.

As a result of the grueling academic labor, I've seen surprisingly little of Tanger. We typically patronize one of three locales for dinner, Pizza Luxe, an unnamed sandwich shop, and McDonald's. Not surprisingly, McDonald's tastes exactly like it does back home, only the meat is halal and has no preservatives. Although we feel like typical Americans eating at the most typical American location, all the other diners are upper middle class Moroccan high schoolers, who dress up and flirt with each other on Friday nights. McDonald's is located on nothing short of prime real estate, with a big patio that overlooks the port. We typically justify our visit to Mickey D's by referencing the "amazing view" or a desire for "real ice cream" but really it is just nice to have a taste of home.

That's all the update I have time for right now, homework is calling and there is a big exam on Wednesday. Next time things will hopefully be less technical.

Testing

Testing