There is much I should be doing right now, must get done, or at least try. Instead, my mind wanders to the simpler days of my youth. Long ago summers when the whir of the mixer would sing me awake in the early morning hours and the sweet aroma of cookies baking in the oven before the day grew too hot. Company would be coming. Who would they be? Would there be another baptism in the backyard? A gathering of my grandmother’s circle of cousins? Another One Yia Yia, maybe? The club girls stopping in before a game of cards next door at my aunt’s house?
Today is one such day where the heat is back, the humidity is hovering like the memories that float in and out of my mood and I stare, like a child, into the cool refrigerator, waiting for something to magically appear to sate my sweet tooth. Something must be in there. Must.
I’ve been thinking of must, which is the first juice pressed from grapes in the winemaking process. As with most things in days gone by, nothing was wasted, including the first juices in the fermentation of wine. These juices would not make good wine, but, they could still be employed to make pudding. Moustalevria!
Only one person brought must to our house. Louie. When he made wine, he would bring my grandmother, Yia Yia, the must. She would make it into the most delectable pudding. Moustalevria. Mουσταλευριά.
Louie was married to Marika, who was my father’s first cousin. Marika (a derivation of the name Mary) had immigrated to the United States as a young woman of about 18 years old. Her marriage to Louie was arranged, as the story goes, at the baptism of my Aunt Christina, my father’s sister. Marika and Louie were quite a handsome couple and I loved it when they came over. They spoke two languages, fluently, and there was an “air” about them that for some reason seemed magical to me.
Of course, part of the magic was the silver dollars Louie gave us every time he came for a visti. What treasures they were to receive. I loved to play with them and marvel at their feel in my hand and of my good fortune.
The real treat, however was the bottle with must. It would be boiled with flour and spices until it grew thick, then, it would be places in a large, shallow soup bowl and put into the refrigerator to set.
I can still taste it; sweet, smooth and gelatinous.
I would open the refrigerator, when no one was looking, and stare, as if the pudding could do tricks in the cold. I would keep checking the moustalevria until someone, an adult, finally took a sliver of the pudding. Then, I would cut a piece with a butter knife, once, then twice, creating a wedge, ever-so-thin, slide the knife underneath, then I would slip carefully out of the dish, close my eyes, place it in my mouth and savor it. The problem was that, as with many sweet things, I would not be able to stop at one slice. I would sneak one more, then another, sometimes walking away, only to come back again and again, until Yia Yia would ask who had been into the pudding. Somehow, she always knew it was me, and I would be told I had to stop eating it, or I would get sick, until my mother or father would speak to me, in no-uncertain-terms, and Yia Yia would tell them to leave me alone! My great defender . . .
. . . and now I really must try my hand at making some.
Did you ever sneak something to eat as a child?
Image and recipe. I understand grape juice can be substituted for the must.
What a delightful piece of writing this is, Penny. So full of tastes and nostalgia. I love the bit about the pudding doing tricks in the fridge, and the way you would sneak the tiniest of slices and then not be able to stop! It reminds me of digging my fingers into warm bread after being sent to the bakery on a Saturday morning.
What rich memories you have.
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Thank you, Juliet – and what a tasty, warm memory you have, with your fingers digging into the warm bread on a Saturday morning. Do you ever want to do that now? My dear friend, Juanita, and I did just that one afternoon, rushing to get one last thing for a gathering. The bread was fresh and we, well, we “tore” into it, like young girls. Sadly, Juanita passed away a few years later, but, she gave me moments like this to remember her by, and now, so have you.
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I always wanted to sneak a taste of lemon meringue pie. Just the meringue…it looked so good. I had tasted it before and knew in my head that meringue alone didn’t taste like much, but, my eyes didn’t agree with my head. I really, really, really wanted to try its fluffy goodness, but never could figure out how to disguise the evidence. It was really hard, especially when the pie was destined for a church supper or PTA.
I checked out the recipe and your Must looks delicious, interesting and very Greek. Let us know how it turns out if you make some. Fun post.
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Oooo – that’s like dipping into a cloud. There HAS to be a way to slip a knife under the meringue without compromising the lemon, but, then, I would want the lemon even more and there the pie would be, at the PTA, with the insides partly gone. That’s a sweet sneak if there ever was one, Janet.
I will let you all know if I give it a try. My chances of getting some must are slim, but, I may try it with grape juice, which I remember Yia Yia using one of the last times she made it.
Thank you, Janet.
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PS I never knew that word ‘must’, for the first juice from the grapes. So interesting.
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It is, isn’t it, Juliet. I really admire how our forebearers used everything, down to the last drop, in their daily lives.
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Wonderful, evocative writing, Penny, and a lovely memory for all the senses. When I first saw the title, grape must – or musto, here in Spain – was the first thing that came to my mind. Here, it’s what children drink when their parents are at the bar…or it was until Cola and Fanta took over! I love the idea of creating a dessert/sweet with it.We have a huge amount of grapes this year – I might give it a go!
As for my own special indulgence as a child…it was my granny’s cold rice pudding! Specially the skin, a tad burnt and dusted in nutmeg…unbeatable!
Axxx
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Do let me know if you make this, Annie – or something like it. Oh my, once your grapes are ready to harvest, you will have some stories to tell. I understand the must – musto – can be used as a sweetener for things like bread. How interesting that the musto would be a drink for children. At that point, it hasn’t yet fermented – and everyone is happy. Thank you so much for sharing that with us, and for your kind words.
Oh, yum, yum, yum – that pudding, with the skin so tempting on top, sounds irresistible, Annie.
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I have never heard of this, Penny. I love the image of you sneaking it, though. 🙂
I used to sneak and eat my mom’s boxes of Jello. Dry. It was like candy, and I’d stick the spoon in and lick off the colored sugar. I always got in trouble when she wanted to use the box of Jello I’d eaten.
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I was pretty well behaved as a child, Andra – except when it came to sneaking food. tee hee
Oh, that is so funny; you, your spoon, and boxes of Jello. Growing up, we had some candy that came in a straw and you sucked out the colored sugar contents. If only we’d known to just use a spoon.
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Penny, how incredibly evocative this writing is! I find myself wishing, as I have before, that you might emulate your dear Laura Ingalls Wilder, and write these stories down in a book. This has just the quality of those pages which chronicle Laura’s early life; I always, when you write about Yia Yia, find myself yearning for more of those stories; a childhood from another starting point from mine. Just fascinating, and endearing. Thank you.
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Kate, you have me appreciatively blushing at your kind words. Thank you so much. Someday, perhaps . . . Yia Yia was the center of everything in our family and I was fortunate to have her in my life as I was growing up. Thank you, Kate.
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Beautiful story…I can see you as a child returning again and again to sample that delectable pudding (and it does sound good, so good!). My little brother and I used to love to ‘help’ bake cookies, adding ingredients, licking the bowl…. so one morning we decided we wanted to taste some vanilla…..it smelled so good when we were adding it to the batter….. We sneaked back into the cupboard and …. ( I was lucky because he was quicker to get it to his mouth so I learned my lesson the easy way. But mother was unhappy with both of us!)
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Oh, Sallie, I couldn’t help but giggle, imagining the look on your brother’s face and yours upon seeing it. I wonder how many children have gotten into the vanilla in childhood. I still lick the bowl, tee hee.
Thanks, Sallie.
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Penny, what a wonderful memory you’ve shared here, and so beautifully written. I felt like I was right there in the middle of your family, or in the middle of your kitchen watching you sneak small slivers of this beautiful Must. 🙂 I read the recipe and it is definitely rich and unusual. I wold love to try it. I hate to admit how often I went into the refrigerator to take a taste of something, only to return again and again. I definitely had a hard time keeping away from my grandmother’s shortbread. I still have a hard time. I break off a piece, and walk away, only to return again and again. In your story I relate very closely to the excitement of being together with extended family and some of the “characters” who really did color my color our childhoods. I so enjoyed reading about yours, Penny. 🙂
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Thank you, Debra.
Isn’t it an easy recipe, though, I’ll admit, unusual? I imagine those who make wine have there own stories of other must uses – we Greeks have moustalevria! I may try making it one day soon using grape juice. Then, I’ll put it in the fridge and sneak slices, just to remember being young. (Calories won’t count)
Oooo, that shortbread sounds dangerous. When I make shortbread, I cut it into small pieces, with the expectation that one small piece won’t hurt. Ha!
I’d love to hear more about the “characters” of your childhood, Debra. It is fun to look back, isn’t it, and see now how they shaped our lives.
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Ah, Penny, you bring back such great memories of family. I remember feeling the same way about Louie and Marika, such warm, caring people. I can’t say I share your love of moustalevria…that’s an acquired taste. However, I remember your Yiayia’s “finger” cookies, which was what we called them back in the day…now we know them as floyeres. Such delicate and absolutely delicious dainty treats, hard to stop at one! Mom used to bring them home and HIDE them so that sneaky little fingers wouldn’t eat them all at one time.
They were the best treat ever!
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I’m so pleased to hear that, Pam. Thank you.
Funny thing. I sometimes forget my own phone number, but, I still remember Louis and Marika’s, which began with “Ambassador”. I dialed it so many times for Yia Yia, I guess it stuck in my memory. Warm, caring people is a perfect way to describe them. Our lives were richer for having them in it.
We called them “paper cookies”. You were the one who gave me the proper name for them just a few years ago. Floyeres, paper, or finger, my grandmother’s really were the best. I’m smiling, imagining those “sneaky, little fingers” getting into them. If memory serves me correctly, it was right at this time of year that Yia Yia would make them, in all that heat, in anticipation of the 15th.
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May her memory be eternal.
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That sounds wonderful! When i was about three i used to wake up in the early hours of the morning and sneak up to the kitchen and grab the bag of chocolate chips reserved for baking and sit on the stairs and eat them. My Mum could never understand where all the chocolate chips used to go until one day she got up and found me on the stairs. Since that day we never had chocolate chips in our pantry – she only ever bought them if they were to be used that day. That lasted even until i was an adult!
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What a wonderful story of your early morning chocolate chip raids, Mrs. Gillies. I’ve found a few bags less that full and thought we had mice. Hm? Maybe mice in the form of daughters raiding the cupboards. Thank you for sharing this here.
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Haha! It must be a common occurrence. I hope i haven’t blown their cover 😉
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I really love these memories of your childhood, Penny. I now have a wonderful image of you as a fridge-raider, snatching slices of pudding. 🙂 I’m sure I must have done the same as a child, but don’t remember clearly. However I DO remember DS as a child sneaking a finger-swipe of icing from the newly-iced Christmas cake and filling the gap with toothpaste! He did it so skilfully that his crime wasn’t discovered until Christmas Day when someone had a rather odd-tasting slice of cake….. 🙂
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Oh, Perpetua, what a funny remembrance of your son. I can only imagine the taste sensation, on Christmas Day, no less, of the poor soul who received that toothpaste laden slice. How clever of him to try to cover up his sneak.
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I always enjoy your posts about your family and this was no exception Penny! The Moustalevria sounds heavenly and I’m impressed that you were able to type it in Greek too! I love Zabaglione, the Italian custard made with Marsala wine, and I can imagine that same combination of sweetness and wine in Moustalevria, even though I’ve never tasted it.
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Thank you, Janet. (I’m so thrilled that you’ve stopped by – and so early in the morning). I cut and pasted the word in Greek from the web. Ooo. I haven’t had Zabaglione in a long, long time. Now, it is you making me hungry.
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