St. Nicholas, a.k.a. Santa Claus or Gaghant Baba, is gone with the wind back to the North Pole, his mission fulfilled for another year. Like many of us, he is catching his breath from the hectic holiday season—watching Turner Classic Movies, his feet up on a footstool, with his ample physique resting on his big comfy recliner, remote in hand.
He is polishing off the remaining pieces of paklava and kurabia. Mrs. Gaghant Baba tucks a napkin under his chin as she brushes beureg crumbs from his white beard. She quietly removes the homemade bottle of raki, Santa’s only bad habit she is unable to break. He says it makes him sleep better after a long ride over the clouds and through the stars on Christmas Eve. A little snort now and then stimulates the ol’ ticker.
The reindeer are outside, roaming free on the tundra unleashed from the famous Santa Sleigh, munching on lichen and excess doggie milk bones.
Mrs. Santa wakes her rotund hubby to remind him his job is not yet over.
“What?” he yells. “Armenian Christmas? You mean I have to saddle up all over again on January 5th and fly throughout the diaspora and Armenia distributing gifts to good little boys and girls? Why can’t they conform?”
“Yes, my dear, I am afraid so. You cannot let down the faithful Armenians. After all, they are sticking to their religious beliefs and that is what Christmas is all about, isn’t it? They are traditionally minded people who will always remember the birth of Christ being on Jan. 6. They are an old-world people and remember, they were the first to accept Christianity as their state religion. Thank them for giving you employment.”
“Yes, yes, I know all that, but maybe I am getting too old for this job. I guess I just forgot, not that I wanted to. I’ll be ready to take Raffi the remote car he requested, and Takouhi the talking dolly. Hagop wants a paint set, and Dirouhi wants Armenian history books. Stepan wants a BlackBerry because he is electronically astute. Did you notice how many An’s and Dikrans are on the list? These people have no sense of imagination.”
“Now, now, Santa remember your Armenian history. Ani was the ancient Armenian capital and therefore holds a place of historical prominence for them. You can’t deny them that. They are a people who are hanging onto their culture tightly with both hands. You have to understand history has not been kind to them. They have taken beatings from everyone who ever crossed into their country, but the Armenians have survived.’
“The Turks tried to exterminate every one of them with a genocide but failed. The problem is the Turks keep denying it, even though historical truth is not on their side. Remember to put coal in their stockings and a copy of one of Rev. Dr. Vahan Tootikian’s books on how to be better, truthful citizens of the world.”
Gaghant Baba acknowledges her by saying, “but in a few days it will be January 5th, and look down there, look at those Armenian women in the kitchen scurrying around still rolling out big round sheets of dough, making katah. Wasn’t it enough they spent hours making manti and anoush abour? All those little pieces of dough cut from the large piece of khmor (dough) and then a dab of hamburger placed in the middle crimping the ends together making them look like boats? Everything they make is labor intensive but delicious.”
“I thought I would laugh my head off the first time I saw Serpouhie stringing walnut halves onto a long string and then dipping them like candles in a tallow-like mixture of grape juice mixed with apricot juice, corn starch, and sugar. Do you know what she did next? Her husband had to rig up two ladders eight feet apart with a wire across them to hang those confounded roejiks till they dried. I must say I enjoyed the pieces she left me last year when I came down the chimney. I got a little tired of eating Digin Almast’s chor (dry) cheureg. Someone has got to teach that woman how to bake! Maybe we can get Tom Poladian to teach her the secrets he learned at the baking sessions in the St. Sarkis Ladies Guild kitchen.”
“By the way,” Gaghant Baba says to his wife, “I put an Armenian cookbook in your koulba (stocking) so start brushing up on your technique.”
“And what about that spicy beef they call basterma? George Krikorian left some for me instead of milk and cookies and I had to drink a Budweiser to put out the fire in my mouth. It is great going down but it takes three days of showering to rid your pores of the unusual odor that emanates from eating it. But you know, that stuff is addictive. We need to buy some for ourselves. I hear it is delicious fried up with eggs.”
She counters, “No, no, the Armenian word is aboukhd not basterma, and it is made with lots of garlic, cumin, and other spices.”
“Those loonies all compare notes as to who makes the best aboukhd and what store to buy it in. I have special connections and will make sure I get the best,” he says.
“The best? Well, that was the bastermadji from Highland Park, Mich. His name was Vahram Boladian. He’s in heaven now but makes up special orders for Detroit industrialist Alex Manoogian and Catholicos Karekin.”
Mrs. Claus says, “You know how the Armenians like to eat bread? Well, Lord have mercy, the Dearborn bakeries will have a field day baking an ample supply of pita for them. So, dear, get some well-earned rest for the next few days before you have to rise to the occasion of Orthodox Christmas.”
Armenians were in church on Jan. 5 for their Christmas Eve and also the next day for Badarak. It was followed by a kebab and pilaf luncheon sponsored by their Ladies Guild.
Like Tiny Tim said, “God bless us every one.”
Betty Apigian-Kessel
Latest posts by Betty Apigian-Kessel (see all)
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