Considering the correlating role of food with romance in Agatha’s autobiography, should we be surprised that this chapter begins with happy food memories? Of course not!
They are on their honeymoon in the Balkans, and at a complete linguistic loss. “We had enormous fun with the menus there. They were written in Yugoslavian [!], and of course we had no idea what they meant. We used to point to some entry and then wait with some anxiety to see what would be delivered. Sometimes it was a colossal dish of chicken, on another occasion poached eggs in a highly seasoned white sauce, another time again a sort of super-goulash.”
Later they took a boat from Yugoslavia to Greece, which surprisingly enough had fabulous eats. “Never have I tasted such food as we had on that boat: delicious lamb, very tender, in little cutlets, succulent vegetables, rice, sumptuous sauce, and savoury things on skewers.”
Unfortunately, the honeymoon ended in alimentary disaster. Agatha had endured her share of “Gyppy Tummy, Baghdad Tummy, Teheran Tummy,” and interpreted her latest bout as a case of “Athens Tummy—but it proved to be worse than that.” Apparently the culprit was “the heads of red mullet.” (I personally wouldn’t have dared, but then I’m not the adventurer Agatha was, either.)
In the end, they were forced to part temporarily, Agatha back to England to recover, Max to resume his duties with the Woolleys. You are tempted to read this as symbolic foreshadowing, but sometimes a Bad Tummy is just a Bad Tummy. Agatha progressed from refusing “plain boiled macaroni” to forcing down “about three winding strings of it” to “having a little grated cheese on it,” though still demurring on the train dining car’s hot soup, greasy as usual.
However, she made a full recovery, and eventually returned to Ur—relieved to find her husband thrilled to see her. They picked up right where they left off. And, indeed, they were in no way put off from further adventures. The two of them traveled onward east and north, spending time in Isafahan (Persia at that time, now Iran), where evidently the only thing available to eat at the hotel was “caviare,” “very good caviare,” “enormous amounts of it,” “très frais.” And bread to eat it with. Pleas for eggs and bacon were all for nought. They could cap off yet another meal of caviare with “La Tourte, which was a large and excessively sweet kind of jam tart, heavy, but of a pleasant flavour.”
Warned of the paucity of edibles in the USSR, Agatha and Max packed accordingly in Persia. What should they bring with them? “On the whole the waiter recommended caviare. We agreed to take two enormous tins of it.” In addition they toted along “six cooked ducks… bread, a tin of biscuits, pots of jam and a pound of tea—‘for the engine,’ the waiter explained.”
Bringing along their own meals turned out to be a wise decision. Food on the boat to Baku was “quite good, though very plain, and it cost an incredible amount.” During their journey their food “held out moderately well—that is to say we got through the ducks, fortunately before they went bad, and ate some bread which grew staler and staler. We had hoped to be able to buy bread on the way, but that did not seem to be possible. We had, of course, got down to the caviare as soon as possible. Our last day brought semi-starvation because we had nothing left but the wing of a duck and two pots of pineapple marmalade. There is something rather sickly in eating a whole pot of pineapple marmalade neat, but it assuaged the pangs of hunger.”
Headed back west toward the Mediterranean, Agatha fell prey to mal de mer (a trait she inflicted on Poirot as well). It killed her appetite and, no surprise, but the Italian steward tried to cajole her into eating. “‘I bring you lovely spaghetti. Very good, very nice rich tomato sauce—you like it very much.’ ‘Oh,’ I groaned, the mere thought of hot greasy spaghetti with tomato sauce practically finishing me. He would return later. ‘I have something you like now. Vine leaves in olive oil—rolled up in olive oil with rice. Very good.’ More groans from me. He did once bring me a bowl of soup, but the inch of grease on top of it made me turn green once more.” They do like their greasy soup in eastern parts!
Stranded at Tel Kochek due to train problems, Agatha discovers only one meal to be had, the same every time: “fried eggs and tough chicken.” Worse than the lack of food was the lack of reading material. “I read the only book I had left; after that, I was reduced to thinking!” I think we can safely see in this experience the seeds of her Mary Westmacott novel Absent in the Spring. There was ever so slightly more variety in Nineveh: “hard-boiled eggs, tea, and native bread.”
The exciting travels eventually wind up and bring them back to England. But not, alas, for peace in our time, or theirs.
Super-Goulash
Of the culinary delights recorded in this chapter, I could not possibly resist the siren call of “super-goulash,” whatever that’s supposed to mean. Isn’t every goulash super?? In case this seems self-evidently untrue, let me relieve your worries. The word “goulash” has suffered cultural degradation since its migration to American English, where it seems to denote a rather horrifying casserole of ground beef, canned tomatoes, and macaroni. Confronted with such a monstrosity, by all means turn up your nose at it, Agatha-style. But across the countries of the ersatz Austro-Hungarian empire, goulash (in various spellings) means a very delicious meat stew with paprika, reminiscent of a “paprikash” but without the sour cream. Serve this one with spaetzle or other dumplings, and a side salad of sliced cucumbers dressed with a little salt, fresh dill, and red wine vinegar. You will find the whole ensemble super indeed. (And, if you also are an aficionado of this part of the world, please have a look at my memoir I Am a Brave Bridge: An American Girl’s Hilarious and Heartbreaking Year in the Fledgling Republic of Slovakia, which contains an abundance of super regional recipes! You can even pretend the story is really set in Agatha’s Herzoslovakia…)
1 Tbsp lard or butter
1¼ lbs (550 g) onions, finely chopped
1¼ lbs (550 g) pork shoulder or butt, cut in 1” (2.5 cm) cubes
2 Tbsp sweet paprika
1 tsp salt
½ tsp oregano*
½ caraway seeds
1 tsp white wine vinegar
1 c (240 mL) water
Melt the lard or butter in a large frying pan with a close-fitting lid. Add the onions and sauté gently till soft. Add the pork and stir until it loses its pinkness. Sprinkle in the paprika, salt, oregano, and caraway seeds, stir well, and let cook 1 minute. Add the vinegar and water, stir well again, cover, and simmer over low heat 45–60 minutes, until the meat is very tender and the sauce has thickened somewhat. (If it starts to stick during the cooking process, add a little more water to keep it fluid.) Serve at once, or reheat later.
*My mother, outraged, informed me that this should be marjoram, not oregano. I said marjoram is hard to find and a variety of oregano anyway. Nothin’ doin’. So, now you know. Use marjoram instead. Or use oregano but don’t tell my mom.
