Monday Morning Musings:
“It has been said that the myth is a public dream, dreams are private myths. Unfortunately we give our mythic side scant attention these days. As a result, a great deal escapes us and we no longer understand our own actions. So it remains important and salutary to speak not only of the rational and easily understood, but also of enigmatic things: the irrational and the ambiguous. To speak both privately and publicly.”
–Mary Zimmermann, Metamorphoses
In October, my husband and I saw Metamorphoses, Mary Zimmermann’s play, based on Ovid’s Metamorphoses. We were immersed in ancient Greek myths, which still have such relevance today. It seems we tell and retell stories, hoping that somehow we will learn. Sometimes there are happy endings, but often there are not.
Over the weekend, we watched the final Hunger Games movie, Mockingjay, Part 2, which we missed when it was in theaters. Suzanne Collins, who wrote The Hunger Games trilogy, originally came up with the idea of her book from the story of the Minotaur. In the legend, King Minos of Crete required Athens to send as tribute seven young men and seven young women to Crete to be devoured by the ferocious Minotaur, a half man, half bull, who lived in a maze called the Labyrinth. This maze was designed by that champion-designer, Daedalus. (Daedulus was locked up in tower so that he could not share his knowledge of the labyrinth’s layout. To escape, he fashioned wings coated in wax so that he and his son Icarus could fly and escape. Icarus flew too high, and the hot sun melted his wings, causing him to fall into the sea and drown.) When the third sacrifice time approached, Theseus volunteered to go to slay the beast. Mino’s daughter, Ariadne, fell in love with Theseus, and in most versions of the story, she gave him a ball of thread. With that thread he was able to retrace his steps and find the way out of the labyrinth. (Play away with all the symbolism here, all the threads, so to speak. Also, apparently, the Minotaur was the child of Mino’s wife and a bull, so he was Ariadne’s half brother. Lots of subtext here.)
Collins also took aspects of the Roman coliseums and games, present day reality TV shows, and the war in Iraq to come up with her YA novels that involve a society sometime in the future in which every year young men and women from each of twelve poor districts of Panem (roughly what is now the US) are chosen by lottery to compete in the Hunger Games. They compete in lavish, televised games for the amusement of the wealthy, capital until only one tribute remains alive. My younger daughter and I have read the three books, and had seen all the movies, except for this final one. My husband has seen the movies, and my son-in-law has seen some of the movies. In truth, Mockingjay, Part 2, was not a great movie, but it was enjoyable, and it was a perfect excuse to get together. Jennifer Lawrence embodies Katniss Everdeen, brave, fierce, and stubborn. Donald Sutherland is perfect as evil President Snow. (Here is the New York Times’s review of the movie.)
So if my daughter and her husband were going to come over to watch the movie, then we have to have food, right? So it went something like this.
What a wonderful idea, we thought,
a Hunger Games party to view the final movie.
We’ll cook together, and sip wine.
E-mails flew back and forth–
“I think I need to make pita bread,” I said,
(One of the characters is named Peeta.)
“And should we have something flaming?”
“Oh yesss!!!” she said.
“I’m excited now—and ready for this week to be over.”
“I’m excited, too!” I replied.
She decided to make hot wings “for the men.”
We discussed timing, and who should make what.
“I have two ovens, we should be able to work things, out.
Besides, we’re both good at improvising.”
And so we did.
Dancing in the kitchen to Zumba music,
while cooking and sipping wine,
our husbands worked on math in the dining room. We are nerds. Truth.
One cat oversaw the kitchen work, while the other one slept upstairs.
We decided on one large goat cheese-apple tart because I have a tart pan that needed to be used.
Baked brie with blackberries marinated in wine.
Prepared while the men’s wings cooked in one oven.
I made the pita bread and the roasted red pepper dip in advance.
So mother-daughter team made enough food for forty rather than four—
you’ll understand if you know us.
But we enjoyed every bite.
After the movie, we made a flambé, a tribute to “the girl who was on fire”: bananas cooked in brown sugar, butter, and flamed with rum. Soundtrack: “Fireball.”
We served it over homemade pineapple curd and vanilla ice cream, and sat at the kitchen table and talked of the past, present, and future. Mother and daughter danced in our seats to “Fireball.” This is how family myths are created—epic stories to retell of love and food shared. We love each other. Real or not real? Real.