Mideast Feast

If you placed lemons in the middle of a spice cake and added a dash of Italian seasonings, you’d have the smell in Becky Frye’s apartment kitchen. The scent-melange in her bowl is surprisingly a meat concoction, destined for the imported grape leaves laid out on the narrow counter. “It’s the cinnamon and allspice,” Frye explains. “They’re the main spices in most Lebanese cooking.”

Becky Frye’s maternal great-grandparents left the eastern Mediterranean country of Lebanon two generations ago to escape political uproar. While the family didn’t pass down the language, the traditional double-digit siblings and recipes survived the trip across the Atlantic. Frye has nine older brothers and sisters. Growing up in Wade and East Machias, all 10 would engulf the kitchen and dining room to help prepare the rolls and other ethnic dishes.

“We all would help out, but as we got older, me and my sister Lauri took over,” she says. Clan favorites included nut moon cookies, a kind of pecan-filled pastry, and meat rice rollups. Frye continued her education in cuisine at the family restaurant, where she helped out through junior high and high school. They prepared and sold sandwiches, bread, lasagna, meatballs; everything, of course, was homemade.

In her current Presque Isle kitchen, Frye has to play a shuffling game with guests and ingredients to make it all fit. But the limited space hasn’t kept Frye from experimenting, and perfecting, over her electric burners and inviting guests in to learn her techniques. The two-person table and writing desk in an adjoining room serve as preparation surfaces when she needs extra space.

“My dream kitchen would be huge with a really big center work space and a big sink. I like to clean as I go,” Frye says, giving her hands a wash and clearing off space for a cutting board. “In a big kitchen you can hide the mess.”

Frye works on her meat filling until it has the right texture, and smooths out the first dark green leaf. She gives an expert folding lesson, tucking edges into a neat wrap without tearing. “It’s one of those things that people like or they don’t like. I think it has to do with the texture of the grape leaf. Most people say it looks like a little cigar.”

The green fingers are layered on the bottom of the pot, along with crushed tomatoes, and then covered. “They go darker when they cook.” The holiday scent infuses with garlic as the saucepan heats, and Frye reminisces. She ran a similar lunch establishment to her mother’s for a year called Greatfull Bread; unfortunately, her carpal tunnel prevented her from continuing.

Another trait garnered from her mother, along with the dark eyes and boisterous nature, was a commitment to keep her fridge and cupboard fully stocked with the proper ingredients, so she can be ready for anything. “When I get antsy I cook. That’s when I create. Sometimes I’ll look at a recipe and think, ‘I’ll try this instead.’”

This holds especially true with spices. Frye studied a ’70s ethnic cookbook to help her get the measurements for her stuffed grape leaves recipe, but they didn’t put in enough spices for her tastes. “I like it to pop, to taste it on my tongue, especially the lemon juice.”

Frye also learned fresh is best, including the lemon juice. “I’d prefer this to be fresh lamb, but that’s hard to get up here in the County this time of year,” she explains, prodding one roll.

She declares the meal ready, and uses tongs to lift each roll out and place in a neat pile on the plate. As a last addition, Frye spoons plain yogurt over the fare. She laughs: “If you want to make your own yogurt that’s great, but it’s a pain in the butt!” She finishes off the attractive plating with some homemade flatbread.

Family events, Frye admits, don’t include this kind of attention to presentation. “When it’s family coming in the door, they’re not interested in how it looks; they just want to get it. It takes all day to make and in 20 minutes it’s all gone.”