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Oct

4

What do Jews do all day?

Filed Under Politics | 9 Comments

I’m writing this before the new year but I’ve been wanting to describe some of the moods that pervade this holiday.

For me, it’s personal. I think about my time in Israel, when my relatives stuffed me so much that I threw up during an afternoon walk, I was so full of so many and so many unfamiliar foods. At first, my cousin cried because she thought I didn’t eat enough. Then, when I vomited, she cried because she thought I couldn’t stomach her food. Truth was, I just couldn’t stomach EVERYONE’S food all at the same time.

You find a quiet place in yourself. I return to memories of my mother and helping her set the table for my family, cousins and grandparents. I have some bizarre talent for cutting grapefruit really well and so that’s what I always did to help prepare.

No recipe I use is original. The matzah balls and noodle kugel are from my grandmother, perhaps even my great grandmother (Czech). The squash souffle is from my husband’s grandmother (born here but of Russian descent). The prime rib – a combination of my mother, my husband’s grandmother and me. Simmus (or carrots in brown sugar) from my mother.

The applie pie – well, a very, very special (and incredible simple, easy and delicious) recipe, that, as I was making it last night, made me cry just looking at it on the torn, stained computer-generated recipe sheet from my mother (one highly organized Type A lady).

Apple Pie Annie. Groan. I can’t even write it without tearing up.

Applie Pie Annie came from my mother’s best friend who died two years ago. She suffered terribly in her last months as she battled cancer. I saw her about two months before she died and we talked about Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, Bush and my kids and her kids. I grew up with her three sons – her oldest, my age, chased my best girlfriend around the desks in first grade.

Annie was unique and brilliant and feisty and loving and tough – tough, tough, tough. And when she died, it was so incredibly sad. For so many reasons.

But when I bake this pie, this sweet, pastry filled and overflowing with gooey lemon juice and sugar and cinnamon and Granny Smith apples, I just smile and hear her whip-stern, confident voice.

Mmm. Time to start cutting grapefruit.

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By Jill Miller Zimon at 12:21 pm October 4th, 2005 in Politics | 9 Comments 

Print This Post Print This Post

Oct

4

What do Jews do all day?

Filed Under Politics | 8 Comments

I’m writing this before the new year but I’ve been wanting to describe some of the moods that pervade this holiday.

For me, it’s personal. I think about my time in Israel, when my relatives stuffed me so much that I threw up during an afternoon walk, I was so full of so many and so many unfamiliar foods. At first, my cousin cried because she thought I didn’t eat enough. Then, when I vomited, she cried because she thought I couldn’t stomach her food. Truth was, I just couldn’t stomach EVERYONE’S food all at the same time.

You find a quiet place in yourself. I return to memories of my mother and helping her set the table for my family, cousins and grandparents. I have some bizarre talent for cutting grapefruit really well and so that’s what I always did to help prepare.

No recipe I use is original. The matzah balls and noodle kugel are from my grandmother, perhaps even my great grandmother (Czech). The squash souffle is from my husband’s grandmother (born here but of Russian descent). The prime rib – a combination of my mother, my husband’s grandmother and me. Simmus (or carrots in brown sugar) from my mother.

The applie pie – well, a very, very special (and incredible simple, easy and delicious) recipe, that, as I was making it last night, made me cry just looking at it on the torn, stained computer-generated recipe sheet from my mother (one highly organized Type A lady).

Apple Pie Annie. Groan. I can’t even write it without tearing up.

Applie Pie Annie came from my mother’s best friend who died two years ago. She suffered terribly in her last months as she battled cancer. I saw her about two months before she died and we talked about Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, Bush and my kids and her kids. I grew up with her three sons – her oldest, my age, chased my best girlfriend around the desks in first grade.

Annie was unique and brilliant and feisty and loving and tough – tough, tough, tough. And when she died, it was so incredibly sad. For so many reasons.

But when I bake this pie, this sweet, pastry filled and overflowing with gooey lemon juice and sugar and cinnamon and Granny Smith apples, I just smile and hear her whip-stern, confident voice.

Mmm. Time to start cutting grapefruit.

Bookmark and Share

By Jill Miller Zimon at 8:21 am October 4th, 2005 in Politics | 8 Comments 

Print This Post Print This Post

Oct

4

What do Jews do all day?

Filed Under Politics | Comments Off

I’m writing this before the new year but I’ve been wanting to describe some of the moods that pervade this holiday.

For me, it’s personal. I think about my time in Israel, when my relatives stuffed me so much that I threw up during an afternoon walk, I was so full of so many and so many unfamiliar foods. At first, my cousin cried because she thought I didn’t eat enough. Then, when I vomited, she cried because she thought I couldn’t stomach her food. Truth was, I just couldn’t stomach EVERYONE’S food all at the same time.

You find a quiet place in yourself. I return to memories of my mother and helping her set the table for my family, cousins and grandparents. I have some bizarre talent for cutting grapefruit really well and so that’s what I always did to help prepare.

No recipe I use is original. The matzah balls and noodle kugel are from my grandmother, perhaps even my great grandmother (Czech). The squash souffle is from my husband’s grandmother (born here but of Russian descent). The prime rib – a combination of my mother, my husband’s grandmother and me. Simmus (or carrots in brown sugar) from my mother.

The applie pie – well, a very, very special (and incredible simple, easy and delicious) recipe, that, as I was making it last night, made me cry just looking at it on the torn, stained computer-generated recipe sheet from my mother (one highly organized Type A lady).

Apple Pie Annie. Groan. I can’t even write it without tearing up.

Applie Pie Annie came from my mother’s best friend who died two years ago. She suffered terribly in her last months as she battled cancer. I saw her about two months before she died and we talked about Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, Bush and my kids and her kids. I grew up with her three sons – her oldest, my age, chased my best girlfriend around the desks in first grade.

Annie was unique and brilliant and feisty and loving and tough – tough, tough, tough. And when she died, it was so incredibly sad. For so many reasons.

But when I bake this pie, this sweet, pastry filled and overflowing with gooey lemon juice and sugar and cinnamon and Granny Smith apples, I just smile and hear her whip-stern, confident voice.

Mmm. Time to start cutting grapefruit.

Bookmark and Share

By Jill Miller Zimon at 5:21 am October 4th, 2005 in Politics | Comments Off 

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