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Oct
4
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.
By Jill Miller Zimon at 12:21 pm October 4th, 2005 in Politics
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9 Responses to “What do Jews do all day?”
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Very charming entry, Hot Mamma. I enjoyed it; and now I’m hungry.
<3 Z
Happy New Year, Jill.
Thanks, Zach. Now, behave yourself around these parts, or I’ll have to ban you (do not comment on that, young man).
Jill,
Happy New Year! And after reading about the preparations, I have to ask: Do you suppose God would consider it a very grave sin if I converted just for the food? Am I being tempted by the devil to act for insincere reasons, or is it just my normal gluttony?
Bob
Bob –
Thanks, Bob.
Don’t you know I’m going to tell you that we’re all God’s children?
No need to convert. There’s a lot of Jews in Atlanta. Just befriend one! Heck, I’ll send you the menu myself and you can just integrate them into your own traditions.
Jill,
I wrote this response earlier, but was trying to type with a sleeping Yorkie sprawled across my arm, so may have punched a wrong key. If this shows up twice, please ignore one or the other.
What I said earlier was that I really don’t need to look for Jewish friends in Atlanta. (Atlanta is not a place I like to hang around, though I have a son who lives there and evidently thinks it’s heaven.)I already have a Jewish brother-in-law. Unfortunately, I don’t think he would know a matzah ball from a basketball. And I’m certain he wouldn’t be familiar with Apple Pie Annie.
Bob
Bob – Obviously, it’s your brother-in-law’s loss that he would confuse rubber with the light noodle-ish melt in your mouth sensation of a good matzah ball. However, having also eaten some really rotten matzah balls, maybe he just had a bad experience once?
Thanks.
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