Page Two Hundred-Nine.
I'm sometimes surprised by people's lack of knowledge concerning world religions, or their own religion even. A while ago, I found myself trying to educate a friend on the fact that Jews don't give up anything for Lent. He simply wouldn't hear my explanation. He just "knew" that Lent is an American secular season which is practiced by anybody who wants to express their appreciation to Jesus for dying on that cross 2000 years ago. He recognized it's origins in religion, Christianity specifically, but was convinced that nowadays religion had nothing to do with it. I was stunned by his ignorance.
Along similar lines, quite recently I found myself talking with a devout Protestant about Martin Luther. I was explaining to her that prior to 500 year ago, there was no such thing as Catholicism or Protestantism. Every Christian was what we would refer to today as Catholic. Then this priest, Martin Luther, came along and virtually invented the Protestant movement. Her response? "I'm going to ask my minister about this. He knows so much about church history, he's just so smart." I thought to myself, "Why didn't this woman learn about the Reformation in 7th grade world history?"
One day, a few years back, an acquaintance couldn't understand how Jews could believe in God if they didn't simultaneously believe in Jesus. "You see, Jesus is God, so if they don't believe in Jesus then they don't believe in God." Maybe I simply know really uneducated people. Perhaps that's it.
I believe that if comparative religion were required learning, world-wide, we'd have much less war.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Friday, March 28, 2014
Avicii
Page Two Hundred-Eight.
The only thing on my mind today is Avicii's music. Boy it's great. Seriously, I'm not thinking about anything else right now. I need to get that CD. Bye for now.
The only thing on my mind today is Avicii's music. Boy it's great. Seriously, I'm not thinking about anything else right now. I need to get that CD. Bye for now.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Home Made Hamburger Helper
Page Two Hundred-Seven.
Much easier than you ever thought and so good it would convert a Humanist to Orthodox Judaism.
Make some homemade Mac 'n Cheese. Use your favorite recipe, but it really needs to be homemade. I suppose you could start with The Blue Box or something along those lines, but really, the more authentic the Mac 'n Cheese, the better the final product. Now, brown some ground beef. Drain it and add it to the Mac. Finally, toss in some diced tomatoes. Stir, pour into a casserole and bake for a while. (325-350 degrees, 20-25 minutes. 'Till it seems done) Enjoy.
If I had to guess amounts, I'd figure that if you were making this for 6-8, then start with 1 pound of elbow macaroni and the appropriate 4 or so cups of cheese sauce. To that, perhaps add 2 pounds of ground beef and one large can of diced tomatoes. But really, this is one of those things which simply cannot be ruined.
Of course this can be personalized. Like Tex-Mex? Add some finely diced chiles, cumin, diced bell peppers or what have you to the ground beef while sauteing. Then add to the other ingredients as usual. Serve with taco sauce. It'll be good. Like Hungarian? Saute a little too many onions and garlic in with the ground beef. Serve with sour cream and a liberal sprinkle of paprika. Yum-Yum. Like French? Add escargot and serve with red wine and a sneer. You'll think you're in a Parisian cafe.
Much easier than you ever thought and so good it would convert a Humanist to Orthodox Judaism.
Make some homemade Mac 'n Cheese. Use your favorite recipe, but it really needs to be homemade. I suppose you could start with The Blue Box or something along those lines, but really, the more authentic the Mac 'n Cheese, the better the final product. Now, brown some ground beef. Drain it and add it to the Mac. Finally, toss in some diced tomatoes. Stir, pour into a casserole and bake for a while. (325-350 degrees, 20-25 minutes. 'Till it seems done) Enjoy.
If I had to guess amounts, I'd figure that if you were making this for 6-8, then start with 1 pound of elbow macaroni and the appropriate 4 or so cups of cheese sauce. To that, perhaps add 2 pounds of ground beef and one large can of diced tomatoes. But really, this is one of those things which simply cannot be ruined.
Of course this can be personalized. Like Tex-Mex? Add some finely diced chiles, cumin, diced bell peppers or what have you to the ground beef while sauteing. Then add to the other ingredients as usual. Serve with taco sauce. It'll be good. Like Hungarian? Saute a little too many onions and garlic in with the ground beef. Serve with sour cream and a liberal sprinkle of paprika. Yum-Yum. Like French? Add escargot and serve with red wine and a sneer. You'll think you're in a Parisian cafe.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Quito. Chapter 1. The Fireball
Page Two Hundred-Six.
Quito died recently, Friday, March 7th, 2014, 6PM, to be exact. The world lost one special doggy in that one, lemme tell ya. Now that he's gone though, his secrets can finally be told. And I'm just the person to tell 'em. Here goes.
Quito was a 50 pound, poly-breed, long-haired black and white thing whom I dog-sat whenever his pet humans were out-of-town. He resembled a Collie, preferred The Who over Led Zeppelin, knew 6 languages fluently* was 12 when he died and had quite a life. Few people knew his clandestine affairs, but he shared them with me while we were alone in his rather large, contemporary, pink champagne beige, brick Shaker Heights home during all those extended weekends.
His humans are world travelers; they're royalty. Their cousins, Clair, Hannah, Evelyn and Grant along with their dog, Harli-Monster, are rulers of a European country which must, obviously, remain anonymous. But, those 5 have no direct heirs so these four children, Quito's humans, are going to be taking over the throne one day. All you really need to know for right now are their names: Jordan is the baby girl (who's now 7), then Jackson (8), Thomas (14), finally William is the crown prince (15). They're beautiful and charming children who's down to earth demeanor belies their upper crust, blue blood, royal status.
Parents found Quito in the Rubbermaid garbage can one morning. Plain and simple. Seems he'd crawled in one night looking for food, then couldn't get out. What a humble beginning to one of the most auspicious lives of the 21st century. He was about 10-12 weeks old when found but 5 months old when he began developing his super-powers.
William and Thomas were very little that August day when they took Quito outside and were ho-humming through a game of Twister with him in the steamy, hot sunshine. Nena was singing about 99 Luftballons on the outdoor Victrola. The smell of freshly shaved grass was in the air as Ippolitto & Sons had just finished cutting the large emerald green expanse of backyard. The three of them were excitedly looking forward to the Feast of the Assumption street festival they'd be attending a few days later.
"I can't wait to eat the scrumptious fried calamari," piped baby Thomas. "If I shan't get my bellyfull of those luscious ringed morsels, I shan throw a tantrum like Parents never experienced. I mean from me anyhoo."
"I'm anticipating with great glee the elephant ears with extra Vietnamese cinnamon sprinkled atop," squeaked young Prince William. "I do believe Vietnam grows the best cinnamon, don't you Quito?"
"Heavens to Murgatroyd! Who cares about cinnamon? I want the homemade sausage pizza," woofed Quito.
They proceeded to have an overly animated conversation about which food would taste the best. Then it happened. There was a quick flash in the atmosphere above and they all looked up just in time to see a fireball the size of a scoop of pralines and cream gelato come flying down out of nowhere, well the sky really, and land right near the Twister board. Quito went close, but not too close, to the still flaming ball because he wanted to protect the boys, yet investigate also. After a moment, the flame went out but the heat scorched a bit of grass which gradually grew to the approximate size and shape of a red, felt Christmas tree skirt with white furry trim; the kind you might purchase from K-Mart. Quito was standing in that spot while it happened. He felt no burn, instead just a slight stinging sensation in each foot; a stinging similar to the shot of penicillin you get in response to a positive strep throat culture. It barely registered with him at the time.
(Let me interrupt myself right here and now. I'm relating this story as Quito told me. I've never had any reason to question it.)
So later that evening, after changing Thomas's very smelly diaper, rapping Tone Loc's "Funky Cold Medina" to William and changing the burned out bulb in the boys' bedroom night light, he began noticing a taste in his mouth. The taste was definitely that of Hamburger Helper, but more effervescent somehow. Could it be? Yes! it was... the taste was homemade Hamburger Helper. "Oh great! And here I am on a low-carb diet" he barked to himself. But he could just smell the cheesy, gooeyness. It was too late in the evening by that time though and he didn't feel like starting a project like that at this late hour. "I'll make some tomorrow" he thought. He then put out Penny, the Maine Coon cat; turned off the Victrola, now playing Springsteen; left a note for the milkman to leave extra cheddar cheese and went to sleep.
Next morning started and he absolutely knew something was different.
To be continued next week... Chapter 2: Quito the Astro-Pup
*Languages which Quito was fluent in: English; Spanish; Arabic; French; Russian; Chinese.
Quito died recently, Friday, March 7th, 2014, 6PM, to be exact. The world lost one special doggy in that one, lemme tell ya. Now that he's gone though, his secrets can finally be told. And I'm just the person to tell 'em. Here goes.
Quito was a 50 pound, poly-breed, long-haired black and white thing whom I dog-sat whenever his pet humans were out-of-town. He resembled a Collie, preferred The Who over Led Zeppelin, knew 6 languages fluently* was 12 when he died and had quite a life. Few people knew his clandestine affairs, but he shared them with me while we were alone in his rather large, contemporary, pink champagne beige, brick Shaker Heights home during all those extended weekends.
His humans are world travelers; they're royalty. Their cousins, Clair, Hannah, Evelyn and Grant along with their dog, Harli-Monster, are rulers of a European country which must, obviously, remain anonymous. But, those 5 have no direct heirs so these four children, Quito's humans, are going to be taking over the throne one day. All you really need to know for right now are their names: Jordan is the baby girl (who's now 7), then Jackson (8), Thomas (14), finally William is the crown prince (15). They're beautiful and charming children who's down to earth demeanor belies their upper crust, blue blood, royal status.
Parents found Quito in the Rubbermaid garbage can one morning. Plain and simple. Seems he'd crawled in one night looking for food, then couldn't get out. What a humble beginning to one of the most auspicious lives of the 21st century. He was about 10-12 weeks old when found but 5 months old when he began developing his super-powers.
William and Thomas were very little that August day when they took Quito outside and were ho-humming through a game of Twister with him in the steamy, hot sunshine. Nena was singing about 99 Luftballons on the outdoor Victrola. The smell of freshly shaved grass was in the air as Ippolitto & Sons had just finished cutting the large emerald green expanse of backyard. The three of them were excitedly looking forward to the Feast of the Assumption street festival they'd be attending a few days later.
"I can't wait to eat the scrumptious fried calamari," piped baby Thomas. "If I shan't get my bellyfull of those luscious ringed morsels, I shan throw a tantrum like Parents never experienced. I mean from me anyhoo."
"I'm anticipating with great glee the elephant ears with extra Vietnamese cinnamon sprinkled atop," squeaked young Prince William. "I do believe Vietnam grows the best cinnamon, don't you Quito?"
"Heavens to Murgatroyd! Who cares about cinnamon? I want the homemade sausage pizza," woofed Quito.
They proceeded to have an overly animated conversation about which food would taste the best. Then it happened. There was a quick flash in the atmosphere above and they all looked up just in time to see a fireball the size of a scoop of pralines and cream gelato come flying down out of nowhere, well the sky really, and land right near the Twister board. Quito went close, but not too close, to the still flaming ball because he wanted to protect the boys, yet investigate also. After a moment, the flame went out but the heat scorched a bit of grass which gradually grew to the approximate size and shape of a red, felt Christmas tree skirt with white furry trim; the kind you might purchase from K-Mart. Quito was standing in that spot while it happened. He felt no burn, instead just a slight stinging sensation in each foot; a stinging similar to the shot of penicillin you get in response to a positive strep throat culture. It barely registered with him at the time.
(Let me interrupt myself right here and now. I'm relating this story as Quito told me. I've never had any reason to question it.)
So later that evening, after changing Thomas's very smelly diaper, rapping Tone Loc's "Funky Cold Medina" to William and changing the burned out bulb in the boys' bedroom night light, he began noticing a taste in his mouth. The taste was definitely that of Hamburger Helper, but more effervescent somehow. Could it be? Yes! it was... the taste was homemade Hamburger Helper. "Oh great! And here I am on a low-carb diet" he barked to himself. But he could just smell the cheesy, gooeyness. It was too late in the evening by that time though and he didn't feel like starting a project like that at this late hour. "I'll make some tomorrow" he thought. He then put out Penny, the Maine Coon cat; turned off the Victrola, now playing Springsteen; left a note for the milkman to leave extra cheddar cheese and went to sleep.
Next morning started and he absolutely knew something was different.
To be continued next week... Chapter 2: Quito the Astro-Pup
*Languages which Quito was fluent in: English; Spanish; Arabic; French; Russian; Chinese.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
On Getting A Haircut At A Barber School
Page Two Hundred Five.
I go to a barber school to get my haircut. I know that may sound weird considering the fact that I manage a beauty salon. You'd figure I'd get my haircut right at work. But many years ago I worked at a salon which was recognized by Clairol International as being one of the 3 finest salons in Northeast Ohio. While there, all my co-workers and I were encouraged to go elsewhere to have our hair done. The thinking was, observe how much better we are than our competition and if you do see something they do better, we should know about it.
I still live by that rule. It makes sense. And by going to a school, I get to practice my interpersonal communication skills. The vast majority of all problems in a beauty salon can be traced back to poor communication between client and stylist. Either the client didn't explain properly what was desired or the hairdresser wasn't listening properly. By going to a school I'm constantly getting somebody new; someone who's never done my hair before. I have to start from scratch each time. It keeps me on my toes and aware of the importance of language so I can be more objective on my job.
I never tell them that I'm a hairdresser going on 33 years, beauty salon manager or licensed cosmetology instructor. That would intimidate them waaaaaay to much. They only know that I'm a private chef (who's currently unemployed). I typically get a haircut which is either perfectly correct or very close. And let me tell you, some of those students are fresh and new. I've been one of the first haircuts a couple of them ever gave.
As long as I explain properly, as long as they listen properly, I'm not too concerned about technical ability. I'd suggest to anybody that they be very aware of how they explain themselves when in a beauty salon or barber shop. Words are so important there.
I go to a barber school to get my haircut. I know that may sound weird considering the fact that I manage a beauty salon. You'd figure I'd get my haircut right at work. But many years ago I worked at a salon which was recognized by Clairol International as being one of the 3 finest salons in Northeast Ohio. While there, all my co-workers and I were encouraged to go elsewhere to have our hair done. The thinking was, observe how much better we are than our competition and if you do see something they do better, we should know about it.
I still live by that rule. It makes sense. And by going to a school, I get to practice my interpersonal communication skills. The vast majority of all problems in a beauty salon can be traced back to poor communication between client and stylist. Either the client didn't explain properly what was desired or the hairdresser wasn't listening properly. By going to a school I'm constantly getting somebody new; someone who's never done my hair before. I have to start from scratch each time. It keeps me on my toes and aware of the importance of language so I can be more objective on my job.
I never tell them that I'm a hairdresser going on 33 years, beauty salon manager or licensed cosmetology instructor. That would intimidate them waaaaaay to much. They only know that I'm a private chef (who's currently unemployed). I typically get a haircut which is either perfectly correct or very close. And let me tell you, some of those students are fresh and new. I've been one of the first haircuts a couple of them ever gave.
As long as I explain properly, as long as they listen properly, I'm not too concerned about technical ability. I'd suggest to anybody that they be very aware of how they explain themselves when in a beauty salon or barber shop. Words are so important there.
Monday, March 24, 2014
Enough Caffeine For You?
Page Two Hundred Four.
In 2005, my doctor took me off caffeine for the rest of my life. I'm allowed to cheat in very low moderation, perhaps a couple of cups of coffee per month, but that's about it. Caffeine irritates my kidneys so Doc doesn't me want to tempt fate. I agree with him. So for the last 9 years I've lived primarily caffeine free.
I'm an exceedingly high energy person naturally. So living sans-caf is not a big deal for me. And, like I say, I'm allowed to cheat occasionally, if I really am tired. But what all this really means is I've become quite aware of caffeine and it's place in contemporary American society. (I'm aware of it since I can't have it. Funny how that works.)
Which came first: the tremendous growth of coffee houses or America's lack of sleep? We all know that Americans sleep 3-5 hours less per night now than we did 100 years ago. Of course a lot of that is because we don't live on farms and do hard labor all day long. So we simply don't need 10-11 hours of sleep per night. But the fact remains that the human body does intrinsically require 7-8 hours of sleep per 24 hour period. That's just how we were designed. Unfortunately many people under-sleep. Subsequently, lots 'o caffeine. There's currently an epidemic of sleep deprivation and increased caffeine consumption in America.
What's the chicken and what's the egg? Are the 2 related? Why or why not? What about the fact that Americans work as much nowadays as we did 100 years ago, just not on farms? What about the fact that our current national lack of sleep is exceptionally unhealthy and probably contributing to our obesity problem? And what if Napoleon had B-52 bombers at Waterloo? Would we all be speaking French today? Oui?
As a kid, I was an elite sleeper. I would definitely have qualified for the Olympics if sleeping were a sport. Through my 20's though, I gradually evolved into a lighter and lighter sleeper. One time the cat walking into my bedroom woke me up. Then one day when I was 31, quite literally "overnight", I stopped sleeping soundly. That night I woke up at 2 AM and couldn't get back to sleep. Since then, I've never gone back to my childhood sleep patterns.
I read everything I could find on sleep. All research suggests that the most effective way to achieve sleep is exercise. Subsequently, I joined my gym when I was 35 (1997) and have been going 3-5 X per week ever since. Also, I walk or run for pleasure/exercise whenever possible. I'll tell you, it works. If I don't get to the gym for a few days, I immediately revert back and may only sleep 4 hours, generating ideas for this blog the other 4 hours that I'm laying in bed.
I'll tell you what else I've discovered. The day Doc took me off caffeine I started sleeping about 25% more. Turns out that caf has a rebound effect. It lounges around the body for much longer than we realize. (All doctors know this.) When I do treat myself to real coffee or heaven help me, my favorite Coca Cola, I'm much less likely to sleep soundly, even if I've exercised my tushy off. Conversely, If I stop exercising but don't do any caf at all, I'll still sleep more soundly than I did in 1995.
I tell people my story if they share with me their sleep problems. I know from first hand experience that sleep can be had if desired. Of course if people don't want sleep, well... that's a different situation. I recently watched Ellen Degeneres' TV show and Arianna Huffington espoused the assets of sleep. For years she thought she had to choose sleep deprivation to get everything done and achieve worldly success. A few years ago though, she redefined her own definition of success and started sleeping more. I think that if somebody like Huffington talks about the assets of sleep on such a forum, we may be seeing a paradigm shift on the need for sleep. After all, why commit slow suicide or increase Mr. Starbucks' stock value by getting less sleep than you require? It just doesn't make sense. (Also, all that caffeine is usually accompanied by much fat and sugar. One more reason for obese America.) Stop the madness!!!
In 2005, my doctor took me off caffeine for the rest of my life. I'm allowed to cheat in very low moderation, perhaps a couple of cups of coffee per month, but that's about it. Caffeine irritates my kidneys so Doc doesn't me want to tempt fate. I agree with him. So for the last 9 years I've lived primarily caffeine free.
I'm an exceedingly high energy person naturally. So living sans-caf is not a big deal for me. And, like I say, I'm allowed to cheat occasionally, if I really am tired. But what all this really means is I've become quite aware of caffeine and it's place in contemporary American society. (I'm aware of it since I can't have it. Funny how that works.)
Which came first: the tremendous growth of coffee houses or America's lack of sleep? We all know that Americans sleep 3-5 hours less per night now than we did 100 years ago. Of course a lot of that is because we don't live on farms and do hard labor all day long. So we simply don't need 10-11 hours of sleep per night. But the fact remains that the human body does intrinsically require 7-8 hours of sleep per 24 hour period. That's just how we were designed. Unfortunately many people under-sleep. Subsequently, lots 'o caffeine. There's currently an epidemic of sleep deprivation and increased caffeine consumption in America.
What's the chicken and what's the egg? Are the 2 related? Why or why not? What about the fact that Americans work as much nowadays as we did 100 years ago, just not on farms? What about the fact that our current national lack of sleep is exceptionally unhealthy and probably contributing to our obesity problem? And what if Napoleon had B-52 bombers at Waterloo? Would we all be speaking French today? Oui?
As a kid, I was an elite sleeper. I would definitely have qualified for the Olympics if sleeping were a sport. Through my 20's though, I gradually evolved into a lighter and lighter sleeper. One time the cat walking into my bedroom woke me up. Then one day when I was 31, quite literally "overnight", I stopped sleeping soundly. That night I woke up at 2 AM and couldn't get back to sleep. Since then, I've never gone back to my childhood sleep patterns.
I read everything I could find on sleep. All research suggests that the most effective way to achieve sleep is exercise. Subsequently, I joined my gym when I was 35 (1997) and have been going 3-5 X per week ever since. Also, I walk or run for pleasure/exercise whenever possible. I'll tell you, it works. If I don't get to the gym for a few days, I immediately revert back and may only sleep 4 hours, generating ideas for this blog the other 4 hours that I'm laying in bed.
I'll tell you what else I've discovered. The day Doc took me off caffeine I started sleeping about 25% more. Turns out that caf has a rebound effect. It lounges around the body for much longer than we realize. (All doctors know this.) When I do treat myself to real coffee or heaven help me, my favorite Coca Cola, I'm much less likely to sleep soundly, even if I've exercised my tushy off. Conversely, If I stop exercising but don't do any caf at all, I'll still sleep more soundly than I did in 1995.
I tell people my story if they share with me their sleep problems. I know from first hand experience that sleep can be had if desired. Of course if people don't want sleep, well... that's a different situation. I recently watched Ellen Degeneres' TV show and Arianna Huffington espoused the assets of sleep. For years she thought she had to choose sleep deprivation to get everything done and achieve worldly success. A few years ago though, she redefined her own definition of success and started sleeping more. I think that if somebody like Huffington talks about the assets of sleep on such a forum, we may be seeing a paradigm shift on the need for sleep. After all, why commit slow suicide or increase Mr. Starbucks' stock value by getting less sleep than you require? It just doesn't make sense. (Also, all that caffeine is usually accompanied by much fat and sugar. One more reason for obese America.) Stop the madness!!!
Friday, March 21, 2014
NuGo Bars
Page Two Hundred Three.
I'm pretty sure I've found the best tasting protein bars. NuGo brand bars are great. I discovered them a couple of years ago I think. I prefer the chocolate-chocolate chip, though in a pinch the mocha will do. They have a very good texture/taste and 10 grams of protein with only 5 grams of fat and 200 calories. They aren't low carb or low sugar. In fact, the reason they're so good is because they're made with real cane sugar and real dark chocolate. But I'll tell you... I trust real God-made ingredients much more than man-made ones which are supposedly "healthier" alternatives. Give me cane sugar any day.
Over the years I've tried so many different nutrition, protein or meal replacement bars, you can't believe it. Some of them really are the texture of pressed horse food. Some taste so bad I actually couldn't finish them. Others aren't too bad. NuGos are the best I've ever had. I have a NuGo bar quite often for breakfast or lunch. They're wonderful and healthy. I highly recommend them.
And no, I don't own stock in the company.
I'm pretty sure I've found the best tasting protein bars. NuGo brand bars are great. I discovered them a couple of years ago I think. I prefer the chocolate-chocolate chip, though in a pinch the mocha will do. They have a very good texture/taste and 10 grams of protein with only 5 grams of fat and 200 calories. They aren't low carb or low sugar. In fact, the reason they're so good is because they're made with real cane sugar and real dark chocolate. But I'll tell you... I trust real God-made ingredients much more than man-made ones which are supposedly "healthier" alternatives. Give me cane sugar any day.
Over the years I've tried so many different nutrition, protein or meal replacement bars, you can't believe it. Some of them really are the texture of pressed horse food. Some taste so bad I actually couldn't finish them. Others aren't too bad. NuGos are the best I've ever had. I have a NuGo bar quite often for breakfast or lunch. They're wonderful and healthy. I highly recommend them.
And no, I don't own stock in the company.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Purim, 2014 - An Update
Page Two Hundred-Two.
A couple of evenings ago, I went to Purim service. Here's what I saw.
The Rabbi was dressed up as the Wicked Witch of the West. (This, while standing on the pulpit, reading from the Torah.) The Cantor was dressed as a striped convict because he'd been "jailed" by the synagogue's chapter of USY (United Synagogue Youth - the national youth movement of the Conservative Judaism denomination). Seems the only way to get him released was if congregants bought enough fund-raising raffle tickets from USY; they interrupted the service with this announcement. There were also 40-50 heavily costumed children running around the pulpit during this religious service; then, another few hundred made-up children and adults sitting in the sanctuary. I was among the couple of hundred who weren't dressed up at all.
My favorite children's costume was the kid who looked like a cross between Marvin the Martian and Daft Punk. My favorite adult was dressed as an ancient Pharaoh. I don't know if any non-Jews would get the irony of a Pharaoh attending any Jewish religious function, but it's completely over the top.
After the service ended, the party began. The band was good which they always are. But, I didn't stay a long time, just long enough to eat 2 Hamantaschen. I'm not sure where they were purchased, but they weren't my favorite. I ate 'em though, 2 of 'em, in fact. Don't get me wrong. But I didn't love 'em.
I didn't go to the carnival the next afternoon. Instead, I went and visited an elderly couple I'm friends with. She's 93 and he's 97. I brought them some Hamantaschen and we talked and ate and talked and ate some more.
One of these days, I should figure out how to do homemade Hamantachen. It just can't be too difficult. I've made bread lots of times and Hamantaschen is simply a sweet dough similar to a Danish breakfast pastry, plus pie filling. One of these days...
A couple of evenings ago, I went to Purim service. Here's what I saw.
The Rabbi was dressed up as the Wicked Witch of the West. (This, while standing on the pulpit, reading from the Torah.) The Cantor was dressed as a striped convict because he'd been "jailed" by the synagogue's chapter of USY (United Synagogue Youth - the national youth movement of the Conservative Judaism denomination). Seems the only way to get him released was if congregants bought enough fund-raising raffle tickets from USY; they interrupted the service with this announcement. There were also 40-50 heavily costumed children running around the pulpit during this religious service; then, another few hundred made-up children and adults sitting in the sanctuary. I was among the couple of hundred who weren't dressed up at all.
My favorite children's costume was the kid who looked like a cross between Marvin the Martian and Daft Punk. My favorite adult was dressed as an ancient Pharaoh. I don't know if any non-Jews would get the irony of a Pharaoh attending any Jewish religious function, but it's completely over the top.
After the service ended, the party began. The band was good which they always are. But, I didn't stay a long time, just long enough to eat 2 Hamantaschen. I'm not sure where they were purchased, but they weren't my favorite. I ate 'em though, 2 of 'em, in fact. Don't get me wrong. But I didn't love 'em.
I didn't go to the carnival the next afternoon. Instead, I went and visited an elderly couple I'm friends with. She's 93 and he's 97. I brought them some Hamantaschen and we talked and ate and talked and ate some more.
One of these days, I should figure out how to do homemade Hamantachen. It just can't be too difficult. I've made bread lots of times and Hamantaschen is simply a sweet dough similar to a Danish breakfast pastry, plus pie filling. One of these days...
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Antique Cookbooks: A Practical Use - Homemade Ketchup
Page Two Hundred-One.
I've been collecting old cookbooks for years. I can't remember now how I even got started with that little hobby. And by many standards I don't really have a lot, a few hundred or so. But there's something very warm about a shelf-full of cookbooks from the 1920, '30's and '40's.
Some years ago, I had a job as private chef to a small family who had more food allergies than you can imagine. The household was gluten free and lactose free. Additionally, there was no white vinegar allowed, nor mustard, black pepper, cumin, red pepper, parsley or worcestershire sauce. Rule out all dried fruit plus fresh: apples, peaches, grapes, pears, pork product or chicken and no seafood whatsoever except shrimp. And there was more. I just can't remember it all. I'm sure I've blocked it out of my memory. And amazingly, I lasted on that job almost 1 & 1/2 years.
They could have air and water, but it had to be made from scratch.
Interestingly, they weren't slender. That was possibly because they could eat dark chocolate, beef and potato chips. And brother, did they chow down on those items. Whew! And yes, there was some actual mental illness in the home.
At some point along the way, I realized that their boycott of ketchup and mayonnaise was because both items contained white vinegar. I thought to myself, "Gee, Self, just start making those items from scratch." Now, many post-Nixon era cookbooks discuss mayo. Homemade mayo just isn't a big deal at all. So perfecting that little bit of creamy goodness wasn't a skill worthy of bragging rights. Ketchup on the other hand... well that's a different story.
Some contemporary Earth Mother-style cookbooks would have you believe that ketchup is just tomato sauce with some spices added. Wrong. I had to consult my old cookbooks... a few of 'em, in fact, to figure out what makes ketchup ketchup. Keep in mind, in the 1920's you could purchase bottled ketchup, sure. But it wasn't the overwhelming standard. Home-made ketchup was still quite common. And it wasn't considered a cheap condiment. It was a true sauce which might have added class to a meal.
After figuring out what my old cookbooks had to say about the subject, I tried it on my own; a little scared too, I will admit. I didn't start with a bushel 'o tomatoes though, like all those pre-Little Rascals cookbooks instructed. I started with a couple cans of tomato paste. (There's nothing wrong with cheating a little!) Of the dozen or more times that I made that stuff for the family, it always required a couple of hours before I got the taste and texture just right. I also never wrote the recipe down. So, I'm not able to tell you exact amounts of this ingredient, that spice or the other whatever. But, homemade ketchup is good. Here's how to do it (sans white vinegar).
Ingredients:
Tomato paste
Balsamic or your preferred vinegar
White sugar, brown sugar or molasses
Salt
Garlic powder
Onion Powder
Water
Cook it all together until it tastes, looks and acts like ketchup.
I suppose it's also possible to cheat less severely than I did but still skip the part where it says "take your bushel 'o tomatoes and..." This level of cheating includes sauteing up some smashed garlic, onions and red peppers. Add that to the tomato mixture. Simmer for a presidential term. Then, press it all through a sieve or process in a food mill so ketchup has no chunks.
Do you see what I mean though about how ketchup used to be a true sauce? And a fancy one at that? Homemade ketchup is a nice project for a cold Saturday afternoon. In fact, If you have kids who like to cook, this could be a pleasant family project. Children would gain a new understanding and appreciation for what goes into food prep; even something like ketchup, which "everyone knows comes from a bottle".
I've been collecting old cookbooks for years. I can't remember now how I even got started with that little hobby. And by many standards I don't really have a lot, a few hundred or so. But there's something very warm about a shelf-full of cookbooks from the 1920, '30's and '40's.
Some years ago, I had a job as private chef to a small family who had more food allergies than you can imagine. The household was gluten free and lactose free. Additionally, there was no white vinegar allowed, nor mustard, black pepper, cumin, red pepper, parsley or worcestershire sauce. Rule out all dried fruit plus fresh: apples, peaches, grapes, pears, pork product or chicken and no seafood whatsoever except shrimp. And there was more. I just can't remember it all. I'm sure I've blocked it out of my memory. And amazingly, I lasted on that job almost 1 & 1/2 years.
They could have air and water, but it had to be made from scratch.
Interestingly, they weren't slender. That was possibly because they could eat dark chocolate, beef and potato chips. And brother, did they chow down on those items. Whew! And yes, there was some actual mental illness in the home.
At some point along the way, I realized that their boycott of ketchup and mayonnaise was because both items contained white vinegar. I thought to myself, "Gee, Self, just start making those items from scratch." Now, many post-Nixon era cookbooks discuss mayo. Homemade mayo just isn't a big deal at all. So perfecting that little bit of creamy goodness wasn't a skill worthy of bragging rights. Ketchup on the other hand... well that's a different story.
Some contemporary Earth Mother-style cookbooks would have you believe that ketchup is just tomato sauce with some spices added. Wrong. I had to consult my old cookbooks... a few of 'em, in fact, to figure out what makes ketchup ketchup. Keep in mind, in the 1920's you could purchase bottled ketchup, sure. But it wasn't the overwhelming standard. Home-made ketchup was still quite common. And it wasn't considered a cheap condiment. It was a true sauce which might have added class to a meal.
After figuring out what my old cookbooks had to say about the subject, I tried it on my own; a little scared too, I will admit. I didn't start with a bushel 'o tomatoes though, like all those pre-Little Rascals cookbooks instructed. I started with a couple cans of tomato paste. (There's nothing wrong with cheating a little!) Of the dozen or more times that I made that stuff for the family, it always required a couple of hours before I got the taste and texture just right. I also never wrote the recipe down. So, I'm not able to tell you exact amounts of this ingredient, that spice or the other whatever. But, homemade ketchup is good. Here's how to do it (sans white vinegar).
Ingredients:
Tomato paste
Balsamic or your preferred vinegar
White sugar, brown sugar or molasses
Salt
Garlic powder
Onion Powder
Water
Cook it all together until it tastes, looks and acts like ketchup.
I suppose it's also possible to cheat less severely than I did but still skip the part where it says "take your bushel 'o tomatoes and..." This level of cheating includes sauteing up some smashed garlic, onions and red peppers. Add that to the tomato mixture. Simmer for a presidential term. Then, press it all through a sieve or process in a food mill so ketchup has no chunks.
Do you see what I mean though about how ketchup used to be a true sauce? And a fancy one at that? Homemade ketchup is a nice project for a cold Saturday afternoon. In fact, If you have kids who like to cook, this could be a pleasant family project. Children would gain a new understanding and appreciation for what goes into food prep; even something like ketchup, which "everyone knows comes from a bottle".
Monday, March 17, 2014
Even Better Green Pea Soup
Page Two Hundred.
A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about some green pea soup that I made. believe it or not, I actually figured out a way to make it even more nutritious and delicious. I added a couple of spoonfuls of pre-cooked wild rice to each bowlful, thus increasing the flavor and protein content. Then, I sprinkled some blue cheese across the top. You wouldn't think it possible for something so tasty to actually be healthy, but it was.
A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about some green pea soup that I made. believe it or not, I actually figured out a way to make it even more nutritious and delicious. I added a couple of spoonfuls of pre-cooked wild rice to each bowlful, thus increasing the flavor and protein content. Then, I sprinkled some blue cheese across the top. You wouldn't think it possible for something so tasty to actually be healthy, but it was.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Chicken Soup Weather
Page One Hundred Ninety-Nine.
I recently received a text from an acquaintance. It reads: "It's almost that Chicken Soup time of year. Hope all is well". You should know that it was blizzarding outside and it was chicken soup weather if ever there was any when I received this text. But still, this is what my friends think of me: a chicken soup delivery service.
This buddy is not a close friend, but he's pleasant enough. About a year ago, he was reminiscing to me about his long-dead mother's chicken soup. He actually did remember some of the ingredients she used. (She added turnips to her soup which is just slightly non-traditional.) So I experimented and a few weeks later when I knew I would see this fellow again, I brought him a quart of what I thought would remind him of dear old Mom's. He loved it. Ever since, he's been bringing it up. I'm glad that I was able to help him relive a dear memory of Mom.
It really is so easy to do for others, even if it's little things. (Though nobody will ever convince me that making chicken soup from scratch is little.)
I recently received a text from an acquaintance. It reads: "It's almost that Chicken Soup time of year. Hope all is well". You should know that it was blizzarding outside and it was chicken soup weather if ever there was any when I received this text. But still, this is what my friends think of me: a chicken soup delivery service.
This buddy is not a close friend, but he's pleasant enough. About a year ago, he was reminiscing to me about his long-dead mother's chicken soup. He actually did remember some of the ingredients she used. (She added turnips to her soup which is just slightly non-traditional.) So I experimented and a few weeks later when I knew I would see this fellow again, I brought him a quart of what I thought would remind him of dear old Mom's. He loved it. Ever since, he's been bringing it up. I'm glad that I was able to help him relive a dear memory of Mom.
It really is so easy to do for others, even if it's little things. (Though nobody will ever convince me that making chicken soup from scratch is little.)
Saturday, March 15, 2014
Bagel Bread
Page One Hundred Ninety-Eight.
In this blog a few days ago, I mentioned Lax & Mandel Bakery on Taylor Road In Cleveland Heights. Here's another fun reminiscence about that place from the1970's.
One of my high school jobs was working at a submarine sandwich shop. It was a local place that I can write about at length another time. In short though, it was a perfect place for a bunch of high school students to work. The sandwiches were good, it was minimum wage, everyone except for the old-lady owner went to the same school (Cleveland Heights High School) and it was low stress. The Subconscious Sandwich Shop was also two doors away from Lax & Mandel.
Sometimes I was scheduled to work closing on Saturday nights. 6PM to 2AM Saturdays might seem like a completely disturbing shift but it really wasn't. Keep in mind that 17 year olds are vampires.They really are. You just know that I woke up at 2PM Saturday afternoon and I drank Coca Cola, so working into the wee hours was primarily a non-issue. Also, there was a wonderful advantage to working that shift: Lax & Mandel's bagel bread. So good it was proof of God.
Jews celebrate Sabbath from Friday evening until Saturday evening. Orthodox Jews observe the Sabbath by not working, carrying money or conducting any form of business, among many other things. Therefore, the bakery closed on Friday afternoon and re-opened late Saturday night. They were then open all night Saturday to prepare for the Sunday morning rush. Their bagel bread came out of the oven at about 1.30 or so. I'd go over, purchase a ring and a package of cream cheese, bring it back over and chow down with my co-workers. while cleaning and closing.
If you've never had bagel bread, let me give a quick explanation. Essentially, imagine a bagel about 8 or 9 inches across. That's it. Take your classic bundt cake ring, with a hole in the middle, but made with bagel dough. You tear of chunks, though I'm sure some heathens would use a knife, then apply desired toppings. When it's fresh and warm right from the oven? Oh man. What a mouth sensation!
And this was the 1970's, just prior to the national change in bagel dough. But that's a separate blog.
In this blog a few days ago, I mentioned Lax & Mandel Bakery on Taylor Road In Cleveland Heights. Here's another fun reminiscence about that place from the1970's.
One of my high school jobs was working at a submarine sandwich shop. It was a local place that I can write about at length another time. In short though, it was a perfect place for a bunch of high school students to work. The sandwiches were good, it was minimum wage, everyone except for the old-lady owner went to the same school (Cleveland Heights High School) and it was low stress. The Subconscious Sandwich Shop was also two doors away from Lax & Mandel.
Sometimes I was scheduled to work closing on Saturday nights. 6PM to 2AM Saturdays might seem like a completely disturbing shift but it really wasn't. Keep in mind that 17 year olds are vampires.They really are. You just know that I woke up at 2PM Saturday afternoon and I drank Coca Cola, so working into the wee hours was primarily a non-issue. Also, there was a wonderful advantage to working that shift: Lax & Mandel's bagel bread. So good it was proof of God.
Jews celebrate Sabbath from Friday evening until Saturday evening. Orthodox Jews observe the Sabbath by not working, carrying money or conducting any form of business, among many other things. Therefore, the bakery closed on Friday afternoon and re-opened late Saturday night. They were then open all night Saturday to prepare for the Sunday morning rush. Their bagel bread came out of the oven at about 1.30 or so. I'd go over, purchase a ring and a package of cream cheese, bring it back over and chow down with my co-workers. while cleaning and closing.
If you've never had bagel bread, let me give a quick explanation. Essentially, imagine a bagel about 8 or 9 inches across. That's it. Take your classic bundt cake ring, with a hole in the middle, but made with bagel dough. You tear of chunks, though I'm sure some heathens would use a knife, then apply desired toppings. When it's fresh and warm right from the oven? Oh man. What a mouth sensation!
And this was the 1970's, just prior to the national change in bagel dough. But that's a separate blog.
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Dragnet
Page One Hundred Ninety-Seven.Do you remember Dragnet? I recently purchased a collection of 25 episodes of the1950's version of this classic TV show. I'm categorically not a fan of cop shows, but this is just so good. It's extremely intelligent and lucid. I'd strongly recommend a viewing to anybody who enjoys police drama without any blood. If you're only familiar with the 1960's version of the show (a la Nick at Night; Me TV, etc.) know that the 60's rendition is considered inferior. Don't judge the original by those colorful imitations. Dragnet is just a really great show.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Rocky Horror vs. Sound Of Music
Page One Hundred Ninety-Six.
For the last few months, I've had an Indian medical student roommate who's here, in Cleveland, doing a couple rotations at University Hospitals, one of our fine, local hospitals. He's leaving tomorrow and is hoping to come back in 2016 for his medical residency. His stay has been pleasant. He's made friends and experienced some American/Cleveland culture. I've taken him to a few plays downtown at Playhouse Square; we've gone to a few museums in University Circle; I've taken him on numerous architectural tours and we've gone out to eat at a few places. All in all, I've tried to get him out and about as much as I could during one of Cleveland's most brutal winters in recent memory and I think I've been reasonably successful.
I do know a little bit about Bollywood and Indian culture's taste in movies, but not too much. We had a long conversation about American musicals versus Indian ones and how Rocky Horror isn't typical of anything. So then I popped in The Sound Of Music. Half way through, he declared, "I like this movie better than Rocky Horror". Gee...
For the last few months, I've had an Indian medical student roommate who's here, in Cleveland, doing a couple rotations at University Hospitals, one of our fine, local hospitals. He's leaving tomorrow and is hoping to come back in 2016 for his medical residency. His stay has been pleasant. He's made friends and experienced some American/Cleveland culture. I've taken him to a few plays downtown at Playhouse Square; we've gone to a few museums in University Circle; I've taken him on numerous architectural tours and we've gone out to eat at a few places. All in all, I've tried to get him out and about as much as I could during one of Cleveland's most brutal winters in recent memory and I think I've been reasonably successful.
I've also watched movies with him. I have a decent collection of DVD's and regardless of anyone's cinematic taste, they'd eventually find something they like on my shelves. Just last night we watched Rocky Horror Picture Show. Afterwards he asked if that was pretty typical of American musicals. Ummmm, uh...
I do know a little bit about Bollywood and Indian culture's taste in movies, but not too much. We had a long conversation about American musicals versus Indian ones and how Rocky Horror isn't typical of anything. So then I popped in The Sound Of Music. Half way through, he declared, "I like this movie better than Rocky Horror". Gee... Monday, March 10, 2014
Gaudy Asian Restaurants
Page One Hundred Ninety-Five.
You know what I've been craving for the last few years? I've really, really been wanting to go to a terribly gaudy and garishly decorated Asian restaurant. Do you remember those places that were decorated mid-20th century with large fountains, larger plastic plants lit with colored floodlights, red stuff everywhere, Tiki gods, hanging paper lanterns, and sometimes real flames coming out of the food? Of course you do. And if you're too young to know what I'm talking about, I'm truly sorry.
You know what I've been craving for the last few years? I've really, really been wanting to go to a terribly gaudy and garishly decorated Asian restaurant. Do you remember those places that were decorated mid-20th century with large fountains, larger plastic plants lit with colored floodlights, red stuff everywhere, Tiki gods, hanging paper lanterns, and sometimes real flames coming out of the food? Of course you do. And if you're too young to know what I'm talking about, I'm truly sorry.
 |
| Cleveland's Kon Tiki Restaurant |
These restaurants were a direct result of WWII and the return of GIs from the South Pacific who had fond memories of the food, drink and tropical feel of all those islands. The most famous Ploynesian style restaurant was called Trader Vic's and it, in fact, all but invented the look. I was too young to really appreciate the theatricality at the time, but like I say, I've been going through a thing lately where I just really want to eat some florescent food in a comic book version of a 1940's Polynesian Island. And for the record, who cares what the food tastes like?
Cleveland, being working class with zillions of former GIs, had many of these extravaganzas. I think our most famous was the Kon Tiki Restaurant in the Sheraton Hotel down on Public Square. Apparently, the Kon Tiki chain was slightly higher end than Trader Vik's, but I'm not sure. Really though, every Chinese restaurant in America had to have some of that decorative flavor going on by 1960 or so. It was simply de rigueur.
And I'll tell you something else, I suspect I'm not the only one who's craving that decor again. In the last few years, Trader Vic's has begun expanding its world-wide locations after decades of financial losses and subsequent restaurant closings. I wouldn't be surprised at all if in the next few years we see New York Times style section articles about how the "look" is back. Tiki is simply fun, lighthearted and warm; the opposite of sterile, clean, understated and simple; read: boring. Also, of course, it's reminiscent of the styles of the jet age. Styles which are definitely back.
And I'll tell you something else, I suspect I'm not the only one who's craving that decor again. In the last few years, Trader Vic's has begun expanding its world-wide locations after decades of financial losses and subsequent restaurant closings. I wouldn't be surprised at all if in the next few years we see New York Times style section articles about how the "look" is back. Tiki is simply fun, lighthearted and warm; the opposite of sterile, clean, understated and simple; read: boring. Also, of course, it's reminiscent of the styles of the jet age. Styles which are definitely back.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Walking Ayesha to Lax & Mandel
Page One Hundred Ninety-Four.
May I tell you about the very first time I ever bought food for a perfect stranger? Good. I didn't think you'd mind.
It was 1980 or '81. I was either 18 or 19. I was in a habit of taking my dog for nightime walks many pleasant evenings around 9 or so. Ayesha was an auburn-furred German Shepherd. She was beautiful, well-tempered but protective, energetic, intelligent and a good sport. She'd always oblige me whenever I asked her if she wanted to take a walk.
We got her some years earlier, when I was in the 6th grade. She was 4 years old I think. She'd been born in Israel and being auburn got the name Ayesha because Aish is Hebrew for fire. Hence: Ayesha = Fire Lady or Lady of Fire. She was an American soldier's pet while he was stationed in the middle-east. When he came home to Cleveland to attend college he had to get rid of her. (I honestly don't remember the exact story but it was something like that.) This soldier was subsequently the friend of a friend of a friend and we were looking for a dog, so viola! She really was the perfect kid's dog.
Now, around '79 or so, I discovered Dobosh Torte. If you aren't familiar with this item, go to your closest Eastern-European style bakery and get some. Seriously. It's multiple thin layers of yellow cake, with light chocolate filling between each, then dark chocolate frosting on top. Or, some version of that. It definitely fills the hole in your soul when nothing else will do the job.
There were a bunch of bakeries on Taylor Road, just 6 blocks from my street, that sold this stuff and one day I simply started eating it. (This part of town was heavily Jewish at the time, so these bakeries were a result of that demographic.) And somewhere along the way, I got into the habit of going out in the evening with Ayesha, walking up to Taylor, getting a slice from Lax & Mandel Kosher Bakery, eating while walking home and continuing on about my life.
Well, one brisk autumn's eve, I had a tag-a-long. I was a couple of blocks into my walk when a kid, 12 or 13 or so, happened to be walking by and inquired about me and Ayesha. I'd never seen this boy before, but there are well over 1 million people living in Greater Cleveland, so his unfamiliarity wasn't too surprising. He was talkative, charming and just walked right over and inquired about Ayesha's breed and so forth. Also, he thought I was in the military because I was wearing my favorite article of clothing, a WWII army dress jacket. (This was the early 80's. Reagan was all the rage and everything military was becoming extremely fashionable. My jacket was authentic, vintage and beautiful.) So this boy, who's name I uncharacteristically don't recall, let's call him PJ, strolled along with us to the bakery, chatting all the way.
When we got to Lax & Mandel, I tied up Ayesha to the parking meter and PJ and I went inside. You already know how much he drooled while looking at all the pastries, cakes and cookies. You also already know how much money he had in his pocket. I knew what was going on so I told him to pick out anything and I'd treat him. Well, he thought I was just the greatest angel in the world.
We talked and ate our respective empty calories, fat and sugar while walking back up Washington Blvd towards our starting point. It was a very pleasant 20 minutes, obviously or I wouldn't remember it so well. Right then and there is when I first learned how joyous it feels to unexpectedly give a stranger a gift.
May I tell you about the very first time I ever bought food for a perfect stranger? Good. I didn't think you'd mind.
It was 1980 or '81. I was either 18 or 19. I was in a habit of taking my dog for nightime walks many pleasant evenings around 9 or so. Ayesha was an auburn-furred German Shepherd. She was beautiful, well-tempered but protective, energetic, intelligent and a good sport. She'd always oblige me whenever I asked her if she wanted to take a walk.
We got her some years earlier, when I was in the 6th grade. She was 4 years old I think. She'd been born in Israel and being auburn got the name Ayesha because Aish is Hebrew for fire. Hence: Ayesha = Fire Lady or Lady of Fire. She was an American soldier's pet while he was stationed in the middle-east. When he came home to Cleveland to attend college he had to get rid of her. (I honestly don't remember the exact story but it was something like that.) This soldier was subsequently the friend of a friend of a friend and we were looking for a dog, so viola! She really was the perfect kid's dog.
Now, around '79 or so, I discovered Dobosh Torte. If you aren't familiar with this item, go to your closest Eastern-European style bakery and get some. Seriously. It's multiple thin layers of yellow cake, with light chocolate filling between each, then dark chocolate frosting on top. Or, some version of that. It definitely fills the hole in your soul when nothing else will do the job.
Well, one brisk autumn's eve, I had a tag-a-long. I was a couple of blocks into my walk when a kid, 12 or 13 or so, happened to be walking by and inquired about me and Ayesha. I'd never seen this boy before, but there are well over 1 million people living in Greater Cleveland, so his unfamiliarity wasn't too surprising. He was talkative, charming and just walked right over and inquired about Ayesha's breed and so forth. Also, he thought I was in the military because I was wearing my favorite article of clothing, a WWII army dress jacket. (This was the early 80's. Reagan was all the rage and everything military was becoming extremely fashionable. My jacket was authentic, vintage and beautiful.) So this boy, who's name I uncharacteristically don't recall, let's call him PJ, strolled along with us to the bakery, chatting all the way.
When we got to Lax & Mandel, I tied up Ayesha to the parking meter and PJ and I went inside. You already know how much he drooled while looking at all the pastries, cakes and cookies. You also already know how much money he had in his pocket. I knew what was going on so I told him to pick out anything and I'd treat him. Well, he thought I was just the greatest angel in the world.
We talked and ate our respective empty calories, fat and sugar while walking back up Washington Blvd towards our starting point. It was a very pleasant 20 minutes, obviously or I wouldn't remember it so well. Right then and there is when I first learned how joyous it feels to unexpectedly give a stranger a gift.
Friday, March 7, 2014
Split Pea Soup
Page One Hundred Ninety-Three.
Last autumn, I was going through a thing where I was really craving ribs. I mean, a lot. Well, I steam my ribs. Meaning: I put them on a rack in a pan, put some water in the bottom, add spices to the ribs, wrap aluminum foil tightly around and pop into the oven on low heat for ever. The meat ends up just dripping from the bone and is as tender as all get out.
Well, I used the same water repeatedly. In between the 4 or 5 batches of ribs over the course of a few months, I simply froze the de-fatted water, then thawed as needed. This water became the base for a vat of split pea soup that I cooked yesterday and ate last night.
The soup was heavenly. Try this method sometime. I'm just suggesting...
Last autumn, I was going through a thing where I was really craving ribs. I mean, a lot. Well, I steam my ribs. Meaning: I put them on a rack in a pan, put some water in the bottom, add spices to the ribs, wrap aluminum foil tightly around and pop into the oven on low heat for ever. The meat ends up just dripping from the bone and is as tender as all get out.
Well, I used the same water repeatedly. In between the 4 or 5 batches of ribs over the course of a few months, I simply froze the de-fatted water, then thawed as needed. This water became the base for a vat of split pea soup that I cooked yesterday and ate last night.
The soup was heavenly. Try this method sometime. I'm just suggesting...
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Hamentaschen
Page One Hundred Ninety-Two.
Purim is next week. That means one thing: Hamentaschen. Yum, yum, yum.
Purim is a springtime Jewish holiday when the Book of Esther is read in synagogue and Jews celebrate a time about 2500 years ago when our Persian Jewish ancestors faced certain annihilation. But, at the last minute, were saved. However, the holiday has evolved into something of a Jewish Mardi Gras. Synagogues all over the world have carnivals and parties. In Israel there will be parades, merriment and much alcohol consumption. Getting to the specific point, Purim's a blast. It's also one of Judaism's best kept secrets. Few non-Jews know about it and I'm not sure why.
When discussing Purim's contemporary traditions, the first thing to know is the ancient, biblical story of Esther.
Here's the super-mega-ultra abridged version of the story:
Purim is next week. That means one thing: Hamentaschen. Yum, yum, yum.
Purim is a springtime Jewish holiday when the Book of Esther is read in synagogue and Jews celebrate a time about 2500 years ago when our Persian Jewish ancestors faced certain annihilation. But, at the last minute, were saved. However, the holiday has evolved into something of a Jewish Mardi Gras. Synagogues all over the world have carnivals and parties. In Israel there will be parades, merriment and much alcohol consumption. Getting to the specific point, Purim's a blast. It's also one of Judaism's best kept secrets. Few non-Jews know about it and I'm not sure why.
When discussing Purim's contemporary traditions, the first thing to know is the ancient, biblical story of Esther.
Here's the super-mega-ultra abridged version of the story:
King Achashveros of Persia (our 21st century Iran) has a Prime Minister, Haman.
Haman tells King that if they kill all the Jews then that would solve all of Persia's problems.
King says "okey-dokey".
King doesn't realize that his wife, Esther, is Jewish.
Esther has uncle, Mordechai. who saves King's life.
So Esther goes and says "since you owe my uncle a biggie, how's 'bout if you don't kill me or my people, but instead Haman, his family and all their friends who were going to kill us?"
King said "okey-dokey."
Everybody lives happily ever after, except for Haman, his family and their supporters who were dead.
The End.
Believe you me, the actual bible story is a loooooooooooooot longer with more plot twists than Les Miserables. But you basically have the general idea now.
Purim traditions are wonderful.
At all the costume parties the world over (a tradition which dates to 14th century Italy and Germany) children and adults alike will be dressed up as these 4 major characters. Secular costumes have also become extremely popular. Think Halloween. In Israel and New York you might see Orthodox rabbis dressed up as nuns. Literally. The rabbi at my synagogue has dressed up as Sponge Bob, Superman and Oz's Dorothy to name just a few. This, while reading from the bible during a religious service.
Then, there's the carnival attitude (with 12th century origins). There's singing, dancing, merriment and much, much alcohol. Purim is the only day of the year when the tradition is to get hammered. That tradition comes from the belief that one should drink enough wine that one shouldn't recognize Haman's name. Purim is the only day in the Jewish calendar when excessive drinking is biblically sanctioned.
Also, there's the duty of giving money and food to your friends and the poor. There are actually gift bags made specifically for Purim food and gifts and they're labeled as such. You know how Christmas bags are labeled and decorated for Christmas? Same thing here except they're labeled and decorated for Purim. But , there are no gifts per se... just food (or money if they need it).
And most importantly, there's Hamantaschen. Only the most glorious food in the world, Hamantaschen is a pastry only to be found this time of year. Haman wore a tri-corner hat so these pastries are triangle shaped. These bits of heaven are then filled with the usual variety of flavors, hence "taschen", German for bag. There are two different styles of Hamantaschen: cookie style or yeast style. Cookie style are just exactly that. This photo shows cookie dough style with apricot and cherry filling. Yeast dough is my favorite. That style might remind the casual observer of Danish, but with no filling exposed. You simply bite into a flat triangle of slightly sweet bread and suddenly your mouth is filled with gooey sweetness. It's beautiful.
It's extremely possible that Purim's carnival tradition and Christianity's Mardi Gras both have roots in the same Roman springtime festival. Lord knows, Mardi Gras is popular. But again, non-Jews have no idea that Purim even exists. That really is unusual because many Jewish holiday are somewhere in the world's consciousness. Who knows why Purim is Judaism's greatest secret, but it is.
During the middle ages Christians did know about Purim. Anti-Semitism was so extreme that the general population knew about Hamantaschen. There was a pervasive rumor that Jews kidnapped Christian children, killed them, ground up their bones, then used that fine powder in the making of Hamantaschen. As recently as the late 1990's, there was a front page article in Saudi Arabia's largest newspaper discussing how this actually happens today. Again, this article was written and widely read less than 20 years ago. Then we wonder there's still so much mistrust and misunderstanding between Israel and the Arab countries.
I'm telling you though, if you live near a Jewish community, phone your largest local synagogue and find out when their Purim carnival or celebration will be. Go. Have fun. Eat. Manga... Manga...
Purim traditions are wonderful.
At all the costume parties the world over (a tradition which dates to 14th century Italy and Germany) children and adults alike will be dressed up as these 4 major characters. Secular costumes have also become extremely popular. Think Halloween. In Israel and New York you might see Orthodox rabbis dressed up as nuns. Literally. The rabbi at my synagogue has dressed up as Sponge Bob, Superman and Oz's Dorothy to name just a few. This, while reading from the bible during a religious service.
Then, there's the carnival attitude (with 12th century origins). There's singing, dancing, merriment and much, much alcohol. Purim is the only day of the year when the tradition is to get hammered. That tradition comes from the belief that one should drink enough wine that one shouldn't recognize Haman's name. Purim is the only day in the Jewish calendar when excessive drinking is biblically sanctioned.
Also, there's the duty of giving money and food to your friends and the poor. There are actually gift bags made specifically for Purim food and gifts and they're labeled as such. You know how Christmas bags are labeled and decorated for Christmas? Same thing here except they're labeled and decorated for Purim. But , there are no gifts per se... just food (or money if they need it).
And most importantly, there's Hamantaschen. Only the most glorious food in the world, Hamantaschen is a pastry only to be found this time of year. Haman wore a tri-corner hat so these pastries are triangle shaped. These bits of heaven are then filled with the usual variety of flavors, hence "taschen", German for bag. There are two different styles of Hamantaschen: cookie style or yeast style. Cookie style are just exactly that. This photo shows cookie dough style with apricot and cherry filling. Yeast dough is my favorite. That style might remind the casual observer of Danish, but with no filling exposed. You simply bite into a flat triangle of slightly sweet bread and suddenly your mouth is filled with gooey sweetness. It's beautiful.
It's extremely possible that Purim's carnival tradition and Christianity's Mardi Gras both have roots in the same Roman springtime festival. Lord knows, Mardi Gras is popular. But again, non-Jews have no idea that Purim even exists. That really is unusual because many Jewish holiday are somewhere in the world's consciousness. Who knows why Purim is Judaism's greatest secret, but it is.
During the middle ages Christians did know about Purim. Anti-Semitism was so extreme that the general population knew about Hamantaschen. There was a pervasive rumor that Jews kidnapped Christian children, killed them, ground up their bones, then used that fine powder in the making of Hamantaschen. As recently as the late 1990's, there was a front page article in Saudi Arabia's largest newspaper discussing how this actually happens today. Again, this article was written and widely read less than 20 years ago. Then we wonder there's still so much mistrust and misunderstanding between Israel and the Arab countries.
I'm telling you though, if you live near a Jewish community, phone your largest local synagogue and find out when their Purim carnival or celebration will be. Go. Have fun. Eat. Manga... Manga...
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Bra Shopping
Page One Hundred Ninety-One.
Would you like to hear a charming Women's Story? I don't know why I've been thinking about this old, family story lately, but I have.
I'm the youngest of five kids, 2 girls and 3 boys. Now-a-days, we're all in our 50's and 60's. This story takes place in the 1970's when we were a smidgen younger than we are today. My sister Louise, who's the oldest child, was a bit non-centered at the time. My other sister, Lee, who's the next youngest before me, was born to be in charge of everything. So one day Lee went to buy some new bras. I guess her old ones wore out or whatever happens to bras when they get elderly. Now, she usually bought Louise her bras also. I'm not sure how this pattern established itself, but it did. In fact, Lee actually knew what size and style Louise wore, better than Louise did. (It just made sense as Lee was the one who always did Louise's bra shopping.) So when she went to the cash register at The May Company to pay, the sales lady inquired, out of curiosity, why she was purchasing 2 different sizes. "I always buy bras for my sister whenever I get some for myself. She not real good at picking out bras for herself."
"Well aren't you a wonderful big sister?"
"Actually, my sister is 6 years older than I am."
According to Lee, the sales lady's expression was priceless. It was a mix of incredulity, curiosity and amazement. What's wrong... hadn't she ever sold bras to a hippy's little sister before?
Would you like to hear a charming Women's Story? I don't know why I've been thinking about this old, family story lately, but I have.
I'm the youngest of five kids, 2 girls and 3 boys. Now-a-days, we're all in our 50's and 60's. This story takes place in the 1970's when we were a smidgen younger than we are today. My sister Louise, who's the oldest child, was a bit non-centered at the time. My other sister, Lee, who's the next youngest before me, was born to be in charge of everything. So one day Lee went to buy some new bras. I guess her old ones wore out or whatever happens to bras when they get elderly. Now, she usually bought Louise her bras also. I'm not sure how this pattern established itself, but it did. In fact, Lee actually knew what size and style Louise wore, better than Louise did. (It just made sense as Lee was the one who always did Louise's bra shopping.) So when she went to the cash register at The May Company to pay, the sales lady inquired, out of curiosity, why she was purchasing 2 different sizes. "I always buy bras for my sister whenever I get some for myself. She not real good at picking out bras for herself."
"Well aren't you a wonderful big sister?"
"Actually, my sister is 6 years older than I am."
According to Lee, the sales lady's expression was priceless. It was a mix of incredulity, curiosity and amazement. What's wrong... hadn't she ever sold bras to a hippy's little sister before?
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Two Portuguese Water Dogs
Page One Hundred Ninety.
Right now, I'm dog-sitting 2 Portuguese Water Dogs. Xerxes and Valentine are tres cute and charming albeit loud, especially if they see deer, squirrels or bunny-wabbits in the yard. I'm in very luxurious digs in deep Shaker Heights, Ohio, about 2 miles from where I live in Cleveland Heights, the neighboring suburb. I've been the dog-sitter for this house-hold for 20 years I think. The original dog and cat, Captain and Smokey, are no longer with us but Xerxes and Valentine will do.
Their mommy and daddy are in the South Pacific right now sailing around and having a nice time. Meanwhile, I'm here walking these monsters at 7AM each day in the most uncomfortable winter in 2 decades. I don't mind too much though. When I get home next week and don't have to go for a walk while it's 5 degrees outside, I'll be so grateful. I typically watch these guys in the summer. But, occasionally a winter trip occurs. A few years ago, they went to Antarctica, so that dog-sitting gig was winter-based also. (Don't forget, America's wintertime is Antarctica's summertime.) It really is amazing what the human body can get used to though; even strolls in the park in sub-zero temps.
Some years ago, I was here while Captain was actively dying. Many months earlier, he'd been given 4 months to live. So mommy and daddy reserved me for 12 months later, assuming Captain would be no longer and my job would only involve watching Xerxes. Well Captain showed Mr. Death who was in charge. They couldn't re-schedule their trip and receive the deposit back just because they had a quickly dying dog to care for, so here I was. They set up my bed in the dining room because he couldn't make it up the stairs to the real bedroom any longer. And he was used to sleeping with his masters. (In fact, mommy slept on that bed while they were home, until Captain finally did give in to the inevitable.) I've had other jobs caring for dogs while they were on their deathbeds, too. It's really no fun, but someone's gotta do it. I mean, if you made plans 8 months earlier to be in Italy, assuming the dog would take the plunge as the Vet said he would, and he doesn't, well what are you going to do? Cancel? So here I was.
Xerxes will probably be next. But hopefully not for a while. (In this house-hold, anyhow. Another one of my regular jobs has already reserved me for mid-March and late April, even though their dog has been on death's doorstep since last November and as of yesterday has stopped eating.)
Meanwhile.... The Van Sweringen Company is a well known brand in Cleveland. Though the company went bust some 75-80 years ago, it was the primary planner and developer of Shaker Heights and some major downtown Cleveland property during World War I and the 1920's. This home where I'm staying was the family home of the Van Sweringen Company's chief engineer. It just epitomizes 1920's opulence. It's not truly large by Shaker standards, perhaps 5000 square feet, but it sure has oomph. Mommy and daddy have a few homes strewn about other states. When they're at one of the others, I'm the caretaker for this property. I stop in occasionally and make sure it's okay.
One of these days I really should have a big, blow-out party here. I'm sure they wouldn't mind...
 |
| Beautiful Shaker Heights, Ohio |
Their mommy and daddy are in the South Pacific right now sailing around and having a nice time. Meanwhile, I'm here walking these monsters at 7AM each day in the most uncomfortable winter in 2 decades. I don't mind too much though. When I get home next week and don't have to go for a walk while it's 5 degrees outside, I'll be so grateful. I typically watch these guys in the summer. But, occasionally a winter trip occurs. A few years ago, they went to Antarctica, so that dog-sitting gig was winter-based also. (Don't forget, America's wintertime is Antarctica's summertime.) It really is amazing what the human body can get used to though; even strolls in the park in sub-zero temps.
 |
| The window on the stair landing |
Meanwhile.... The Van Sweringen Company is a well known brand in Cleveland. Though the company went bust some 75-80 years ago, it was the primary planner and developer of Shaker Heights and some major downtown Cleveland property during World War I and the 1920's. This home where I'm staying was the family home of the Van Sweringen Company's chief engineer. It just epitomizes 1920's opulence. It's not truly large by Shaker standards, perhaps 5000 square feet, but it sure has oomph. Mommy and daddy have a few homes strewn about other states. When they're at one of the others, I'm the caretaker for this property. I stop in occasionally and make sure it's okay.
One of these days I really should have a big, blow-out party here. I'm sure they wouldn't mind...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)