These are Jewish people. My three children, Eileen and Eileen’s mom. Taken on the occasion of Eileen’s mom’s 75th birthday. The “shiksa” took the photo. That would be me. I am the only non-Jewish person in our household.
But I try very hard.
Consider this photo for a moment. We are in Miami (naturally). We stayed at the Fountainbleu (of course we did) and we were on our way to Joe’s Stone Crab for dinner (you bet we were). At no point during this trip did I attempt to drag anyone to a great bar for a draught beer. We were too busy scoping out cheesecake.
My world and welcome to it.
So here I am this morning at my laptop. Just sat down after cutting carrots, onions and celery for the chicken soup. Using Nana’s foolproof recipe of course. Eileen’s mom passed away a few years back. She was a big presence in our lives when she was with us and I think it’s fair to say that she is still a big presence. A blog post for another day perhaps.
She was a wonderful cook. And she made a mean chicken soup. Now the shiksa is making it.
You see, I try very hard. But it’s not always perfect.
Eileen made me a little grocery list and I shopped for my soup ingredients yesterday. I remember thinking that it was odd that she told me what BRAND of noodles to get. Eileen can be a bit obsessive at times but typically she does not specify brands. This was clear “Goodman’s Skinny Noodles.”
They didn’t have them. They had Goodman’s noodles and they had skinny noodles but they didn’t have Goodman’s skinny noodles. I lookd for a long time. Then I thought. Which is more important? Brand or size of noodle? It never crossed my mind to go to another store to see if I could score Goodman’s skinny noodles. So I decided that shape trumped brand. So I got skinny noodles. Different brand.
Eileen came home and was very appreciative that I had done the holiday grocery shopping. Then she took a look at my noodles. ‘These are not Goodman,” she said. I knew she was thinking that I had been slipshod in my shopping (that does happen from time to time). I immediately got a bit defensive. “Yes, I know honey.” I went on to explain my noodle strategy, feeling mighty proud of myself.
She then held up the bag and I looked more closely. Pennsylvania Dutch Noodles. Clearly not Jewish noodles. Not even close. Ben and Kit then came through the door and the soup discussion played second fiddle to the dinner hustle and bustle. But we came back to it later as we were shutting lights off, locking doors and heading to bed. Climbing the stairs, it started. “You think the Amish Jews get to wear more festive clothing when they head off to synagogue to celebrate the new year?”
The soup smells incredible. I must admit. And it makes me feel really good that Eileen, Ben and Kit will come in this afternoon and appreciate the delicious aroma. I wish I could send the aroma to Scout in Boston. The aroma is about family. Not just the five of us but somehow the soup ties us to Eileen’s mom in a way that feels quite good.
Enough said. I’m heading out now and I’m not coming back without a bag of Goodman’s skinny noodles.
Happy new year.
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