Tuesday, April 3, 2012

End of an Era


First Bohacks, and now it's Waldbaums.
It's time to face it; it's the end of the Supermarket
era as we know it.
I feel fine.
A little bittersweet, perhaps, but fine.
There will always be Costco and Trader Joes, right?
But Waldbaums put me through College. I was fast
on the register and am still an excellent bagger.
Double time on weekends! That was a nice summer job.
Waldbaums
made Passover Special.
Where will we find a selection of 10 jars, some with salt, some without. All with that strange jelly suspension and mystery fish emulsion.
And jelly rings, and matzos (although the whole wheat ones are new, right?)
But I digress.
Time to face the facts, it's 2012 and we have grown to expect fresher food, more
selection, better graphics on our signage and packaging and a range of sugar free, carb free, high protein specialties that allow us a myriad of dinner choices with only a microwave at our fingertips. Sad to say, Waldbaums was a social event, reliable employer, produce bowling alley (that goes along with reliable employer, another time for explanation), hobby and destination but never a personal chef.
Sorry, Mom, time to move on. But it was fun while it lasted.




Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Toaster ovens



Dad ate breakfast every morning at 6 am and the Toaster oven was his best buddy.
It always had his back.
He ate toast - white , never whole wheat - and added butter - never margarine - and lots of coffee.
For Lunch on the weekends it was toast and cheese and cervalot. (Fat and fat and fat, but cervalot has beef fat mixed with garlic so it was extra tasty. A kind of kosher German wurst that was really a heart attack in a casing. You lost years off your life, but at least every moment was flavorful.)
This toaster oven was his main co-hort at every morning and every weekend meal. It was always perched on the table to his left, always at the ready. We smelled toast once a day on the weekdays and twice a day on the weekends. And he toasted 'till it charred. Just like he grilled. Mixed with cigarette smoke, (Kents, do they even sell these anymore?), it was comforting to know that Dad was in the kitchen and all was on schedule.
Until the day the toaster oven went up in flames! The plug started sparking in the socket and then it became great licks of red/yellow/blue flames edging up to the table (wood with a nice layer of shellac) and almost to his pant legs. Even the dog started barking in fear.
Dad kept on eating his toast.

Perhaps the mix of cigarette smoke and char distorted his sense of smell and his eyesight was not so sharp, either.
When the dog started barking, Mom came into the kitchen and started screaming.
After some fumbling with the fire extinquisher, some baking soda and a lot of hystrionics, the flames were put out and it was decided that breakfast was over.
Dad had finished his toast and went off to work. He put the toaster oven in the basement, thinking he would fix the cord, Mom went off to Korvettes to buy a new one knowing that the cord would never be fixed and if it was, it would go up in flames again.
Many years later, we threw out the toaster oven, and thought it was fortunate that he hadn't burned down the house that day. Little did we know that Mom's turn was coming.

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Reality outstrips the legend, or, "Gotcha in your Gotkas"


My mother-in-law was truly the greatest character I have ever known. She called the cable company once to fix her illegal cable box, then was infuriated when they confiscated it, and she then compared her treatment (unfavorably), in a phone message to me at the office,, to that received by her fellow-victim of the government, Manuel Noriega. She fought weekly with her husband ("Jose!") as to who read the same sections of the Sunday papers, so that within two hours it could all be thrown out into the paper bag and soon to be headed to the trash. She substitute taught calculus, when it cannot be determined with specificity if she knew much beyond basic arithmetic. She burned her house down (courtesy of an electric blanket manufactured at about the same time as the invention of the wheel), and didn't stop talking even as being rushed to the hospital. She gave people directions that included "Make a left turn where Bohacks used to be." She predicted the great economic meltdown (based on the stores where A&S and McCrory's used to be, as well as the news she would listen to on the radio with the lights blinking out the wrong time, proving that even a broken clock can be wrong all of the time)- message from 2008: You were --finally- right Erna. She typed (in Judy's immortal words) like she had no fingers. She claimed to hate organized religion, yet she was the archetype of a Jewish mother. And everything revolved around food and feeding her family, every day up until the time after dinner when she would mop the kitchen floor after finishing the final load of "God bless my dishwasher," and was officially "finished done and through" for the night, leaving only 110 minutes of TV. She set records for visiting Waldbaum's because after all it was a "straight run." She traumatized an entire baby boomer generation about the wondrous qualities of Karo syrup, and brought new meaning to "frozen food" when it came to various desserts (i.e., the main course), following the meat dish (the appetizer). She used the phone as weapon, and even with the long tangled yellow cord in the kitchen, it could be a lethal one. And can we ever forget that resounding vote of support: "You didn't marry so well either!"?- if that was the only thing she ever said, then that would be enough BY ITSELF for her to be always remembered by. She never stopped talking, though every sentence would veer off into multiple directions like a geometric puzzle she probably taught in the high school. Did she graduate from college? Did she graduate from high school? What exactly did she do to RKO (on the days it was open) during those years, and will the American film industry ever be the same? Even the Zeligs probably never knew. She could never be quiet, she could never be happy, she could never be still, she can never be forgotten. Her made-up language was an integral part of her larger-than-life persona. She seemed indestructible, and for many years was. Behind it all, she never thought much of herself, and battled her own demons,- with words, chocolate, more words, and more chocolate. She once shared with me her diary of her trip through Europe with her husband- it was all about food, and the restaurants, but it was her expressing herself, for once with nobody to listen- that, and the "immunization book" of her children- Erna focused on her kids, her food and of course her words, showing me that it- she- was no act, and that through her unique style of expression and not quite real vocabulary, or through eating, or speaking about eating, often while eating ... the rest of us may have been recipients of her hospitality, involuntary listeners, occasional victims, or otherwise part of her day, but ultimately we were only bystanders. Erna was inevitably completely, and genuinely, always herself.

make your own plaid



http://www.houseoftartan.co.uk/

This is a great website. Try it out. Make your own plaid!

It's possible that you have to be into fabric to be amused by this. Or Scottish.

Expect the unexpected

Editors at the Wine Spectator bestowed a coveted Award of Excellence on a non-existent restaurant. The prank was dreamed up by Robin Goldstein, who concocted a fake website with recipes from an Italian cookbook and a reserve wine list “largely chosen from among some of the lowest-scoring Italian wines in Wine Spectator over the past few decades.”
http://www.newspaperdeathwatch.com/

So, check out your restaurants with more than one source.

Thursday, January 1, 2009

Efsher - Maybe, could be


And one more thing about the Long Island Suburban Pioneer...

The oven was old . Original to the house and lasted from 1960 until 2001. Only a fire could remove it from the house. Merely falling apart wasn't sufficient to ensure it's replacement.
Sometime in the 80's (or 90's?) the door ceased to stay closed on it's own and Mom decided that duct tape was the answer. The timer didn't work right by that time, the racks were questionable and 350 degrees was really 325, but nonetheless, duct tape was the answer. Silver duct tape always. Never black or navy. Silver went well with the marigold yellow walls and the multi color tile backsplash, embellished with water based stamp motifs, so the theme was maintained.
Ern made the most amazing roast chicken and cream puffs in that oven. No roast chicken before or since has even come close to her roast chicken. And when the oven was replaced in the Great Fire of '01, no chicken was ever roasted to perfection again. She was, in fact, right.
It was a magic oven and with the Waldbaums brand roaster and her secret blend of spices and orange juice (no salt never salt) it is a flavor I can only imagine but never replicate.

Um-be-shrien and THE UNIT


Um-be-shrien - God forbid! It shouldn't happen!
http://www.pass.to/glossary/Default.htm


We usher in the New Year with a tribute to my Mom, a Long Island suburban pioneer and an original in her own right. She loved to utter words that were somehow related to Yiddish but only in the abstract. This was one of her words. Her definition was different but the pronounciation was correct.
Pictured here is the Unit. This air conditioner blew like an arctic wind, was located in the dining room, and on summer weekends when we sometimes had dinner in the dining room, it was a challenge to lobby for a seat away from the wind tunnel. I was the youngest, and usually got the spot just left of the biggest fan, so I was always careful to pick foods that were heavy and could not be blown off my plate.The Unit cooled our house from the 60's through to the 80's until the folks put in central air conditioning and simply pushed the Unit out of the dining room window where it fell to the soggy ground and remained for years until it was lugged under the house and finally in 2005, unceremoniously dragged to the curb and somehow re-situated to some other far away place. This air conditioner kept the dining room frigid , the living room not so hot, the kitchen so -so and did nothing for the bedrooms, where my sister would try to sleep in the sweltering summer nights. She, sadly, was the only one without a back up mini unit. To this day, I am surprised the dog slept in her room, so that's a sign of real devotion.
It was family legend and I still remember the day Dad pushed it out of the dining room window, we heard the thud (hoped the squirrels were out of the way) watched him close the window and turn down the thermostat in a satisfied, 'that's that' kind of motion. Then on went the stereo, a cup of coffee was poured and we were ready for the next chapter.