I got to schtick in plenty of Yiddish in this week’s Connect, doing my best to educate Savannah on the ways of the tribe:
Here’s an excerpt from “What the @$#! is Rugelach?”, a little overview of this Sunday’s Shalom Y’all Jewish Food Festival:
First of all, you have to say it right. When it comes to Jewish food, “ch” doesn’t sound like the one in “cheese” or “patch.” It’s more of a growly “h” that comes from the back of the throat, reminiscent of a bear with a cold. Say it now: Rugelach. Did you get that “achhh” part? You can practice more later…
Huge props to Becky Smith of Photos by Becky who supplied the sumptuous photos for the story. Many apologies, Becky, that your credit did appear in print–I’m hoping the boss will print a correction next week.
On the next page is my account of eating with Bizarre Foods host Andrew Zimmern in the kosher sukkah. Money quote: “I eat enough pig and shellfish to make my rabbi’s toes curl.” Check it out.
And while I’m shepping nachas for myself, here’s this week’s Civil Society Column regarding last week’s mayoral debate, “Women & Children First-or You Know, Whenever”.
Hope to nosh with y’all Sunday!
Jessica, Andrew Zimmern’s quote about eating treif reminds me of a joke:
Jewish guy is eating a very treif meal in a restaurant. His Rabbi happens to be passing by and looks in the window, noticing his congregant chowing down on a mammoth shrimp cocktail, five pound lobster — the works. Finally, the Rabbi enters the restaurant and approaches the fellow, ready to scold the guy.
“Rabbi, before you say a word, let me ask you a question. Did you actually see me eat the shrimp cocktail?”
“Yes, Mr. Schwartz, I certainly did.”
“And did you definitely see me consume the lobster?”
“Again, I absolutely watched you eat the entire thing.”
“Well then, Rabbi, I would say that my entire meal was eaten under strict Rabbinic supervision!”
Ha ha!
So at a wedding a couple of years ago, a Jewish friend glanced over and noticed her Italian Jewish (as in Italian-speaking, grew up in Florence) husband devouring a bunch of hors d’oevres.
“Paulo!” she gasped. “It’s pork!”
He shrugged magnificently.
“Eh, pork… It’s prosciutto.”
True story.
Will their be blintzes? I must have a blintz again.
Damn straight there’ll be blintzes!