Zman Heruteinu, Hag He'aviv, Pesach, Passover. A very special time of year, a very emotional Holiday. Here in the Lower Rio Grande Valley, spring came and went, without a real splash or flourish. Back up north Spring is a riot of color, scents and the song of returning birds hearkens us to the mad cleaning frenzy that precedes Pesach. I never did the whole hunt the chometz, but I did feel the three thousand year old call to throw open the windows and spring clean the house.
The last few years a few stray fellow Jews, Barry and myself have made a small and hamish seder. Every time I crack open my frayed and yellowed old Passover recipes and the special Super Supplement Passovers' with Newsday I've collected for over 35 years I can only sit quietly and remember Seders past.
Most of my memories center on the very formal white damask cloth clad and sparkling crystal china laden table my Grandmother Etta would set. Her dining room was an artistic mix of blond and cherry wood with a fabulous chandelier that bounced it's prismatic light off her cut and etched mirror. In the center of all this sparkle and gleam was placed a huge vase of white Gladiolas.
Aside from the ascetics that set off my own desire for interior design, was my grandmothers food. We always arrived after everything was set and the kitchen preparations were just a memory. It was the one time of year we entered the house on Maytime Drive through the front door. All other visits were through the garage, shoes off upon entering, or through the sliding glass doors in the den. We trooped up from downstairs on old sheet covered stairs carefully avoiding the Living room, and headed straight into the kitchen. We were only allowed to sit in the formal blue and white living room on very special occasions. When Grandpa (Pop) played the Steinway& Sons black Mother Grand we were allowed to sit near him on the carpet, watching his slippered feet work the petals and his beautiful spatulate fingers glide and tickle the key board. Pop liked to nap on the thick plush carpet behind the piano that was placed in the pocket of a giant Bay window. If we were very quiet we also could lay down on sacred ground.
It's Pesach, my sister and I have a brand new outfit usually topped off with a hat designed and made by my Aunt Gertie. My brother his blond hair brill creamed to spiky peaks, bow tied with his jacket buttoned in the middle. We never had much in the way of material things in our house and our cloths budget was next to nothing, but when called for I must say we had some ripping outfits. My sister Pam was more the cloths horse and lamented my mothers choices often and loudly. Our Great Aunts and Uncle would make us coats, hats and outfits for the dressy and holiday occasions, on these moments we could really hold our heads up and shine.
Arriving we received our rare kiss from Pop and were seated in the Living room until called to the table. Pop read the service in breakneck Hebrew until the responsive bits and we dutifully told the tale of the Hebrews exile and soujourn as slaves to Pharoh in Egypt. Patifar and his battle with Moses as g-d sent a new message and plague with each demand to free the people of Israel.
Each year we drank the Manischewitz Concord Grape wine and every year my sister found a way to drink more than her four sips and got a wee bit shicka. Erupting in cascades of giggles in appropriately. One of the men hid the afikomen. Reading the Haggadah and singing the songs brought us continuity, and tradition in an other wise traditonless family.Our Da Da Yenu was very rousing. We didn't attend Temple until just before my brother was to be bar-mitzva and the day after we didn't step in the Temple again. Maybe our temple going lasted 3-4 years. My sister and I were out to sea we didn't have a clue but we both felt a connection. Our jewish/yiddishkite roots did not run deep. Passover was our chance to really remember who we were, who our children would ultimately be.
The Four questions were passed down to the youngest and so it went. Grandma disappeared in to the kitchen at some point and no sooner had the men washed their hands and the Hillel sandwich was just a bitter memory then food began arriving. Gefilte fish which I will not apologise for loving, with crain or horseradish hard boiled eggs and salt water, chicken soup with Flanken. My sister and I had Flanken wars, as we both vied for the precious pieces of meat that helped to strengthen the soup. Frankly, I would have been happy to stop the meal right there.
We had at least two meat dishes with roasted chicken, several vegetables and a Potato Nick or kugel and baked Sweet Potatoes. We never ate Tsimmis, or so many of the other dishes I have come to know at other Seders. So my dilemma besides not making matzo balls like my mothers canon balls, was that there was never any real holiday recipe to be gleaned from my grandmothers table. The food was fantastic as she was a fabulous cook, but it was never really the stuff of handing down generation to generation. Etta was also a solo cook no one in her kitchen so as a child I never saw her cook those holiday meals. When I began to take over the Passover from my mom and dad, I had to go in search of Passover. So my collecting began in ernest.
So I opened my tattered collection today and I will share a few of my gems. I wet matzo, so here is my passover "bagels"
2/3 cup water
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt
1/3 cup oil
1 cup matzo meal
3 eggs
Bring the water, salt and oil to the boil. When bubbling add matzo meal, stir remove from the heat and cool. Add the eggs 1 at a time, mixing well. Drop by tablespoons on a greased pan wetting hands carefully shape into a bagel form with a hole in the middle.
Bake 350 F 40-45 min.
Passover Carrot Pudding
8 eggs, separated
1/2 cup matzo meal
1/4 tsp salt
1 1/2 cups powdered sugar
2 cups grated carrot
1 tbsp wine
1/2 cup ground almonds
1/2 lemon rind grated
Beat together yolks and sugar till light, add remaining ingredients
Beat whites till stiff peaks and then fold into yolk mixture. Bake in well greased and matzo floured pan 300 F 1 hour
Mashed Potato Pie
4-5 Potatoes
1 onion diced 2 lbs chopped meat
1/2 teaspoon salt, pepper garlic powder ( I add a few grates of nutmeg to the mashed potatoes)
Boil potatoes and mash well putting through a ricer
Brown onion in oil then add chop meat s&p garlic powder
Grease baking dish well and beginning with potatoes layer meat and potato alternately.
Bake 350 F 1 hour until nice and brown on top
Sometimes I add mushrooms to the onion browning process for a richer beefier flavor.
Almond Hills
3 tbs cakemeal or matzo meal sifted
1/4 lb. blanched almonds
1/2 lb. powdered sugar (1 2/3 cups)
5 egg whites
Roast blanched almonds and sliver, beat egg whites stiff, sift in powdered sugar and meal. Add almonds and mix thoroughly. Grease cookie sheet dust well with meal, and drop Tablespoons of mixture onto sheet. Keep room for spreading between hills.
Bake 275 F about 20 minutes cool before removing from sheet.
Many years ago I stopped making apple Haroset. I am allergic to cinnamon and I personally loathe apple anything. So I adopted a wonderful Sephardi recipe and never looked back.
1lbs, pitted dates
2 cups dark currents
1 cup chopped walnuts ( I prefer Pecans)
enough sweet red wine to moisten
a touch of honey or brown sugar
Alternatively Sephardi do not use wine but I would add 1/2 cup honey or brown sugar and lemon juice along with the soaking liquid.
Soak dates and currents over night reserve liquid after draining
Coarse chop fruit add chopped nuts, wine and honey
add back any soaking liquid if mixture begins to dry too much
I find this works the best, if I make the mixture the night before and then adjust for moisture before serving. After all, dates and honey what could be bad?
My spell check had a nervous break down with all of the foreign words, being the notoriously bad speller that I am if I have miss spelled any Yiddish words etc. forgive me.
The highlight of the evening was always watching that rascal Elijah drink from the Kiddush cup and no one can tell me he didn't. The boys ran around looking for the Afikoman and then we were summerly sent down to the den to amuse ourselves till we drooply trooped off home.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Food Plain and Simple
"Now that I've eaten I see things in a different light." Groucho Marx
It is too true that no matter what or when we eat, the aspect of mood is either creator or resolver of many things. In the simple act of mastication and swallowing we have created whole realms of emotional responses, rituals, making new retrieving of old. Whether our data banks overflow with useless and sometimes annoying bits and bytes, our food memory banks never fail to reunite self with self. Now mind you I have memories of food poisonings that are as vivid as my cherished foody moments. As a matter of fact I can remember where I was what I ate and my willingness to cross the Vail at those haunted memories. Vivid as they are, and great tales that they make my food catalog is vast and colorful. I do remember where and when I traveled each culinary crossroad. I can conjure the scent, temperature, texture, color palette and finally and most exquisitely my first taste.
From my earliest memories food, and the discernment of good and bad food has been my shadow. We have traveled together, we talk to each other, we dream with each other and connect on a level of art and artist. One could argue that my penchant for hoarding stems from a former life time of food deprivation, my pantry bursting with a resemblance to the Ark. This murky reincarnation also brings me to question my innate recognition of certain cuisines that had not been in my childhood. That instant almost teary eyed reunion with a palate from the past and the reuniting of two friends.
As soon as I could master the stove in my mothers home I stood nearly eye to eye with the knobs and began a life time of passing on joy and love to all who would partake. I come from and interesting food lineage, Kosher in spirit if not practice when I was very young, and one parent with an adventurous palate and another parent who thought frozen food and white bread was dinner du jour. My maternal Grand-mother was a terrific cook who taught several of her nieces to cook, but failed utterly with my mother. Another maternal Great-Grandmother was a caterer and marvelous pastry maker. My father was a very good cook and a master griller. It was he who saved us from Oncor/Boil n bag hell. I remember the first time he brought home Kippers and sauteed them in butter squeezing lemons to finish. He taught us how to negotiate the bones and how to fillet a whitefish "chub". My mother stayed firmly in her bed on those rare but memorable Sunday mornings.
Cookbooks were read as a novel, each recipe stored and amended by my mental palate. My first breads, dried legumes, whole fish, new vegetable, each rung in the ladder I climbed. In the eighties I began to cater, a small party here and there. I didn't know a thing and had to cook from the confines of my then woeful kitchen. The children hands scrubbed sitting at the kitchen table rolling meatballs, or dough. I did well, very well, but I needed a partner, several friends offered to partner and after one party quit, it was too much work. Mind you no one was cooking in those days. I gave a cooking class to my NCJW women, they hugged and thanked me and then patted, all the while shaking their heads at my foolish waste of time and energy. Reservations and prepackaged foods were after all cleaner and easier. I was alone in the vast wilderness of the modern cook/woman. A whole generation who could not, would not cook. Without the help I needed, I let the catering dream fold, but soldiered on alone in my culinary quests.
Oh so many years later and the food world is so exciting, and everyone talks and walks food. Still to my surprise, I find even with Food network, PBS and the Travel Channel there is still a need for education and the exchange of recipes and techniques. I had a discussion with Jose my home builder the other evening about salt and different salts. Pulling out several jars we lined them up and he and his photographer did a salt tasting. He is the cook in the family, his wife burns water. We pulled out my pots and we talked about the different materials in relation to different types of cooking. We spent two hours nattering on about cooking and foods. I showed him my sour dough starter jar. He watches (the networks) religiously and yet his basic food knowledge was undeveloped.
It is my belief that food has become a spectator sport and without the stories and backgrounds , we don't identify with the foods we see the chefs prepare on TV. Over forty years of self education and a drive to conquer my inner hunger for new tastes and techniques, I find my self pulled back into the realm of food, and cooking. So often I have been asked why I don't get back into cooking, and my response has been I just can't be on my feet like that anymore. Yet there is another way I can step back in to the the world of food, and here it is. I hope through stories, anecdotes and education I can "feed" you all.
Now I have been asked repeatedly by friends and family for help and recipes. Despite all the food media and many blogs I am flattered and amazed that I have become the food maven. So yes, I will answer questions share and find recipes and of course have this forum for those of you who wish to jump in and share the traditions as well as the recipes of your own households.
As per your request Lynn and Ava here is my Eggplant and Rice Provincial, I was thrilled that you loved it. When I was a vegetarian it was a big staple bring a dish, dish. The original recipe is lost in my vast collection of cook books so here is the version that has stood the test of time:
When picking out Eggplants, unmarked deeply purple with a small calyx and small bottom dimple is best. They will have fewer seeds as I believe these are the males. I also no longer peel and seed my own tomatoes, I use Organic peeled plum tomatoes in the can, they taste better and save time. If tomatoes are in season however use fresh!
To peel fresh tomatoes, boil some water, wash tomatoes and slice a small x on the bottom, place 3/4 of the way up in boiling water for a second or so, remove and plunge into a bowl of ice water x down. If all goes right you can peel the skin right off and then proceed to squeeze gently to remove excess juice and pits. The rest is a fine chop. I like to do this for summer salads and when I make a fresh tomato pasta and olive oil.
Pre-heat Oven 400 F
2 Lbs of Eggplants Peeled, and cut into 1" cubes sprinkle with lemon juice to preserve color
4-6 Tbsp. of olive oil (Eggplants soak up oil so don't just pour more on keep the veggie moving)
3 cups finely chpd onions (Sweet if you can get)
1 red pepper cored, seeded cut into 1" cubes
2 garlic cloves smashed and chopped
3 peeled cored and seeded tomato's chopped (use at least six, plum canned without the juice)
fresh Rosemary, Sage, Thyme, crushed and chopped
2 bay leaves
1 cup long grain rice (I pre cook for a few minutes before adding to mixture)
3 1/4 cups of Vegetable stock
sea salt and lemon pepper
(dots of butter, make this better)
In hot saute pan add olive oil and saute eggplant moving the pan and egg plant vigorously. I like to caramelize this a little for the smoky flavor before adding onion, r.pepper,tomatoes, garlic, spices and bay leaves. This is a matter of taste but if using fresh you need to use quite a bit, if dried a 1/2 teaspoon each should do it. Lower heat and simmer until the liquid evaporates. Stir in par cooked rice and warmed stock adding salt and lemon pepper to taste. Here I use Royal Basmati aged Himalayan rice, and McCormick course grind Lemon pepper. It has no MSG and is fairly clear of anything nasty. Dot or not, with butter and bake covered for 30 minutes. Check the rice and moisture level. I usually uncover and cook another 15-20 min. Or if I intend to reheat and serve later I pull it out now.
Serves 8
I hope you enjoy this tried and true dish of mine.
Hey I'm hungry anyone want Foccacia bread? HMMMM...
It is too true that no matter what or when we eat, the aspect of mood is either creator or resolver of many things. In the simple act of mastication and swallowing we have created whole realms of emotional responses, rituals, making new retrieving of old. Whether our data banks overflow with useless and sometimes annoying bits and bytes, our food memory banks never fail to reunite self with self. Now mind you I have memories of food poisonings that are as vivid as my cherished foody moments. As a matter of fact I can remember where I was what I ate and my willingness to cross the Vail at those haunted memories. Vivid as they are, and great tales that they make my food catalog is vast and colorful. I do remember where and when I traveled each culinary crossroad. I can conjure the scent, temperature, texture, color palette and finally and most exquisitely my first taste.
From my earliest memories food, and the discernment of good and bad food has been my shadow. We have traveled together, we talk to each other, we dream with each other and connect on a level of art and artist. One could argue that my penchant for hoarding stems from a former life time of food deprivation, my pantry bursting with a resemblance to the Ark. This murky reincarnation also brings me to question my innate recognition of certain cuisines that had not been in my childhood. That instant almost teary eyed reunion with a palate from the past and the reuniting of two friends.
As soon as I could master the stove in my mothers home I stood nearly eye to eye with the knobs and began a life time of passing on joy and love to all who would partake. I come from and interesting food lineage, Kosher in spirit if not practice when I was very young, and one parent with an adventurous palate and another parent who thought frozen food and white bread was dinner du jour. My maternal Grand-mother was a terrific cook who taught several of her nieces to cook, but failed utterly with my mother. Another maternal Great-Grandmother was a caterer and marvelous pastry maker. My father was a very good cook and a master griller. It was he who saved us from Oncor/Boil n bag hell. I remember the first time he brought home Kippers and sauteed them in butter squeezing lemons to finish. He taught us how to negotiate the bones and how to fillet a whitefish "chub". My mother stayed firmly in her bed on those rare but memorable Sunday mornings.
Cookbooks were read as a novel, each recipe stored and amended by my mental palate. My first breads, dried legumes, whole fish, new vegetable, each rung in the ladder I climbed. In the eighties I began to cater, a small party here and there. I didn't know a thing and had to cook from the confines of my then woeful kitchen. The children hands scrubbed sitting at the kitchen table rolling meatballs, or dough. I did well, very well, but I needed a partner, several friends offered to partner and after one party quit, it was too much work. Mind you no one was cooking in those days. I gave a cooking class to my NCJW women, they hugged and thanked me and then patted, all the while shaking their heads at my foolish waste of time and energy. Reservations and prepackaged foods were after all cleaner and easier. I was alone in the vast wilderness of the modern cook/woman. A whole generation who could not, would not cook. Without the help I needed, I let the catering dream fold, but soldiered on alone in my culinary quests.
Oh so many years later and the food world is so exciting, and everyone talks and walks food. Still to my surprise, I find even with Food network, PBS and the Travel Channel there is still a need for education and the exchange of recipes and techniques. I had a discussion with Jose my home builder the other evening about salt and different salts. Pulling out several jars we lined them up and he and his photographer did a salt tasting. He is the cook in the family, his wife burns water. We pulled out my pots and we talked about the different materials in relation to different types of cooking. We spent two hours nattering on about cooking and foods. I showed him my sour dough starter jar. He watches (the networks) religiously and yet his basic food knowledge was undeveloped.
It is my belief that food has become a spectator sport and without the stories and backgrounds , we don't identify with the foods we see the chefs prepare on TV. Over forty years of self education and a drive to conquer my inner hunger for new tastes and techniques, I find my self pulled back into the realm of food, and cooking. So often I have been asked why I don't get back into cooking, and my response has been I just can't be on my feet like that anymore. Yet there is another way I can step back in to the the world of food, and here it is. I hope through stories, anecdotes and education I can "feed" you all.
Now I have been asked repeatedly by friends and family for help and recipes. Despite all the food media and many blogs I am flattered and amazed that I have become the food maven. So yes, I will answer questions share and find recipes and of course have this forum for those of you who wish to jump in and share the traditions as well as the recipes of your own households.
As per your request Lynn and Ava here is my Eggplant and Rice Provincial, I was thrilled that you loved it. When I was a vegetarian it was a big staple bring a dish, dish. The original recipe is lost in my vast collection of cook books so here is the version that has stood the test of time:
When picking out Eggplants, unmarked deeply purple with a small calyx and small bottom dimple is best. They will have fewer seeds as I believe these are the males. I also no longer peel and seed my own tomatoes, I use Organic peeled plum tomatoes in the can, they taste better and save time. If tomatoes are in season however use fresh!
To peel fresh tomatoes, boil some water, wash tomatoes and slice a small x on the bottom, place 3/4 of the way up in boiling water for a second or so, remove and plunge into a bowl of ice water x down. If all goes right you can peel the skin right off and then proceed to squeeze gently to remove excess juice and pits. The rest is a fine chop. I like to do this for summer salads and when I make a fresh tomato pasta and olive oil.
Pre-heat Oven 400 F
2 Lbs of Eggplants Peeled, and cut into 1" cubes sprinkle with lemon juice to preserve color
4-6 Tbsp. of olive oil (Eggplants soak up oil so don't just pour more on keep the veggie moving)
3 cups finely chpd onions (Sweet if you can get)
1 red pepper cored, seeded cut into 1" cubes
2 garlic cloves smashed and chopped
3 peeled cored and seeded tomato's chopped (use at least six, plum canned without the juice)
fresh Rosemary, Sage, Thyme, crushed and chopped
2 bay leaves
1 cup long grain rice (I pre cook for a few minutes before adding to mixture)
3 1/4 cups of Vegetable stock
sea salt and lemon pepper
(dots of butter, make this better)
In hot saute pan add olive oil and saute eggplant moving the pan and egg plant vigorously. I like to caramelize this a little for the smoky flavor before adding onion, r.pepper,tomatoes, garlic, spices and bay leaves. This is a matter of taste but if using fresh you need to use quite a bit, if dried a 1/2 teaspoon each should do it. Lower heat and simmer until the liquid evaporates. Stir in par cooked rice and warmed stock adding salt and lemon pepper to taste. Here I use Royal Basmati aged Himalayan rice, and McCormick course grind Lemon pepper. It has no MSG and is fairly clear of anything nasty. Dot or not, with butter and bake covered for 30 minutes. Check the rice and moisture level. I usually uncover and cook another 15-20 min. Or if I intend to reheat and serve later I pull it out now.
Serves 8
I hope you enjoy this tried and true dish of mine.
Hey I'm hungry anyone want Foccacia bread? HMMMM...
Monday, March 17, 2008
Chop Suey
Summer.
Jacknowitz family picnics , I remember a park with a lake. Everybody came, there was food and more food. Grates on fire pits filled with aromatic sizzling stuff. Family, Great Aunts and Great Uncles, Aunts, Uncles, and cousins to the fifth degree. A loud yelling mass of people, all with an opinion. The loudest no matter how convoluted the logic won. Always.
The men wore grey slacks, the older men's were baggy, I mean down to the knees baggy with belts and suspenders. They had to, these men were the roundest most barrel chested men you'd ever met. All had pug noses and pugnacious personalities. It seemed to me they were Lumberjack thick with big ham fists and fingers. I would look at my Great Uncle Jacks hands with five sausages on one hand and four on the other. His thumb was missing a fascinating mystery to me. Bald, all the old ones were strands of hair away from shiny baby bottom bald. When they spoke their voices were gravely, deep, heavily laced with a New York-Queens dialect. All sucked on cigarettes and cigars constantly, while the woman sported cigarette holders. Some of these were down right funny looking, like sawed off chop sticks with rhinestones and fake seeded pearls embedded. There were real ivory exotic Marlena Dietrich styles and maybe a few tortoise shell and Bakelite. It was supposed to keep the face from looking like a smoked white fish, but they were a Kabuki sign language prop. Punctuations, Grunts and sneers, silent curses and poxes swirled from these smoking sticks as surly as Merlin swung a magic wand. Body language experts would have cried and thrown in the towel, the HOLDERS said it all.
Now, my G-Uncle Julius fit the physical description, although his body was softer and he hadn't the power. He was the artistic one. Everyone in the family marveled at his vision, his art, and they all made sure he could follow his talent. In this family of blue collar workers, with a pharmacist thrown in he was an anomaly. He had a light voice. Often he crooned little songs to us with a soft trill. His most memorable tune with lyrics of "al a lululu, al a lululu...Lu lu lu lu loo..." On rare occasions my Grandmother Etta was heard to croon this as well. It is my secret put the baby to sleep weapon, never fails. Julius told the best stories, I can remember half listening, my whole being drawn towards his pink tongue forming the words with a delicate swirl and flourish, he seemed to relish and taste every word. He imitated every character with vocal cues. Even his animal sounds had a special artful panache to them. This tongue, was a moist river bed of fissures and cracks. All the Greats had them. I wonder how many Doctors fainted when they exhorted,"stick out your tongue". I have one also, my fissions are small and relatively simple. I don't know if any other cousins sport this, I also have the family allergy to Cinnamon.
The men's ears were big as well, with wonderful lobes, rounded mounds, free from any attachment to the head. They were not handsome, their faces were strong and dogged, their intelligence shining through. Their bodies contained undiminished vitality, and you knew who you wanted with you in any kind of emergency or fight. When ensconced within the pack a feeling of safety, caring pervaded.
My family argued over politics, possessions, cards, money, the weather, food, anything. G-Uncle Julius argued always with his sister Great Aunt Eva. Everyone argued with Eva. She was the youngest. In a family of twelve youngest was something. Julius's voice would get higher and higher as they insulted and shouted at each other. "You're full of hot air, you don no what you're talking about, believe ME I KNOW. Wher'd ya hear that, you don know what..." He'd pleat and fold a napkin in the most intricate designs over and over as his pink tongue spit his words at her. His beautiful artists hands fingers tapered. He wore his nails just a little longer, the tips filed to a discrete point, they fairly quivered with sensitivity. When he was put out he'd open the napkin and smooth and smooth.
Julius and Eva were prodigious eaters as was most of the family, with a few out-law exceptions. G-Uncle Izzie, was a tiny thin man who shook with nerves. He had the kindest eyes, sweetest disposition. A gentle soul with a voice that any Cantor or Chazzan would cry for. Izzy's tiny body would render this enormous voice, his delivery had so much emotion it would transport you out of your body. His heavy Austrian/Jewish accent sounded so different. My Greats were Yankees, New York through and through. I listened carefully to his inflection and rhythm. My mother thought it crazy that I loved opera and Classical music, but it was G-Uncle Izzy who handed me that love.
My dad and Grandpa Herman out-laws both, wore smart cloths, pants with knife sharp pleats and narrow stylish belts. They were both tall and lean, each had a full head of hair. I thought them snappy. The others wore white shirts long sleeves. As a concession to the heat, or open fires, eventually they rolled the sleeves up. I never saw Uncle Izzies arms, not once no matter how hot.
The women were mostly beautiful, with their snub noses and lacquered hair. They wore nail polish and makeup. Thick penciled brows sometimes two shades darker, sometimes three shades lighter. This may have been a political statement, I was too young to fathom it. Like President Reagan parting his hair first to the left and then while in office parting it to the right. Mascara, was applied liberally out of a dry cake with lots of spit and swirling a stiff black brush around and around. Some of the women's hair had gone a funny reddish color, (my mom still a stunning brunette at this time) Many were fair a few even blond. Grandma Ettas' eyes were hazel, Aunt Pats' green. My dad and Herman's eyes were blue the former Robins egg blue the latter a deep blue. The ladies all seemed to have extraordinarily wide tiny feet. These extra wide feet were in cased in the smallest and most up to date shoes. A few wore Granny type shoes but these were the rare unsporting ones. Poking out of the top of the shoes was the hump of foot that could not fit. Looking closely you'd see around the toes the outlines, of corns and thickened blisters. My Grandmother and her siblings trilled their threes, sticking the tip of their tongues out against the palette and upper lip. Then it would snap back into it's little house. My Grandparents did not have the tell tale accent. The Jacknowitz/Jackman (Anglicised) clan said earl for oil and berl for boil.
A few of the Aunts, in -law Aunts and Cousins, were soft spoken and serene. Most were liberated outspoken women who were given a birth rite and mandate to be heard (loud), often, and to not obey held consequences beyond Dante's grasp. My mother included. I do remember that Aunt Paulie and Uncle Izzie had a serenity and peace as a couple that was enviable. The others firebrands. Eva and Gertie never married as two of the brothers George and Julius stayed single. It is rumored that George had a clandestine relationship with a married woman. My Great Grandmother Mollie was I believed a force to be reckoned with and acid tongue when needed. These beautiful woman had a propensity to being heavy, the proverbial beautiful face etc. Aunt Gertie stayed slim all her life, after a surgery she developed a tiny pooch, that she fretted over. Pictures of my Great Grandmother show a tiny multi chinned woman hair scrapped back no nonsense, of strong mettle and a twinkle of humor. Etta was a true beauty, although matronly later in life she retained a regal and elegant look. With her light hair and her butter scotch gold jewelry, slave bracelets, chunky watches, and heavy bangles, she had a refinement and polish the others never acquired. I've been told the King of Spain Ferdinand, thought so too and chased her all over a trans Atlantic crossing to Europe.
Grandpa Herman and Grandma Etta were a matched pair both beautiful people, passionate, stubborn and very much in love. They were obsessed with each other, leading to a marriage fraught with tensions and problems. Pop was as handsome a man that ever crossed the stage or screen. Black haired, white skinned, pale blue eyes, a very natty dresser. He was a straight shooter, and a fabulous billiards player. Their arguments were legendary ah, but that's another story.
Gunny sack races, potato passes and men trooping off to play soft ball in their wool slacks. Heavily oiled mitts in hand, young boys in tow with unwieldy bats. The women would sit on the benches and beach chairs yelling and arguing their hands flashing with jewels, fingers at the ready to point or crook at an offending child. Always ready to climb the next verbal rock wall with relish.
Now Uncle Julius and cousins Davey and Toby would be sweating in the center of all this with a one mindedness. Tweaking and playing the fire like a fine instrument, on the top of which a great cauldron brewed. This year there was an addition of a great garbage can sized pot namely a wok. Mind you this home made colossus looked to me like the lid of a big metal garbage can. Julius' baby. He sweat over it as a doctor does a breach birth. With finesse and an almost balletic choreography, masses of vegetables were tossed sputtering and sizzling as slowly everything was added. Celery, onion, cabbage, carrots, broccoli, chicken, broth, cornstarch, soy sauce. Finally the most exotic of ingredients, bean sprouts. This was new it was fantastic, no big slices of meat, everything chopped all the same size with pains taking care. First this and then that. Nothing gedempted here, no Kugel grated oiled baked. No, this was science, and timing, all tossed together quickly. Thin bits of white meat chicken added to the melange. A tsimmis in definition if not in practise. Chop Suey, straight from Hong Kong.
I was really little, standing transfixed as I would later when a raw boned six foot two woman on T.V. wielded a cleaver like Uncle Julius'. Eyes round watching this new kind of alchemy, the smoke fires burning my nostrils, the sounds of chaos a din in my ear. I stood shuffling from foot to foot, pine needles sending up their resin dark smells underfoot mingling with Chop Suey. In the cauldron bubbled fluffy white rice, no hot dogs and beans. It was a gastronomic awakening, an epiphany.
My G-Uncle Julius figured again in my gastronomic awaking with his Fish Souffle. Mrs. Paul, not! My Grandparents took me often when I was also very young to a French restaurant, La Champlain, Ice Cream at Schrafts for afters. Lobster was a rare gourmet treat back then and I acquired the taste at a very tender age. Fresh squeezed Orange Juice daily, Coconut from Florida in winter and Perrier water a rarity in those days, were among the many things introduced to me on Maytime Drive.
We were handed bowls, and began to line up, so many Oliver Twists with great anticipation. Licking lips and sniffling the air I shuffled along with my bowl and large spoon. Julius and Dave stood aproned and hot mitted, with giant ladle's. Toby with her rice ladle first, and then the mound of gleaming vegetables with a kind of shiny blond sauce. Gently cradling my bowl, deftly stepping over tree roots, ant hills, twigs and pine cones to finally perch somewhere. My spoon dug in, hot, hot, hot, blow, blow stick out the tongue lick the bottom of the hot child friendly spoon and tilt it in. Flavors, not just onions, it must have been garlic, ginger, bless Julius' heart. Light bulbs in my head pop, pop, pop.
Now I was never a real fan of Chop Suey but my little road map tongue got the taste for something and was never quite happy with just peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Velveeta again. Oh, as far as the rest of the family picnic, kids got spanked, and picked up from the dust, younger ones got rocked and passed around. Bottles of blowing bubbles were handed out, bubble gum blown and later roasted marshmallows. The adults yelled and insulted one another as they laughed and played cards, smoked their cigarettes and cigars, topped off with tons of fire roasted coffee out of giant enameled pots.
Eva always got the last word. Or maybe it was the mosquito's.
Baby doll jammy clad I dreamt of fires and cauldrons in the sticky heat of my room, and waited for next summer and a family picnic by the lake.
Jacknowitz family picnics , I remember a park with a lake. Everybody came, there was food and more food. Grates on fire pits filled with aromatic sizzling stuff. Family, Great Aunts and Great Uncles, Aunts, Uncles, and cousins to the fifth degree. A loud yelling mass of people, all with an opinion. The loudest no matter how convoluted the logic won. Always.
The men wore grey slacks, the older men's were baggy, I mean down to the knees baggy with belts and suspenders. They had to, these men were the roundest most barrel chested men you'd ever met. All had pug noses and pugnacious personalities. It seemed to me they were Lumberjack thick with big ham fists and fingers. I would look at my Great Uncle Jacks hands with five sausages on one hand and four on the other. His thumb was missing a fascinating mystery to me. Bald, all the old ones were strands of hair away from shiny baby bottom bald. When they spoke their voices were gravely, deep, heavily laced with a New York-Queens dialect. All sucked on cigarettes and cigars constantly, while the woman sported cigarette holders. Some of these were down right funny looking, like sawed off chop sticks with rhinestones and fake seeded pearls embedded. There were real ivory exotic Marlena Dietrich styles and maybe a few tortoise shell and Bakelite. It was supposed to keep the face from looking like a smoked white fish, but they were a Kabuki sign language prop. Punctuations, Grunts and sneers, silent curses and poxes swirled from these smoking sticks as surly as Merlin swung a magic wand. Body language experts would have cried and thrown in the towel, the HOLDERS said it all.
Now, my G-Uncle Julius fit the physical description, although his body was softer and he hadn't the power. He was the artistic one. Everyone in the family marveled at his vision, his art, and they all made sure he could follow his talent. In this family of blue collar workers, with a pharmacist thrown in he was an anomaly. He had a light voice. Often he crooned little songs to us with a soft trill. His most memorable tune with lyrics of "al a lululu, al a lululu...Lu lu lu lu loo..." On rare occasions my Grandmother Etta was heard to croon this as well. It is my secret put the baby to sleep weapon, never fails. Julius told the best stories, I can remember half listening, my whole being drawn towards his pink tongue forming the words with a delicate swirl and flourish, he seemed to relish and taste every word. He imitated every character with vocal cues. Even his animal sounds had a special artful panache to them. This tongue, was a moist river bed of fissures and cracks. All the Greats had them. I wonder how many Doctors fainted when they exhorted,"stick out your tongue". I have one also, my fissions are small and relatively simple. I don't know if any other cousins sport this, I also have the family allergy to Cinnamon.
The men's ears were big as well, with wonderful lobes, rounded mounds, free from any attachment to the head. They were not handsome, their faces were strong and dogged, their intelligence shining through. Their bodies contained undiminished vitality, and you knew who you wanted with you in any kind of emergency or fight. When ensconced within the pack a feeling of safety, caring pervaded.
My family argued over politics, possessions, cards, money, the weather, food, anything. G-Uncle Julius argued always with his sister Great Aunt Eva. Everyone argued with Eva. She was the youngest. In a family of twelve youngest was something. Julius's voice would get higher and higher as they insulted and shouted at each other. "You're full of hot air, you don no what you're talking about, believe ME I KNOW. Wher'd ya hear that, you don know what..." He'd pleat and fold a napkin in the most intricate designs over and over as his pink tongue spit his words at her. His beautiful artists hands fingers tapered. He wore his nails just a little longer, the tips filed to a discrete point, they fairly quivered with sensitivity. When he was put out he'd open the napkin and smooth and smooth.
Julius and Eva were prodigious eaters as was most of the family, with a few out-law exceptions. G-Uncle Izzie, was a tiny thin man who shook with nerves. He had the kindest eyes, sweetest disposition. A gentle soul with a voice that any Cantor or Chazzan would cry for. Izzy's tiny body would render this enormous voice, his delivery had so much emotion it would transport you out of your body. His heavy Austrian/Jewish accent sounded so different. My Greats were Yankees, New York through and through. I listened carefully to his inflection and rhythm. My mother thought it crazy that I loved opera and Classical music, but it was G-Uncle Izzy who handed me that love.
My dad and Grandpa Herman out-laws both, wore smart cloths, pants with knife sharp pleats and narrow stylish belts. They were both tall and lean, each had a full head of hair. I thought them snappy. The others wore white shirts long sleeves. As a concession to the heat, or open fires, eventually they rolled the sleeves up. I never saw Uncle Izzies arms, not once no matter how hot.
The women were mostly beautiful, with their snub noses and lacquered hair. They wore nail polish and makeup. Thick penciled brows sometimes two shades darker, sometimes three shades lighter. This may have been a political statement, I was too young to fathom it. Like President Reagan parting his hair first to the left and then while in office parting it to the right. Mascara, was applied liberally out of a dry cake with lots of spit and swirling a stiff black brush around and around. Some of the women's hair had gone a funny reddish color, (my mom still a stunning brunette at this time) Many were fair a few even blond. Grandma Ettas' eyes were hazel, Aunt Pats' green. My dad and Herman's eyes were blue the former Robins egg blue the latter a deep blue. The ladies all seemed to have extraordinarily wide tiny feet. These extra wide feet were in cased in the smallest and most up to date shoes. A few wore Granny type shoes but these were the rare unsporting ones. Poking out of the top of the shoes was the hump of foot that could not fit. Looking closely you'd see around the toes the outlines, of corns and thickened blisters. My Grandmother and her siblings trilled their threes, sticking the tip of their tongues out against the palette and upper lip. Then it would snap back into it's little house. My Grandparents did not have the tell tale accent. The Jacknowitz/Jackman (Anglicised) clan said earl for oil and berl for boil.
A few of the Aunts, in -law Aunts and Cousins, were soft spoken and serene. Most were liberated outspoken women who were given a birth rite and mandate to be heard (loud), often, and to not obey held consequences beyond Dante's grasp. My mother included. I do remember that Aunt Paulie and Uncle Izzie had a serenity and peace as a couple that was enviable. The others firebrands. Eva and Gertie never married as two of the brothers George and Julius stayed single. It is rumored that George had a clandestine relationship with a married woman. My Great Grandmother Mollie was I believed a force to be reckoned with and acid tongue when needed. These beautiful woman had a propensity to being heavy, the proverbial beautiful face etc. Aunt Gertie stayed slim all her life, after a surgery she developed a tiny pooch, that she fretted over. Pictures of my Great Grandmother show a tiny multi chinned woman hair scrapped back no nonsense, of strong mettle and a twinkle of humor. Etta was a true beauty, although matronly later in life she retained a regal and elegant look. With her light hair and her butter scotch gold jewelry, slave bracelets, chunky watches, and heavy bangles, she had a refinement and polish the others never acquired. I've been told the King of Spain Ferdinand, thought so too and chased her all over a trans Atlantic crossing to Europe.
Grandpa Herman and Grandma Etta were a matched pair both beautiful people, passionate, stubborn and very much in love. They were obsessed with each other, leading to a marriage fraught with tensions and problems. Pop was as handsome a man that ever crossed the stage or screen. Black haired, white skinned, pale blue eyes, a very natty dresser. He was a straight shooter, and a fabulous billiards player. Their arguments were legendary ah, but that's another story.
Gunny sack races, potato passes and men trooping off to play soft ball in their wool slacks. Heavily oiled mitts in hand, young boys in tow with unwieldy bats. The women would sit on the benches and beach chairs yelling and arguing their hands flashing with jewels, fingers at the ready to point or crook at an offending child. Always ready to climb the next verbal rock wall with relish.
Now Uncle Julius and cousins Davey and Toby would be sweating in the center of all this with a one mindedness. Tweaking and playing the fire like a fine instrument, on the top of which a great cauldron brewed. This year there was an addition of a great garbage can sized pot namely a wok. Mind you this home made colossus looked to me like the lid of a big metal garbage can. Julius' baby. He sweat over it as a doctor does a breach birth. With finesse and an almost balletic choreography, masses of vegetables were tossed sputtering and sizzling as slowly everything was added. Celery, onion, cabbage, carrots, broccoli, chicken, broth, cornstarch, soy sauce. Finally the most exotic of ingredients, bean sprouts. This was new it was fantastic, no big slices of meat, everything chopped all the same size with pains taking care. First this and then that. Nothing gedempted here, no Kugel grated oiled baked. No, this was science, and timing, all tossed together quickly. Thin bits of white meat chicken added to the melange. A tsimmis in definition if not in practise. Chop Suey, straight from Hong Kong.
I was really little, standing transfixed as I would later when a raw boned six foot two woman on T.V. wielded a cleaver like Uncle Julius'. Eyes round watching this new kind of alchemy, the smoke fires burning my nostrils, the sounds of chaos a din in my ear. I stood shuffling from foot to foot, pine needles sending up their resin dark smells underfoot mingling with Chop Suey. In the cauldron bubbled fluffy white rice, no hot dogs and beans. It was a gastronomic awakening, an epiphany.
My G-Uncle Julius figured again in my gastronomic awaking with his Fish Souffle. Mrs. Paul, not! My Grandparents took me often when I was also very young to a French restaurant, La Champlain, Ice Cream at Schrafts for afters. Lobster was a rare gourmet treat back then and I acquired the taste at a very tender age. Fresh squeezed Orange Juice daily, Coconut from Florida in winter and Perrier water a rarity in those days, were among the many things introduced to me on Maytime Drive.
We were handed bowls, and began to line up, so many Oliver Twists with great anticipation. Licking lips and sniffling the air I shuffled along with my bowl and large spoon. Julius and Dave stood aproned and hot mitted, with giant ladle's. Toby with her rice ladle first, and then the mound of gleaming vegetables with a kind of shiny blond sauce. Gently cradling my bowl, deftly stepping over tree roots, ant hills, twigs and pine cones to finally perch somewhere. My spoon dug in, hot, hot, hot, blow, blow stick out the tongue lick the bottom of the hot child friendly spoon and tilt it in. Flavors, not just onions, it must have been garlic, ginger, bless Julius' heart. Light bulbs in my head pop, pop, pop.
Now I was never a real fan of Chop Suey but my little road map tongue got the taste for something and was never quite happy with just peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Velveeta again. Oh, as far as the rest of the family picnic, kids got spanked, and picked up from the dust, younger ones got rocked and passed around. Bottles of blowing bubbles were handed out, bubble gum blown and later roasted marshmallows. The adults yelled and insulted one another as they laughed and played cards, smoked their cigarettes and cigars, topped off with tons of fire roasted coffee out of giant enameled pots.
Eva always got the last word. Or maybe it was the mosquito's.
Baby doll jammy clad I dreamt of fires and cauldrons in the sticky heat of my room, and waited for next summer and a family picnic by the lake.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Hitting the Open Road
We did arrive on Saturday evening as planned, everything else was a bit of a bollocks. Be that as it may, the hotel is very comfortable, and Callie and Piper were troopers. I now know what music to play for a yipping sometimes howling cat to sooth her nerves. Frank Sinatra and Mel Torme, god bless them.
I have to have a moan here, actually more than a moan, a diatribe. I hope gas hits $6.00 or more a gallon. During the whole trip SUV's in particular with or without trailers, boats and cars hitched, on an average drove 85-90 miles an hour. We are talking over horrible bridges with speed limits (visibly posted many times) of 45mph, and 50mph construction zones. Not one person drove anywhere near the speed limits and the aggression on the road is breathtaking. We are in the middle of a protracted war and I am in particular very aware of this. We as Americans behave as if there is no reason to hold back or change any habits of excess. We complain about the cost of goods, gas etc. but we continue to drive and spend as if there were no crisis. No reason to obey laws, or be civil. As a nation we are spoiled and insulated to the realities of the world around us. What will it take before we become stewards, preservers and conscious of the finite resources our children are dying and fighting for. Where are the rationing lines of the seventies? Why don't they print the EPA standards on the ads for new cars, when they continue to feature big FAST cars and SUV's, when do we start to grow up, and smell the coffee. The gov't would have us still drink the cool-aid of complacency. Where are the gathering masses, who are ready for change who are willing to roll their sleeves up and get to work on being part of the solution not contributors of the problem. Please slow down, vote, give a damn.
Okay, you really don't know the half of it but I feel a little better. We went house hunting with Mary our broker yesterday, and I will go again on Wednesday. We were invited to spend Thanksgiving with Barry's boss and family bless her.
Counting my blessings and waiting for the Turkey...
I have to have a moan here, actually more than a moan, a diatribe. I hope gas hits $6.00 or more a gallon. During the whole trip SUV's in particular with or without trailers, boats and cars hitched, on an average drove 85-90 miles an hour. We are talking over horrible bridges with speed limits (visibly posted many times) of 45mph, and 50mph construction zones. Not one person drove anywhere near the speed limits and the aggression on the road is breathtaking. We are in the middle of a protracted war and I am in particular very aware of this. We as Americans behave as if there is no reason to hold back or change any habits of excess. We complain about the cost of goods, gas etc. but we continue to drive and spend as if there were no crisis. No reason to obey laws, or be civil. As a nation we are spoiled and insulated to the realities of the world around us. What will it take before we become stewards, preservers and conscious of the finite resources our children are dying and fighting for. Where are the rationing lines of the seventies? Why don't they print the EPA standards on the ads for new cars, when they continue to feature big FAST cars and SUV's, when do we start to grow up, and smell the coffee. The gov't would have us still drink the cool-aid of complacency. Where are the gathering masses, who are ready for change who are willing to roll their sleeves up and get to work on being part of the solution not contributors of the problem. Please slow down, vote, give a damn.
Okay, you really don't know the half of it but I feel a little better. We went house hunting with Mary our broker yesterday, and I will go again on Wednesday. We were invited to spend Thanksgiving with Barry's boss and family bless her.
Counting my blessings and waiting for the Turkey...
Texas South
Well Brownsville reminds me a bit of Spring Hill, although Barry laughs at this analogy. However, I had visited there a few times in the early days when it was still very horsey, and farm. There are areas that also remind me of route 19, where all the big stores and commerce are. The History of this lower Rio Grand area is interesting. They call it the Valley, and was Mexican Territory even when Texas was made a state. In about 1836, this defaulted to The U.S. and somehow became part of Texas. There have a Pirate history very similar to Tampa Bay as well. Although much drier here, there is still farming and cattle ranches, are a large part of the economy. This was the Largest shrimping area in the states until a few years ago. Now the shrimping fleet has disappeared. It is over whelming Mexican in influence and we are clearly the minority, a very funny feeling. However everyone has been kind, and I feel very safe, as there does not appear to be this large divide in areas. Pickups and SUV's are huge here and our small Hondas a bit out of place. Saturday, a large number of Mexicans cross the border to shop, and the stores were very busy with Holiday shoppers, the mall was slammed and Sam's club was pretty hectic. We ate at Koi last night and had Sushi. It was different, I did like the seafood soup, but was not as enamored with the fish. It wasn't quite what we are used to. There is another place for Japanese to try so I'll let you know. The service was good and the restaurant was beautiful so I might try the cooked Japanese next time.
We have not gone to the old town yet, this area does have a much poorer population and is very unsafe I believe. So forewarned is forearmed. I think Beau and I will take a ride this afternoon. There is a significant Jewish population in relation to the general population. Most are of Sephardi's and Latino extraction. Although there is only a Cantor at the moment he is Orthodox and services are mixed, Friday night reform and Saturday morning Orthodox/Sephardi's. So it should be a hoot.
I am struggling to find our Organic foods but have scored a few hits at Super Target and I hate to admit I went into Super Walmart, as well as Sam's. Yes, Yes I know but must needs. The HEB we went to last week was very poor but I was told to visit the other one so... Anyway Barry was in San Antonio and he scored us some Organic meat, chicken and non pork sausage for me and pork for himself. I also found Hummus and Lavash. I am just a tad lonely though as Barry is working and busy. I will go to the Library tomorrow and find a list of groups etc. I must find a place for waxing and hair ASAP, don't ask. I want to do some volunteer work, so I'll be looking into that. They have a wildlife refuge here, where a few of the Meteorologists are active. As for work, I might get involved with Yoga, there is need for it, and as for anything else I am keeping my options open for the moment. Finding a class in speaking Spanish is at the top of my list. I am told there may be one at Luby's a kind of meeting place restaurant that is big in community affairs. It is really the Wild West here, the news is awesome, as neighbor vigilantes who shoot the bad guys are on every street and are hero's. Many people pack a pistol apparently you can do so openly here. I'll let you know about that.
For now that's all that's fit to print...
We have not gone to the old town yet, this area does have a much poorer population and is very unsafe I believe. So forewarned is forearmed. I think Beau and I will take a ride this afternoon. There is a significant Jewish population in relation to the general population. Most are of Sephardi's and Latino extraction. Although there is only a Cantor at the moment he is Orthodox and services are mixed, Friday night reform and Saturday morning Orthodox/Sephardi's. So it should be a hoot.
I am struggling to find our Organic foods but have scored a few hits at Super Target and I hate to admit I went into Super Walmart, as well as Sam's. Yes, Yes I know but must needs. The HEB we went to last week was very poor but I was told to visit the other one so... Anyway Barry was in San Antonio and he scored us some Organic meat, chicken and non pork sausage for me and pork for himself. I also found Hummus and Lavash. I am just a tad lonely though as Barry is working and busy. I will go to the Library tomorrow and find a list of groups etc. I must find a place for waxing and hair ASAP, don't ask. I want to do some volunteer work, so I'll be looking into that. They have a wildlife refuge here, where a few of the Meteorologists are active. As for work, I might get involved with Yoga, there is need for it, and as for anything else I am keeping my options open for the moment. Finding a class in speaking Spanish is at the top of my list. I am told there may be one at Luby's a kind of meeting place restaurant that is big in community affairs. It is really the Wild West here, the news is awesome, as neighbor vigilantes who shoot the bad guys are on every street and are hero's. Many people pack a pistol apparently you can do so openly here. I'll let you know about that.
For now that's all that's fit to print...
Brownsville Update
"Life is a great big canvas, and you should throw all the paint on it you can." Danny Kaye
So what have you done to make your life colorful lately? Adam has taken up smoking the pipe, and touring ruined palaces, Margo has just come back from a week of touring France and Belgium, Barry's new job is, well colorful, and he is jetting to Miami as I write. As for me, I am sampling the foods of the area which are indeed colorful, getting lost with colorful language involved and learning to communicate in Spanglish with the emphasis on Anglish.
The paperwork mounts on trying to line up the sale of the house with the gov. or privately. The house here needs to go to inspection so we are setting that up asap. Found really decent Chinese food at the Lotus cafe. They have three here in town and their cousins own a few in Harlingen and McAllen. I had lunch at the New York Deli, they've been here for around 50 years, and it was very good. Sandwiches N.Y. style salads a soup of the day but no real hot Deli type stuff, like Stuffed Cabbage etc. The owner is a Beetles nut so they have memorabilia and he plays Beetles all day. I think the staff probably goes loony at night. Hell, I hear my cell phone in my sleep.
We went to McAllen yesterday, about an hour plus north of here it is a slightly larger city, with two large downtown buildings. Like Brownsville there is no real city center just a very worn out old town area. What once was the shopping hub and main street it is now very decayed and relegated to "old Rags" Ropa Viehas ( a meat dish as well here) shops, perfume discount stores, and cheap ladies undergarments. It is surround by a very depressed area and rickety homes. Driving east of main street, we did find an upscale area and the Holy Grail of Grocery stores. The HEB that has the most organics and high end food stuffs south of San Antonio. We had our coolers and stocked up. There is a Borders, and a Chico's just West of the interstate.
Rossana, is the wife of a Meterologist at B's work. She is Mexican and Sephardi. They have invited us to the Latka making party at the Temple, where all the guys make and cook the Latkas. It sounds fun and it will be our introduction to the Shul here. Amazingly I found a super Stylist/Colorist who worked for Jose Eber. She was trained in Europe before she came to the states. I went to the (Eber)salon many years ago but Rita had just moved to Vegas and was working there. She has phenomenal credentials, is a permanent makeup artist, has a theatrical makeup degree etc. Needless to say my hair looks great!! She and I hit it off, and I now have a new friend who has a very interesting story to tell.
It is my intention to bring as much color to my new home and new friends as I possibly can. Eccentricity is all it is cracked up to be.
So what have you done to make your life colorful lately? Adam has taken up smoking the pipe, and touring ruined palaces, Margo has just come back from a week of touring France and Belgium, Barry's new job is, well colorful, and he is jetting to Miami as I write. As for me, I am sampling the foods of the area which are indeed colorful, getting lost with colorful language involved and learning to communicate in Spanglish with the emphasis on Anglish.
The paperwork mounts on trying to line up the sale of the house with the gov. or privately. The house here needs to go to inspection so we are setting that up asap. Found really decent Chinese food at the Lotus cafe. They have three here in town and their cousins own a few in Harlingen and McAllen. I had lunch at the New York Deli, they've been here for around 50 years, and it was very good. Sandwiches N.Y. style salads a soup of the day but no real hot Deli type stuff, like Stuffed Cabbage etc. The owner is a Beetles nut so they have memorabilia and he plays Beetles all day. I think the staff probably goes loony at night. Hell, I hear my cell phone in my sleep.
We went to McAllen yesterday, about an hour plus north of here it is a slightly larger city, with two large downtown buildings. Like Brownsville there is no real city center just a very worn out old town area. What once was the shopping hub and main street it is now very decayed and relegated to "old Rags" Ropa Viehas ( a meat dish as well here) shops, perfume discount stores, and cheap ladies undergarments. It is surround by a very depressed area and rickety homes. Driving east of main street, we did find an upscale area and the Holy Grail of Grocery stores. The HEB that has the most organics and high end food stuffs south of San Antonio. We had our coolers and stocked up. There is a Borders, and a Chico's just West of the interstate.
Rossana, is the wife of a Meterologist at B's work. She is Mexican and Sephardi. They have invited us to the Latka making party at the Temple, where all the guys make and cook the Latkas. It sounds fun and it will be our introduction to the Shul here. Amazingly I found a super Stylist/Colorist who worked for Jose Eber. She was trained in Europe before she came to the states. I went to the (Eber)salon many years ago but Rita had just moved to Vegas and was working there. She has phenomenal credentials, is a permanent makeup artist, has a theatrical makeup degree etc. Needless to say my hair looks great!! She and I hit it off, and I now have a new friend who has a very interesting story to tell.
It is my intention to bring as much color to my new home and new friends as I possibly can. Eccentricity is all it is cracked up to be.
Hanging around
"When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on" Franklin D. Roosevelt.
I think I feel more like the Hanged man on my Tarot cards, just wait patiently would be my advise, so deep breaths and wait...
The appraisals were done but they are out of the 5% variance. So now we have a tie breaker appraisal and we have to wait till they contact us etc. So it looks like at least another week or two before we know what we will be offered for the house in Tampa. We will be in housing for at least another month plus. I hope we can stay here, the cats and I are used to the place and we feel comfortable here.
Barry and I joined the Golds Gym this week, it is brand new and in a great location. We worked out on Sunday and it was very quiet. The music is lousy, but that is just my little complaint with most music today, sorry kids really but BLECH, YUCK.
The weather broke for a few days and we were in the 50's day and 40's night but just for a few days now the heat and humidity have reappeared. It's actually warmer than Florida this year. No road trips for me lately although Barry is on one today meeting and seeing the areas they forecast for (the wild west). I did have my eyes examined (a red letter day indeed) and Adam you will be happy to know, no more cheap readers from out of the 50's. I am able to get Contact lenses so I can read close and read the computer. Long distance is still 20/20. So, no more having other people read menus, posters and the like. No missing glasses, or breaking them as I sit upon. I am going for a fitting today.
The roads continue to swell with Mexicans and winter Texans, you got it, they are not Snow Birds but Winter Texans, it says so on my Library card application. For such a small town the roads are filled no matter what time of day or night, the highway traffic to Mexico is non stop. I want to say whatever I have said about New Jersey, Florida, or D.C. drivers pale in comparison to Texas. So when you come to visit you are forewarned.
The people are generally nice and polite even if they turn into wear wolves when they drive. All my life I was the one with the accent, now I live in a place where everybody else has an accent, but now I really have an accent. As soon as I say something they ask where are you from? So do I say Florida of late or New York of very late? Either way they think my accent is cute. I am also a veritable rock star here. I stand out like a well something... The Mexicans unlike there stylish cousins the Cubins, are very Conservative. They generally dress in slacks and long sleeves, shirts or sweaters, no cleavage. It was ninety for three weeks and I am the only one in my skorts, skirts, and baby doll tops. Not to mention the ersatz blond hair. I am also, wait for it... Thin. My g-d I lived long enough to be thin. We'll it is relative. Because of a diet high in corn and dairy, the Mexican woman are very large. They are shorter than my 5'3'' frame and much larger. Suddenly I am tall and thin, I promise not to let it go to my head. At 55 I am turning heads and I didn't have to starve or anything. Wait till they get a load of Margo, Goli, Claudia or the Twins! On second thought I don't need the competition stay home girls it's all mine.
Food continues to be an interesting adventure, the "good" local cafe' Gaspacho was just okay, they have a buffet daily for lunch but I just had a luncheon special, it's just too much food for the middle of the day. Las Pampas was a terrific Venezuelan style steak house Gaucho decor et. all, A must when you come to visit.
I will say I am home sick for my friends and family hell you're all my family, so I am just plain lonely. It will get better once we know we can move forward and have some permanency.
I think I feel more like the Hanged man on my Tarot cards, just wait patiently would be my advise, so deep breaths and wait...
The appraisals were done but they are out of the 5% variance. So now we have a tie breaker appraisal and we have to wait till they contact us etc. So it looks like at least another week or two before we know what we will be offered for the house in Tampa. We will be in housing for at least another month plus. I hope we can stay here, the cats and I are used to the place and we feel comfortable here.
Barry and I joined the Golds Gym this week, it is brand new and in a great location. We worked out on Sunday and it was very quiet. The music is lousy, but that is just my little complaint with most music today, sorry kids really but BLECH, YUCK.
The weather broke for a few days and we were in the 50's day and 40's night but just for a few days now the heat and humidity have reappeared. It's actually warmer than Florida this year. No road trips for me lately although Barry is on one today meeting and seeing the areas they forecast for (the wild west). I did have my eyes examined (a red letter day indeed) and Adam you will be happy to know, no more cheap readers from out of the 50's. I am able to get Contact lenses so I can read close and read the computer. Long distance is still 20/20. So, no more having other people read menus, posters and the like. No missing glasses, or breaking them as I sit upon. I am going for a fitting today.
The roads continue to swell with Mexicans and winter Texans, you got it, they are not Snow Birds but Winter Texans, it says so on my Library card application. For such a small town the roads are filled no matter what time of day or night, the highway traffic to Mexico is non stop. I want to say whatever I have said about New Jersey, Florida, or D.C. drivers pale in comparison to Texas. So when you come to visit you are forewarned.
The people are generally nice and polite even if they turn into wear wolves when they drive. All my life I was the one with the accent, now I live in a place where everybody else has an accent, but now I really have an accent. As soon as I say something they ask where are you from? So do I say Florida of late or New York of very late? Either way they think my accent is cute. I am also a veritable rock star here. I stand out like a well something... The Mexicans unlike there stylish cousins the Cubins, are very Conservative. They generally dress in slacks and long sleeves, shirts or sweaters, no cleavage. It was ninety for three weeks and I am the only one in my skorts, skirts, and baby doll tops. Not to mention the ersatz blond hair. I am also, wait for it... Thin. My g-d I lived long enough to be thin. We'll it is relative. Because of a diet high in corn and dairy, the Mexican woman are very large. They are shorter than my 5'3'' frame and much larger. Suddenly I am tall and thin, I promise not to let it go to my head. At 55 I am turning heads and I didn't have to starve or anything. Wait till they get a load of Margo, Goli, Claudia or the Twins! On second thought I don't need the competition stay home girls it's all mine.
Food continues to be an interesting adventure, the "good" local cafe' Gaspacho was just okay, they have a buffet daily for lunch but I just had a luncheon special, it's just too much food for the middle of the day. Las Pampas was a terrific Venezuelan style steak house Gaucho decor et. all, A must when you come to visit.
I will say I am home sick for my friends and family hell you're all my family, so I am just plain lonely. It will get better once we know we can move forward and have some permanency.
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