Tuesday is Jewsday: Apples and Honey

I've got a intensely ambivalent relationship with my religion right now.

On the one hand, I love being Jewish. I like Heeb magazine and gefilte fish; I like to feel like I've got a birthright to Katz's pastrami, Russ & Daughters' whitefish salad and Yonah Shimmels kasha varnishkes. I like to consider myself kin to the intellectual and comedic pioneers in this country. Like so many secular Jews, I love the culture.

But culture is one thing, and religion is another. This time of year I get beyond the cultural trappings, and I want to drive to temple, park a few blocks away, and walk over holding my dad's talis bag. I feel like I have this external force acting on me, a pull from the moon saying "You never call, you never write..."

Unfortunately, I've been temple-free since high school. Sure, I went to shul in San Francisco, another one in Gramercy Park, and one in Brooklyn. I go to shul, but I don't have a shul. When I ask my friends about their temples, they'll tell me where they belong, quickly followed by, "But you don't want to go there. Find a better one." As a result; I feel disconnected; homeless.

And now that I'm dating a Catholic man, my house is strewn with pamphlets from the weekly mass he attends. He loves church, and is all aglow when he comes by afterwards. I'm jealous; I want that too. I want that spiritual check in, the faith, the high.

But the doctrine, not so much. It leaves me as cold and confused as the culture leaves me warm and fuzzy.

So this week, instead of getting existential about my faith or lack thereof, I retreat to the part of my religion that I like -- the culture. The people. The family. A Jewish friend and I will be celebrating the holiday temple-free by taking ourselves to dinner in New York -- a new place for the new year with an old friend.

I will bring apples and honey in my purse, we will say a prayer in hebrew before we eat.Thought I might not be chanting the right words in the right place, I will be Jewish in my own way, by taking the time time to stop, acknowledge and celebrate.

Happy New Year. Cha'ag Sameach!

Apples and Honey
One of the things I -- and many secular Jews like me -- always celebrate religiously (if you'll excuse the pun) is the food. The brisket, the challah (and challah french toast the next day), the matzoh balls and the kugel.

On Rosh Hashana, Jews are thankful for the earth's bounty and the harvest, and wish one another a sweet new year. In my family, we would always dip an apple in a little bowl of honey. Apples represent the local harvest, and honey the sweet new year.

For more holiday recipes, check out my friend Stacey Ballis' article in Oy! A Chicago-based Jewish magazine.

Kinetic Couscous

Last New Years, I resolved that this would be the year I’d write a book. Well, a book proposal at least. I’m not married, I don't have a kid, plus, I took a few lucrative gigs this year to give myself time, and now I’ve got it.

Nuthin but time. Yeppers, that’s me. Full of time. Just me, time, and a blank screen. Ti-ai-ai-me is on my side. Yes it is…Time won't give me time / And time makes lovers feel / Like they've got something real / But you and me we know / They've got nothing but time...if you're lost you can look--and you will find me / time after time / if you fall I will catch you--I'll be waiting / time after time ...A time to be born, a time to die / A time to plant, a time to reap / A time to kill, a time to heal / A time to laugh, a time to weep. It's a regular time-o-pallooza over here.

Any new mom (ie. everyone who lives in my neighborhood) will look at me like I’ve won the lottery. “Oh, if only I had more time!” she whines, explaining why her husband is eating microwave popcorn for dinner. Again.

You're right; I can't relate and it’s not just because I don’t have a microwave. I can relate to people who, like me, have time. Like retired people; like my dad. He wakes up and thinks about getting out of bed. He gets out of bed. He gets ready for a meal, eats, digests, then watches some TV. Then he thinks about the next meal he’ll eat, and eats again. Then it's time to sleep, wake up and do it all over again.

Things that would just be small components of a busy person’s day become major things that me and the retirees need to wrap my head around. Like getting a manicure. I’ve procrastinated that for two weeks, because, well I don’t know if I can take an entire hour from my day to do it. I have so much to do, and that just seems like such an indulgence.

Ordinarily, I am that busy person you give things to when you want them done. But now, you can count on me cancelling every dinner date and coffee I have planned, because it’s hard to squeeze that 45 minutes out of my day. I’m just really tight on time.

But don’t take my word for it; ask my dog. She hasn’t been walked for three days.

Mealtime is hard because I haven’t been shopping in a few weeks. It’s just too time consuming. And anyway the pantry has stuff... I could feed a small village with dried beans, barley and other food that’s only there because I don’t like it and if I did I would have EATEN it by now.

See? I have plenty to tide me over, no need to leave the house. Plus, if I did, it might rain, and then I’d get soggy. Who wants all that time-consuming fuss of toweling off. And anyway I don’t have an umbrella. And I definitely don’t have time to stop by the hardware store and buy one.

I’m not shopping or leaving the house, and even though my fridge is bare, and my pantry is filled with food I don’t want, I can find something to eat. But who has the time to cook? I could be writing the 37th incarnation of the book proposal. That’s my focus right now, that’s where my energy is. My numero uno priority-o.

I need to focus. Should I turn on NPR? Nah, they’ll just distract me. Wouldn’t want that. Then I’ll have to search the web for at least 45 minutes to determine whether Trig is actually Sarah Palin’s child or not. And I did that yesterday.

My belly is rumbling -- it needs to be fed. I could, I suppose, go downstairs and get a slice, or a yogurt, or a bagel. I have fifteen shops on my block that will let me get my lunch on. That won’t take much time at all.

But I am on the fourth floor of a walk up. Down and back up again. What a hassle. Then I’d have to put on shoes. And get dressed. Maybe shower. Ach, no…too much effort.

But now, seriously, I need to eat. And I really don’t have much time to cook, because I’m so hungry. I’m losing focus. I need to eat right now. I’m having a blood sugar crash. What do I have that won’t take more than, literally, five minutes, because that’s all I have. I’ve got to get back to work. And who has 30 minutes, Rachael? You might not understand this but people are busy.

Five Minute Couscous
By The Wooden Spoon

¾ cup couscous
pinch ground cinnamon
salt, pepper (you know the drill)
handful sliced almonds
smaller handful raisins
half-handful of torn basil or parsley
olive oil, if you feel like it

1. Plug the kettle back in. You were just using it for coffee, so the water should take no more than 30 seconds to heat up.

2. Assemble most of the ingredients in a to-go container: couscous, cinnamon, seasonings, raisins. The kettle is ready. Pour in a cup of water. Stir it a bit with a fork. Put the lid on it and let it sit two minutes.

3. Taste it – it’s good! Whoa. And it took two minutes? And it’s kind of like cooking because the couscous went from dry and inedible to soft and yummy. Fie on those recipes that want me to simmer it and take out an actually cooking implement. I’m going green with all the energy I saved.

4. Fluff that couscous with a fork, add the herbs and voila! Take it out of the container, (what are you, an animal?) put it on a plate and drizzle with a little olive oil.

5. Now get back to work. You've taken enough time.

Hot Dogs Are Good for You! Creamy Cole Slaw

I was in the back seat of the family van during a day of errands. My father was driving, my mother was beside him, and we were all hot, tired, cranky, and hungry.

Hunger had been the consistent culprit of many a family meltdown. Since we shared a proclivity for low-blood sugar induced madness, when we passed a hot dog stand, I asked my father to stop, for the delicious opportunity of the moment, and for the emotional well being of our group.

My father said, “Hot dogs are no good for you. You shouldn’t eat that crap,” and continued driving.

Had I been ten, I would have pouted at the injustice of it all – the tiny voice making an enthusiastic, inexpensive, reasonable and self-preservational request from the back seat. Another unmet need. It's not fair.

But I was 36, so I did not pout, as I had learned a couple of things over the years. 1. I would drive myself to the hot dog stand as soon as the car pulled into the driveway, and 2. Sometimes it’s best to keep one’s (insightful and apt) mouth shut in the face of parental irrationality.

My father is not alone in his belief that hot dogs are crap; my mother agrees, as do many soccer (or is it hockey?) moms across the country. They smile at each other, knowingly, in the grocery stores, as they pass by the Twinkies, Fruity Pebbles, and Tater Tots, and choose whole wheat pretzels, soy crisps, and baked lays instead.

But I knew the value of a hot dog in between-meal moments like this, when a Clif Bar seemed smug. While teaching kosher cooking classes on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, I would have a Gray’s Papaya dog prior to every class.

The dog did two things for me: It gave me enough energy to keep me peppy until class was over, and it gave me a perverse porcine thrill. I would giggle every time a felt a tiny trafe burp during class.

And now, my own pork-loving pop was denying my simple request for a $1 dog.

But the last laugh is with me, because guess who is coming for a visit this week? The parents. And lucky for them, I’ve prepared a hot dog spread fit for the finicky. I’ve got Martin’s potato rolls, Ba-Tampte pickles, mustard, ketchup, heck I’ve even prepared some Sabrett’s style onions for them.

Plus, I’ve got my new favorite dog: Applegate Farms Organic All-Beef. I will slit them down the middle and broil, then snuggle them in a toasted bun for my parents to fill as they like.

In addition, I made a home made cole slaw the spicy and creamy one my mom really likes. A spoonful of sugar can sometimes be a forkful of cabbage.

I’m confident they’ll rethink their weiner wariness. Because if they don’t like what's on their plate; they might just be sent to bed hungry. It’s so hard to get adults to eat good food these days.

SATISFYING SLAW
Created by The Wooden Spoon
Serves 6 to 8

3/4 cup low fat mayonnaise 

1/4 cup Dijon mustard 

¼ cup cider vinegar 

1 teaspoons granulated sugar 

1/2 teaspoon celery seed

1 (16-ounce) package cole slaw mix
1 small red onion, thinly sliced 
on a mandolin
2 green onions (white and green parts), chopped
1 serrano chile (small red chile), chopped or 2 tablespoons of pickled jalapenos, drained and chopped (optional, or more to taste)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper


In a large bowl, make dressing by combining mayonnaise, mustard, vinegar, sugar, celery seed; whisk to combine. Add red onion, green onion, chile, to dressing and toss to coat. Season with salt and pepper. Chill until ready to serve to (can be made up to 3 days in advance).