Jewish American Heritage Month

Posted By admin on October 6, 2022

I had a vision of myself preparing my very first break-fast in my own apartment, and naturally, it bore no relationship to the cook I actually know myself to be. I pictured myself as a chill, serene domestic goddess with a sense of humorhalf Nora Ephron, half Laurie Colwinready to greet her guests at the door with an excellent bottle of natural wine in hand, imploring them to make themselves at home on my heartbreakingly well-curated furniture, and lighting a Byredo candle before sauntering into the kitchen to check on the tzimmes.

I told myself Id make a nontraditional menu of the Jewish foods I loved best, culled from various holidayslatkes, matzo ball soup, and, for the first time, my very own challah, under the YouTube tutelage of Semitic angel Claire Saffitzand I imagined the food being so delicious that everyone at my table converted on the spot. (Just kidding: To quote one of my favorite unconventional Jewesses, Charlotte York-Goldenblatt from Sex and the City, Theres more to being a Jew than jewelry.)

As you might imagine, my vision quickly fell apart. Ten minutes before my guests were due to arrive, I was sweating profusely from the exertion of trying to put together three main courses simultaneously, my makeup running off my face from the heat of the frying oil for the latkes, and my hands bleeding in three separate places from a failed attempt to shred onion on a box grater. If I had only had to braid the challah six times, dayenu. (Yes, I know, wrong Jewish holiday.) Ultimately, it took a total of seven tries before I shoved the braided behemoth into the oven, feeling totally certain that something would go wrong in the baking process. I had to 86 the matzo ball soup at the last minute when the matzo balls disintegrated in the broth, feeling very much like Carmy from The Bearif Carmy were terrible at his job and a failure of Jewish womanhood, that is.

As my friends Hannah and Marshall filed in, drank wine, and let their curious dog Merle sniff around the living room before settling next to me on the couch, I began to relax. Maybe it was my friend Amalies generous hostess gift of a bottle of my favorite Hendricks gin, or maybe it was the tantalizing smell of the latkes topped with sour cream, dill, and lox, or maybe just the comforting knowledge that even I hadnt managed to fuck up potato pancakesbut I started to get into something approximating a festive spirit. (Even though Yom Kippur is the Day of Atonement, so, as usual, I was off-script.)

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I Never Feel More Jewish Than When Im Frazzled in the Kitchen - Vogue

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