An Ideal Shabbos

I've always thought that when it comes to some things I'm rather mellow (to others, I'm a friggin' nutcase). Like hosting guests for Shabbos. I'm the first one to say that people just want to enjoy the company of other people, and don't give a hoot about the food. 

But in actuality, I obsess over the menu. For days beforehand, my dreams are haunted by warring sidedishes: quinoa vs. roasted veggies vs. kugel. Do I need to make fish? Should I make chicken legs or chicken cutlets? Legs taste better but are messier to eat. Should I just stick to the white meat? Should I make individual lava cakes in ramekins or just plate a square of brownie? Do I have enough Trader Joe's pareve ice cream?

Obviously, hosting stresses me out so much I've barely done it. 

Then I came across this Vogue article by Avital Chizhik-Goldschmidt. As a rebbetzin, she's certainly under more pressure than I am to put on a stunning meal - every week. 

Having emerged from the pandemic, she is eager for social interactions, and instead of being tethered to the kitchen and a multitude of courses, she serves one course, and can actually partake in the conversation. 

I like this idea. But I know I am unable to model it. Currently, I do not make fish for Han and I since he hates it (one course off the menu) but if guests come, I feel compelled to serve it. Han lives for chicken soup, so that's staying (but I make a massive potful every few months and defrost as I go, so that's not hard). Then there's the main, sides, dessert, obsessing while I sleep . . . 

All the while knowing that consuming a four course meal leaves me unpleasantly stuffed and munching on Tums the whole night. 

Some programming is difficult to realign.

Five Minute Face as Shabbos Face

 In my single years, I was a regular shul goer. Nearly every week, I would spend precious minutes before lechtzin hair styling and makeup applying. 

Now, that makeup routine was serious stuff. It was practically bullet proof. 

With Ben's arrival, however, the previous enjoyment of shul waned. When he was tiny, being up at night with him meant I stayed in bed in the morning. When he got older, and COVID became less worrisome, he would whine and complain while I struggled to get dressed, then he continued to whine and complain while I struggled to get him dressed, and by the time I finally made it out the door we were both sweaty and tired. 

When I would arrive at shul, he would refuse to go to groups, and after having my own davening disturbed too many times by youngsters I would refuse to bring him in, hovering outdoors and feeling rather stupid. If Han insisted on taking him in, I spent the time wincing whenever he emitted a peep. 

Or, if I didn't time it right, I would have spent all that effort getting it together to find shul is over and I got dressed and ready just to walk Han home. 

Blah. 

I decided instead that I would spend Shabbos morning going for a leisurely walk. I can't do that in the afternoon lest Ben dozes off in the stroller and is then unable to sleep at night. So morning it is. 

Well, do I really need a bulletproof Face just for a walk? When I'm wearing sunglasses? Through a pretty deserted route? 

Enter weekday Five Minute Face. 

Surprisingly, the above stays on rather well through Shabbos morning, giving my ego the slight boost it needs to be seen by strangers in public. When it fades (when you have a toddler, it will fade) it does so gradually, not patchily. Which is nice.

Lipstick will need to be of clingier stuff, though. A long wearing one.

Makeup doesn't have to be all or nothing. There's plenty of room in between. 

Challah

Challah is a big deal. Jewish women get really excited about challah. 

Except what we know as "challah" isn't really "challah." 

The actual, correct, appropriate translation of "challah" is the portion that was taken off dough to be given to the Kohanim. The remaining majority of that dough was made into lechem for everyone else. 

For thousands of years, Jewish women made simple loaves of bread. Then, in the 1500s, braided bread became trendy in Europe, and Jewish women jumped on the bandwagon. The trend never left, to the point that we sometimes think that the only bread that can be made for Shabbos must be braided. Only Sephardim who have not been exposed to Ashekenazi mishaggassen have loaves on their Shabbos tables.

The mitzvah is to take the challah off dough, and as long as that dough will become bread and has the minimum amount of flour, the mitzvah can be done. 

But since challah is now braided challah bread, many women can find the skill daunting. Ma actually did not make challah bread until a neighbor found out, ordered her to come over to her house, and taught her. 

Yet the mitzvah is not so inaccessible. If yeast and water and flour are chucked into a bowl, you've got dough to take challah from. So give it a try. And maybe, one day, if you feel like it, you can try braiding it too.

Shabbos Lashes

Three day yuntif. For a makeup lover like myself, cue the 😱 emoji. I love yuntif! But keeping on mascara for three days is quite daunting.

In my younger, pre-baby days, keeping makeup on for so long was a challenge I was amenable to tackle. But I now cherish sleep to the point that I just want to bury my face into a pillow and pass out after a 2 am feeding.

I still, however, want to go out in public with my dignity intact.

A few years back I heard of magnetized false lashes. The lashes attach with magnets, so they can be applied and removed and reapplied on Shabbos. As I  am armed with Shabbos makeup, mascara is the only chink in my armor.

So this past Shabbos I gave it a trial run. I purchased a set by Lash’d Up on Amazon called "I Woke Up This Way," and after a few tries, managed to somewhat successfully apply them. They aren’t too dramatic - my mascara is usually more over the top - and with Shabbos eyeliner I was able to make it look more blended with the lash line. 

Because they are magnetized, you can’t use metal tweezers to get them on. I think I will look for plastic ones to assist.

So after a bleary night with baby, I was able to take my eyes from bare to smoky on Shabbos, with lashes!

The Messiah cometh!

How to Cook an Egg

Perhaps one of the techniques that has stubbornly eluded me is how to cook civilized hard-boiled eggs. Either they come out raw, or they come out overcooked, and are usually a pain to peel, half sticking to the shell. 

My Frenchman did not fail me. Jacques Pépin's method for perfect eggs, every time, has been reliable.

1) Bring a pot of water to boil. 

2) Take a thumb tack (or the like) and stab through the shell on the round (as opposed to pointy) side of the eggs. 

3) Once boiling, lower flame to simmer. Drop in the eggs and cover the pot. 

4) After ten minutes (a timer is very very much your friend), remove pot from flame and drain off the boiling water. 

5) Shake the pot to crack the shells. 

6) Now, here Jacques recommends dunking the eggs into ice water; I have found that putting them under cold tap water is sufficient. Cover the eggs with cold water. 

7) After allowing them to cool, remove and peel. The water now under the shells should make it easy. 

Via thedailymeal

NO SULFUR RING. How cool is that?

The Dinner Party

Ah, entertaining! We don't do it often enough. When we do, we tend to go a wee bit overboard, so the idea of doing it regularly is a tad overwhelming. Invariably, I forget to bring in the cucumber salad. This time I remembered the salad, but forgot the cookies. My beautiful, beautiful cookies. 

The efforts came out (mostly) so pretty I had to take pictures. 

Ma's pan-cooked salmon, which is how she makes it every week for Shabbos. It was served with a dip composed of mayo, dried dill, and a few cloves of roasted garlic, as well as the almost forgotten cucumber salad and my niece's favorite, tomato salad. 

This one you know already, the Spanish eggplant dip. It was brought out together with the fish, then lingered on the table all night long.

Chicken soup, of course. It's a basic tenet of the faith.

The veal chops were a success, despite being accidentally over-simmered. (The trick is that fish should err on the side of undercooked, while meat can braise away.) It was made by hobbling together a few googled recipes for "pan-cooked veal chops with mushrooms"—by us, meat doesn't get put into the oven unless absolutely necessary. 

For our heimishe guests, out came the old country: kaposztás tészta (cabbage and noodles). However, my local store did not have—gasp—the large square egg lukshen that is tészta (Manischewitz definitely makes 'em), so bow ties were used instead. (Mind, if it wasn't for company, I would have reached for the whole-wheat pasta.)

The other main was my new, improved love, stuffed pepper (töltött paprika). It's so photogenic, I don't know which shot came out pepper—I mean better. Aren't they gorgeous? Or is it just me?

This ended up being more for me than for the guests, but I didn't mind. It was a pleasure to eat it.

Other sides that I neglected to photograph were pan-roasted vegetables (carrots, parsnip, and Brussels sprouts), cauliflower kugel (which stays so stubbornly bland I ended up chucking in nutritional yeast and a head of roasted garlic for flavor, and it totally worked), oven-roasted beets that no one ate (although they were so amazingly sweet! Without any sweetener added!), sautéed sugar snap peas with shallots and sun-dried tomato. 

Dessert was the forgotten cookies, macadamia nuts (the KING of the nuts!), brownie topped with cashew cream (also hammered together from a multitude of recipes). 

Yeah, we totally made too much. No worries, we lived on it for the next week and change. 

Yom Shabbos Menucha

"Yehoshua, get up off the floor! If you can't sit nicely at the table, go to bed. Mendy, put down that book! It's a long enough night, and you won't have anything to read later. Miri, leave your sister alone! Raizy, why did you take so much chicken if you knew you couldn't eat it all? No, Baruch, you can't have anymore grape juice. Shua, off the floor!" 

Well, I did volunteer for the task. With their parents out for Friday night, I was presiding over chaos. In under five minutes, the prettily set table had morphed into a mess of purple splatters and soggy napkins. I'm sure my hair was standing on end, with a few bits of shnitzel stuck in there.

As the youngest, my memories of Shabbos meals were tame; all of us sitting properly around the dining room table. Yet Ma tells me that before my time, she would tell Babi, "Ma, it's a three-ring circus." 

We sing bensching together (with Mendy barely mumbling along, much to my displeasure). With an hour until bedtime, I whipped out the stack of Berenstain Bears I had brought with me. 

The hysteria immediately vanished into peace. Each (even the 12-year-old) eagerly selected one. I read out loud, surrounded by cuddling children all sighing contentedly. This was the scene more apropos to the serenity of Shabbos. 

 

After tucking the smaller ones into bed, I played cards with the older ones. I lost "I Doubt You" ungracefully. I thought I had a better poker face. 

The night closed pleasantly, despite the mad opening. 

We are creatures of habit and minhag. Shabbos meals are supposed to be calm and enjoyable. Yet when kids are too young to handle the expectations of the dining room table, maybe the method needs a little tweaking. 

If a formal dinner will devolve into (1) shouting matches of "But I wanna sit next to Abba!"; (2) Grabbing for the kois until it inevitably spills; (3) food battles; (4) really, really unnecessary stress, let's take the munchkins out of it until they are of an age of self-control and interest. 

They can be fed earlier, left to play or put to sleep (depending on the season), while Mom and Pop revel in a romantic dinner for two by candlelight. 

The Decorators of the Soul

To get myself in the proper yuntiff state of mind, I've been hearkening to various shiurim; one, by Rabbi Stauber, was addressing the difficulties some have with the concept of "hiddur mitzvah."

I was puzzled. Why should anyone feel pompous by practicing hiddur mitzvah? Then I realized: I'm Hungarian. Our whole lives are hiddur.

As my social studies teacher in 6th grade (a frum woman of Polish heritage) taught my class, an example of a stereotype is, for instance, that Hungarians have chandeliers in their bathrooms.

Darn tootin'. We matter-of-factly beautify the mundane. How much more so the sacred? 

I was once listening to an Esther Wein shiur, and she brings an Arizal: Hashem created the whole world, and within every culture and nation there is an aspect that Jews can learn to better serve Hashem. 

As the granddaughter of Rabbi Schwab, she mentioned the German meticulousness, which can be applied in how mitzvos are kept—in careful detail. 

Well, Hungarians decorate. 

Setting the table for Shabbos, for instance. My father's cousin came for a visit, and he and Ma had a passionate discussion on the art of tablecloths. (His wife, while a fellow Magyar, was not concerned with such matters.) He eagerly soaked up Ma's prowess of ideal weight and measurements. 

While I do share a house with the best cook I have ever come across (I have had much exposure to other chefs, and she has yet to be outclassed), the success of a Shabbos meal, is, oddly, less in the food, more in the presentation.

As Ma decrees, three factors: 

1)   Beautiful dishes.

2)  Beautiful flowers. 

 

3)  Gracious hostess. 

Couldn't resist.

There's a reason why I'm currently sitting on a trousseaux of Lenox, snatched up piece by discounted piece in Homegoods. Dishes are a long-term investment, and if one buys a reliable brand that doesn't chip they will be around—looking pretty—for years to come. (Cutting back on a few food items from takeout or the deli section will cover the cost quite quickly.)

As for flowers, they don't have to be expensive to be lovely. Carnations, for instance, aren't pricey and can last as long as two weeks. But then, it is also imperative to own a lovely glass vase to put them into.

 

Ta's esrog this year? The fairest of them all.    

"The Chatzos Lady"

Rabbi Frand, We Are All In This Together:

I once spoke about Shabbos in Highland Park, NJ, and I read an essay, not realizing that the writer of that essay, a woman by the name of Mrs. Azriella Jaffe, was in the audience. 

She wrote how she makes a point of being ready for Shabbos every single week before chatzos (midday) on Friday. When I started speaking about this to women, their general reaction is to either laugh or look at me like I'm insane. But after I spoke in Highland Park, Mrs. Jaffe wrote to me to explain how this came about. 

She wrote that on Friday, her daughter remarked, "Oy, tonight is Shabbos. I wish it wasn't Shabbos." 

Do you know why she made that comment? Because Friday meant chores. Friday meant chaos. Friday meant a tense mother. 

So Mrs. Jaffe accepted upon herself that by chatzos Friday, everything would be ready. EVERYTHING!

This meant, in her words, "The food is prepared, the table is set, the candleabra is ready, and when my kids comes off the bus from school, instead of coming home to Shabbos chores and to a tense mother trying to cook and clean and make the deadline, they come home to a happy mother, a clean house, the smells of Shabbos in the air, and a free afternoon to relax.

"When my husband comes home from a long day at work, he comes home to serenity, not chaos.  

"Friday Night Candle Lighting" by Robert Tanenbaum

"But to do chatzos right," she adds, "you can't start at midnight on Thursday night. You need to prepare for Shabbos every day of the week. My children now think that it's normal to make a new batch of challos on Motza'ei Shabbos. Or to plan a Shabbos menu on Sunday. They're accustomed to asking me if the chicken cooking in the oven 7 a.m. on Friday is for Shabbos." 

Listen to the icing on the cake: 

"Shabbos is on our minds all week long. When Friday comes around, our house is one of beauty and serenity, and anticipation of Shabbos, rather than that former feeling of, 'Oh no, when is candle lighting?'" 

Mrs. Jaffe started a support group with three women, but she now has women all over the world—in England, Eretz Yisrael, and Australia—in her support group. 

Once again, this is not an all-or-none deal. Whether a woman wants to be ready at chatzos, or maybe just an hour early, or even just to be ready on time rather than late, it's worth planning ahead. 

A woman from New York wrote that she set a goal of being ready five minutes before the zman, accepting upon herself to be ready 23 minutes before the shekiah rather than the standard 18 minutes. 

This already sends the message to Hashem: Shabbos is something I want, something I look forward to. 

My Purpose?

I had believed that my purpose is to find my spiritual partner and have children to teach them the ways of the Force—uh, sorry, Judaism. 

So my prayers have been somewhat petulant lately. "Hey, Eibishter? What up. 'Memba me? You know how You have in Sh'ma, 'V'shinantam l'vanecha'? So, um, could You, like, send me the means to have those vanecha? Why else was I put on this earth, complete with early childhood training—didn't You see how dope I was with my nephew's tantrum, not appeasing him and all? Could You help a girl out by sending her her zivug, like, yesterday?" 

I had been getting more and more frustrated, whining self-pityingly at the Lord for His seeming lack of comprehension. "Seriously, Dude, how are You not understanding this? I'm trying to serve You and honor You by raising a next generation in Your Name, but I'm being set up with Jar-Jars!" 

In a sulk, I listened to an endless stream of Rabbi Daniel Glatstein shiurim. In one shiur, he mentioned that a Jew is not required to become a doctor because he might save a life in the future; a Jew only has to concern herself with the situation at hand, before her.

It cannot be my purpose is restricted to that which I cannot control, I comprehended. A Jew must focus on the situation at hand. Ergo, there is purpose in how I live now. 

As I heard from Esther Wein, a Jew's purpose is to give honor to the Eibishter. That can be done in a multitude of ways, and according to my simple understanding, that would be doing mitzvos—both bein adam l'Makom and bein adam l'chaveiro—with as much diligence as I can. 

Honoring my parents; davening with focused kavana; watching my speech; saying brachos with more care.  

In another shiur of Esther Wein's, she quotes from Sefer Yishayahu (Perek 56). Hashem is addressing the childless and geirim of millennia ago. 

Happy is the man that doeth this, and the son of man that holdeth fast by it: that keepeth the Sabbath from profaning it, and keepeth his hand from doing any evil. Neither let the alien, that hath joined himself to the LORD, speak, saying: 'The LORD will surely separate me from His people'; neither let the eunuch say: 'Behold, I am a dry tree.' For thus saith the LORD concerning the eunuchs that keep My Sabbaths, and choose the things that please Me, and hold fast by My covenant: Even unto them will I give in My house and within My walls a monument and a memorial better than sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting memorial, that shall not be cut off. Also the aliens, that join themselves to the LORD, to minister unto Him, and to love the name of the LORD, to be His servants, every one that keepeth the Sabbath from profaning it, and holdeth fast by My covenant.

Shabbos. Do I really have the right perspective of Shabbos? We're told it's major, but it has been watered down to a "recharging from high tech life" sort of day. There are so many halachos I'm ignorant of, actions I refrain from doing that are actually permissible, as well as erroneously transgressing Shabbos from ignorance. 

I did some browsing and came across a series on Shabbos by Rabbi Efraim Stauber. They are helping me rethink it completely. 

I have heard singles say they are frustrated because they don't seem to have a role in a couple-focused community. What if we make Shabbos our thing? Not necessarily in terms of meals—Shabbos is not about cholent—but in terms of keeping it better? Not looking at it as a day of restriction, but as a day of love between us and the great big Papa in the sky? 

 

I have been ignoring the much that is within my purview.    

Keep the Sabbath Day

Oliver Sacks wrote "Sabbath," discussing his frum childhood and the basic ritual we observant are all familiar with. What I found to be illuminating was this: 

During the 1990s, I came to know a cousin and contemporary of mine, Robert John Aumann, a man of remarkable appearance with his robust, athletic build and long white beard that made him, even at 60, look like an ancient sage. He is a man of great intellectual power but also of great human warmth and tenderness, and deep religious commitment — “commitment,” indeed, is one of his favorite words. Although, in his work, he stands for rationality in economics and human affairs, there is no conflict for him between reason and faith.

He insisted I have a mezuza on my door, and brought me one from Israel. “I know you don’t believe,” he said, “but you should have one anyhow.” I didn’t argue.

In a remarkable 2004 interview, Robert John spoke of his lifelong work in mathematics and game theory, but also of his family — how he would go skiing and mountaineering with some of his nearly 30 children and grandchildren (a kosher cook, carrying saucepans, would accompany them), and the importance of the Sabbath to him.

“The observance of the Sabbath is extremely beautiful,” he said, “and is impossible without being religious. It is not even a question of improving society — it is about improving one’s own quality of life.”

In December of 2005, Robert John received a Nobel Prize for his 50 years of fundamental work in economics. He was not entirely an easy guest for the Nobel Committee, for he went to Stockholm with his family, including many of those children and grandchildren, and all had to have special kosher plates, utensils and food, and special formal clothes, with no biblically forbidden admixture of wool and linen.

When I read articles about the joys of a peaceful "digital sabbath," or how great Shabbos is for the family unit, or how the Sabbath enriches personal relationships, I think that is missing the point. 

One side of the luchos bears the laws betwixt man and God; the laws on the other side are those between man and man. "Guard the Sabbath day" is bein adam l'Makom, not bein adam l'chaveiro.  

Shabbos was the day that Hashem ceased to create, and so we cease to create. I'm not fussing with the light timers and pre-tearing paper towel because I'm trying to remove unnecessary distractions from my life and be mellow for 25 hours. I'm doing that prep because Shabbos is the day that we announce: "Hey, the Eibishter formed us all. Word." 

Shabbos isn't about replicating the "togetherness" of Thanksgiving on a weekly basis, tables groaning with food and friends. It's a day to give a shout-out to the Above. Although the tables groaning with food and friends is a fun side benefit.

Baba Ganoush

Eggplant has been an under-appreciated vegetable in my house. Ma's lecho/ratatoullie always featured zucchini alone. Until recently, it never even crossed the threshold.

It was at my sister's house that Ma was introduced to baba ganoush, albeit store-bought. She frankly admitted that it was the mayonnaise content, but she was taken. 

Well, why couldn't we make our own? 

It was a gradual process, pinpointing the seasoning we like for our tame Ashkenazi palates. After some experimenting, we concocted a version that suits us quite well. 

Like the happy-accidental incorporation of roasted orange pepper. After cleaning out Mrs. H's supply on a visit to her house, it became clear we dig roasted orange pepper, which is now a Shabbos staple. Since the eggplant and the pepper are in the oven at the same time, why not chuck some into the baba ghanoush?

For those not familiar with nutritional yeast, allow me to acquaint the two of you. Nutritional yeast is a deactivated yeast that is chock full of nutrients while being a complete protein. "Nooch" has a cheesy, salty flavor while conveniently pareve and devoid of actual sodium. (I've heard it's great on popcorn.)

Most baba ganoush recipes call for tahini, but hey, we're Hungarians. I used mayo instead, obviously much less than the store-bought version. But after a sisterly visit, a container of tahini was left behind (her kids dig dips), much to Ta's delight. I purchased a jar online to compare the flavors.

Apple cider vinegar is one of those miraculous entities that supposedly cure everything. I use it on my hair and my face, and in my food. I've been using it to pickle my cucumber salad, to flavor cooked beets, and now, for baba ganoush.

Tool of choice: I hate using a blender for this—actually, I hate blenders altogether—although if you don't have an immersion blender, get two. 

Cleanup is much, much easier than with blenders.  (Chef Michael Smith whips up his smoothies, marinades, dressings, everything with a ball jar with and an immersion blender.)      

Baba Ganoush

2 medium eggplants

1 or 2 orange peppers

1 head of garlic

Squirt of Sriracha sauce (or hot sauce, chili sauce)

Hefty shakes of nutritional yeast

Dollop of mayo or tahini

Splash of apple cider vinegar 

Black pepper, just a touch

Cut eggplant any which way, stab all over with a fork, and place in pan to roast in the oven. Cut off the top of the garlic head, exposing the cloves within, drizzle in oil, and wrap in foil. Chop up the orange pepper, toss in oil, black pepper, and garlic powder (that way it tastes awesome in and out of the baba ganoush). 

After an hour or so, if everything looks nice and roasted, take everything out. (I would recommend waiting for it to cool but who actually waits?) Scrape the flesh off the eggplant skin, although if any clings on that's fine. The flavor is pretty awesome in the skin, too.

Blend together. Tastes better after chillin' in the fridge for a bit. 

Battle of the Bulge: One Portion is Enough

My life seems to be the same exact cycle. 

I'm careful the whole week, weighing myself, watching what I eat, and find scale nervana on Friday morning. 

Then there's Shabbos. More importantly, Shabbos meals. 

If it's just me and the folks, the damage isn't too bad; I have my weekly cake visit following a larger than weekday lunch. But if there are guests, or if I am invited out, oh dear. 

And then it begins again. 

Frank Bruni makes it simple in "Hard Truths About Our Soft Bodies." In a nutshell, the reason for American obesity is that we go über-portion. The middle path has been outsourced for limitlessness. 

The Italians cuddle up with pasta, but they aren't overweight, despite the fact that we all "know" that noodles are a perfect storm of pound-packing carbs. With this land of bounty, we have lost the talent to cease and desist when nearly full, as opposed to unbuckling belts to make room for more. 

It concerns me since we Jews have super-sized Shabbos to such unnecessary lengths. We troll the supermarket aisles to buy all those items that we think we "need" to have. We take a number and patiently wait by the ready-made foods counter. Just an hour after a lunch of all-you-can-eat proportions children expect "Shabbos Party."

Here's a tip: Let's see what happens if we cook for a Shabbos geared towards satisfaction, not leftovers. If the family asks for thirds but the pot is empty, that's okay. No one is hungry.