Shabbat Shalom from Israel

This was my Shabbat lunch. Good Shabbos! Cucumbers and mango splashed with fresh passion fruit, a nice little bunch of cilantro, challah, and some of my homemade goat yogurt drink, known properly as doogh (there is no ghayn in English, ask a Persian, and they will pronounce it for you). It was delicious, and so traditionally beautiful, I had to share it with you. Life is good sometimes :)


I could have said Kiddush on this doogh.


It was filled to the top like it is supposed to be to symbolize that our cup in life should always be full. Now that's what I call a blessing! Something to really be grateful for as we sit down to break bread, and partake of rest and relaxation with our loved ones for shabbat. Good karma, positive intention, it all goes forward, and in that spirit, should always be pluralistic. Amen!

Goodbye USA

A pictorial essay, enjoy :)

Oats, organic cacao, hemp and goji berries

Me and my uncle's littlins'

NY, 33rd St at 7th Ave, right outside Penn Station

Japanese goodies, constantly growing to new horizons; I love.

A boutique hotel in Midtown

Mustard Greens I miss

My and my sister. No words.

The artwork of Ron Jones that I added to. I must email him this. Ive been talking about it for years already.

A t-shirt from Madewell. Thank you American business for treating me like a little princess. I hope to perpetually rise to the calling of all that is splendid, beautiful, and worthy of hard earned currency.

Welcome Home

I wonder if this guy is lit up at night.


Can you see him? Silvery white aluminum against the sky blue?

I have arrived. On my second day here in Israel, walking back from the shuk, I saw a Menorah on the road, and it moved me, so I took a picture of it. What is it? What is it doing there? Who knows. Positioned to the passersby between the billboard and the parched palm tree, its starkness is part of its beauty. A desert rose; a diamond in the rough; the heart of the country set against its quotidian landscape. This is the road in Ramla that leads into town where there is a shuk that I bought my produce at yesterday. It was such a pleasant, beautiful, sight. Both inspiring and deeply touching. It reaches out to my weary soul and puts a twinkle in my eye with its awesome gravity lit by the love of my people (or just the people that put it there:). Eretz Yisrael. I am home!

My Big Fat Delicious Breakfast

Yes, it was. And remarkably, by being such a harmonious blend of protein, vegetables, fats, and starches, it left me feeling full, yet, with the clean finish that can only be achieved by such a perfectly harmonious blend. It was delicious, and without further ado, let me show you the why, and the how.

The full spread, minus the faux chopped liver on the side which I wasn't sure if I was going to eat, but I did.

Cabbage smothered in Ras El Hanout (a Moroccan curry with specific North African character), cooked in coconut oil, with sweet peas, topped with chopped red scallions. Majorly delish, and below, you can observe these beautiful scallions that I had to capture before I chopped them up.

Aren't they so pretty?

My garlic bread. It is a pita actually, that I did not use as effectively as I could have with a meal like this. Even with the stuff on top, it is very easy to place some of the various items in this plate, inside the pita, and enjoy the flavor combinations and sensations. I only used the chopped liver. I was lazy.

Mom's chicken. Enough said.

Dipped in high fat, pure cream, sour cream. Once again, there are no words to describe how good this is.

Radishes sliced in quarters. My take on the traditional radish, served whole, alongside Persian food.

Castelverano olives. I like them because they are green, with a lot more original olive flavor, and less salty, briny finish. I am also partial to half-sour pickles for precisely that same reason. I will forego the additional probiotic boon, and yes, the delicious quality zing of a fine ferment, to save myself from all the added salt. Most of the time, I just want to taste the fruit.

Faux chopped liver! This is really good, and apparently made mostly from roasted eggplant. It is amazing how much flavor can be rendered from roasting an eggplant to perfection.

So that was my breakfast, dear reader. I wanted to share my delights with you. I don't usually have meats for breakfast, as they are heavy, but a small amount goes a long way, especially when served with all these wondrous goodies. I was in heaven.

Amen

A stream of consciousness poem, would you care to glide?

Riding my bike home from grocery shopping
My bones aching from lack of sleep
My body eager for the fresh watercress and other goodies
Yes
Goodies worth fighting for in this jungle which is my life
I ride my bike to Rt 10
And stop
As pretty as can be
At every store that conveys goodies for my dollar
Ricky's India Bazaar for my tindora and frozen baby okra
Next is Kam Man
Where I purchase any number of delectable East Asian goodies
from Thai Basil (amazing)
To my long loved Kabocha squash whose pretty orange hue keeps me content
The produce section is lined with infinite varieties of choy
But I foolishly stick to my herbs
Angel,
Will you go shopping with me
And teach me the joys of Shanghai choy, again?
Perhaps I will do it on my own
As no angels are expected anytime soon in my life
I make my way to Bed, Bath & Beyond where the exciting new marketplace keeps me well within a broad range of well priced, yet almost entirely artisanal foods
I buy my pear and ginger 8 oz Kombucha
And move on as my dollar needs to stretch a bit further
Next is Prime Foods
A Russian grocery with every kind of delicious, artisanal confection that you could ask for
I simply purchase my favorite sour cream
Pasteurized cream, and cultures
That's it
And flirt with the cashier who pretends not to be the bosses son
Next, I am off to the farmer's market
Not a real farmstand
But the vernacular for a dazzling little assortment of utterly fresh produce
And some that has seen better days
But a wide, and impressive range of all the produce you could ask for
And some special things you didn't
But are so pleased to see
I buy my fresh cilantro, and watercress
Am dazzled by the inexpensive berries that are not from California
And grab a few plantains
To make a very hearty breakfast with
Then I am off
I say goodbye to Rt 10 as I glide down the incline toward Livingston proper
I like to look at the bus stop riding down
The waiting passengers surly demeanor is always an added thrill when you are going 30 miles an hour with the wind in free air
Finally, I reach the bottom of the hill
And am faced with a crossroads
Do I climb the 45 degree angle and head straight home
Or do I go down Northfield
And head into town for the fancy items at Kings and ShopRite?
Today
Despite my achey bones
I am feeling saucy
So I opt for option number 2
And it made all the difference
No
Seriously
I make my way up the long, slightly inclined road
And make my usual pit stop at Crystal Plaza
Where I often sit
Take a swig of water
Eat some fruit
Have a light snack
Or otherwise rejuvenate myself from the long
Long
Bike Ride
This time
I took my bike into the inner parking lot for some odd reason
Where a lovely gang of valet parkers looks on inquisitively
"Do you want us to park that for you?"
I smile
And as I ride my bike around them
Not wishing to dismount from the heavy basket
And weighty frame
I explain my trek
"One time, I even went to the garden in the back, but people were approaching, so I left."
Another smile which is returned by their grinning obligance
A pretty young thing
They think
Riding around as best she can towards her goals
Yet
With a wistful air of her precarious pose on their private property
Just a pretty young thing
Looking for a place to rest for a few precious moments
They wouldn't have kicked her out, right?
I move on
Off their driveway
Smiling like a fool
And back on the road
Towards my fancy feast
With a large blue Whole Foods freezer bag brimming
I look for the coup de gras
The cherries on top
To complete my delicious outing
I arrive at the ShopRite
A little white sedan tries to kill me as we both like using the road
Somehow they think they own it
They are wrong
And I prove it to them
Every chance I get
Anyways
I enter the ShopRite
I get my Stonyfield butter
Snapple, move over, this is the best stuff on Earth
And I have forgotten my 88% percent cacao chocolate bar for my daily tea
But I will get that today
As the exercise is good for me
And the bike is ready
My last stop is Kings
Where I get my goats milk
And somebody has politely left a small bag of cherries that I also purchase
Cherries on top
Fruit all around
Life is good in this moment
And we are all of us
Happy to be alive
In a country
Where we can all live so well
May it only grow and grow towards greater horizons
Of prosperity and happiness
Amen

If I forget thee, NYTimes, may my right hand wither

Oh, dear reader, so much to say, but how to say it. Well, I'm just going to yank the cat out of the bag. I am moving to Israel. Yes, Israel. The home of my ancestors, and a very special place to renew the bond to that particular piece of land that this world weary Jew is eager to find some solace in. Reading the NYTimes this weekend at my sister's house, where I went to incomprehensibly say goodbye to her three young children (the elder two sadly, and reticently understood, the littlest one didn't), I found myself saying goodbye to something else I love in the most intimate of ways. As per my usual routine these days, I languish about the paper, molesting the photographs and reading whatever strikes my fancy with an almost childlike sense of wonder. I adore it, and am already living in its rapturous nostalgia. Ay me.

As I lay in bed Saturday night, after the Sabbath and thoughtful as can be, it dawned on me how I can revel in my nostalgia in a thoroughly rich way. I am going to save up my papers from here on in, and wrap my tea cups and other delicate collectibles in them. I can think of nothing more satisfying than to be able to cloak these objects in this great, daily American newspaper that imbues our existences with noble sentiments that propel important journalism. Articles about the importance of women's education in crafting a smaller, more sophisticated populace could be wrapped around my Royal Albert Blossom Time tea cup, evoking the splendor of such undertaking in societies where women can hold those tea cups, filled with the beverage of their choice, and converse with each other freely about life while the children play elsewhere in the house. Their gentle voices fill the air with a sweet music that assures and excites the children about the beautiful lives their mother's lead, and how they want to grow up to be just like them. Perhaps there is a great newspaper, like the NYTimes or the Wall Street Journal, lying around with its beautiful words filling the air, and lifting the level of the room even higher towards bright horizons.

When my tea cups arrive in Israel, wrapped in the NYTimes Weekender, I am eager to have that little piece of American beauty arrive with my tea cups, however ephemerally, to imbue that moment with the same noble air I receive every time I read this paper, and it educates me about important matters that transport me to greater planes of learning and growing as a person. And how appropriate, really, that this fine vessel should be adorned as such. You might think it a waste (even though I will be salvaging whatever I can), but I think it the most suitable pairing of a fine item and a simple one (although, which is which?). So suitable in fact, that it forms an inverse relation of reflection of one another's value. One must value the newspaper the same way one does the tea cup; the tea cup is made finer by its relation to a person who appreciates the value of a good drink that goes along, or better yet, enables a good read. It's intrinsic value is tied to its bearer. So to, the newspaper is just a good read, but if you cherish it the same way I do, dine on it in a manner of speaking, then it can light up your life in the most brilliant of ways, and acts as a beacon of truth and beauty, every time you bring it home and place it on your kitchen table, and create an opportunity to have others kiss your mind. I don't know how fruitful my philosophical exercise just was, but it was meaningful to me, the same way the NYTimes is, and I am so happy that I can so richly take a favorite piece of my old home, to my new one. Yay.

Bella Vita

Or, in other words, the good life. This is what my lunch was today; an artful and harmonious plate that I arranged for me and my lovely mother. A lovely little feast for the senses, with balance and beauty (albeit lacking in substantial protein). It was delicious, and highly nutritious :)

The table, set.


Sour Cream with scallions, salt, and a bit of black pepper.



A whole mango, sliced.



The most amazing chips ever. They are flamous.





And of course, the greens are Cilantro. I will miss tortilla chips when I move to Israel next month, but I can only imagine the terrific array of exciting Middle Eastern foods which will stand in stead of American bounty.