I detected a piece of brisket when her voice gradually got beefier during a bridge. Granted, a lean cut. Babs isn’t really a saturated fat kinda gal. Then there was the egg salad with dill when her voice got a little playful. It was the dill that really made that song. I heard smoked whitefish on bagel when the strings swelled, reaching a gorgeous, smoky crescendo. You can take the girl out of Brooklyn, but you can’t take the whitefish out of the girl. And when she showed amazing vocal restraint, I heard one perfect bite of creamy New York cheesecake. You knew she could have gone whole hog, but unlike me, Babs is not a binger.
Hell, I can hear a better meal in her voice than we had for my mom’s funeral. Six days of turkey, roast beef and tuna on flaccid bread from a place called Jason’s Deli. My sister’s gracious coterie of catering friends apparently got their signals crossed and ordered three of the same ginormous sandwich platters—enough to feed a Dallas shtetl. My mom taught us to never waste food, so the onus was on us. Six straight days of leftover cold cuts. So much for comfort food.
Yet like the most satisfying comfort food, a powerful song not only has the ability to soothe and coddle you, it can even be life-affirming, as the opener on Barbra’s disc proves:
Here’s To Life
I had my share
I drank my fill
And even though I’m satisfied
I’m hungry still
To see what’s down another road
Beyond the hill
And do it all again
So here’s to life
And all the joy it brings
Yes here’s to life
And dreamers and their dreams
May all your storms be weathered
And all that’s good get better
Here’s to life
Here’s to love
Here’s to you
And here’s to mom, Barbra and but-tah. L’chaim.
I feel your pain, but I want the cake!
ReplyDeleteThat cake was from the Cheesecake Factory. I had a sliver of it at someone's house when I was in Dallas. It was as good as it looks!
ReplyDeleteyour blog is highlarious. nice cake
ReplyDelete