With my tail between my old legs, I walked over to the long refreshment table in the foyer outside the gallery that no one had discovered yet. I immediately homed in on some platters full of sweets near a klatch of older Jewish women. My eyes bulged. My heart pounded. My taste buds gushed. Were these pastries homemade from the very hands of those old Jewish ladies? All of a sudden, I felt flush, like I had just seen rock stars up close. I had never felt such adulation for old Jewish-lady strangers before. “Did you make these pastries?” I interrupted the group from across the long table. They all nodded yes, and one of them said, “Except for a few things from Trader Joe’s.”
I’d spot those bad boys in a nanosecond, I told myself smugly. I wouldn’t be wasting my calories on anything by a trader named Joe. All my bad cholesterol would be coming from the bubbie brigade. From my right eye’s peripheral vision, I detected almond mandelbrot. I turned to it, lifted one to my mouth and purred, “Mmm.” As it slid down my throat I blurted out, “Anise!” in Tourette’s-like fashion. “Who made the almond mandelbrot with anise seeds?” I asked with a cheerleader's zeal. A short, round, gray-haired lady said they were hers. “These are delicious!” I said, as she proudly accepted my praise. And one by one, I tasted each variety of cookie, macaroon, brownie and babka, not caring that I was making a complete chazer of myself. I knew that those ladies would much rather witness a P.I.A. (Pig In Action) than a U.P. (Unappreciated Pastry).
As I stood there alone at the table, cavorting with cookies and patronizing with pastries, I realized how much history was in each sweet I was scarfing down. Every one of these women had their own recipes from their secret vaults. Perhaps one had endured the holocaust. Maybe another had lived in a Russian shtetl. And another in a New York tenement. All I really knew about them was expressed through copious amounts of butter and sugar. I’m sure there would have been a lot of fascinating tidbits to discover if I had taken the time to ask. But I didn’t get their names. I got to know their cookies instead.
I remember rolling my eyes at adults like it was yesterday. But today I could see the circle of life with clarity. Grownups weren't the enemy after all. In other cultures, with age comes wisdom. Why is it that in America, this is looked down upon? The bubbie brigade not only deserved praise for making it this far, but for having a few sweets left in them to help celebrate the journey. And I was happy to join the celebration.
Is there anything better than a grandmother's cooking ... even if its not your own grandma? What a wonderful, funny, insightful ode to the Bubbie Bridgade and their culinary wisdom. I loved every word of it!
ReplyDeleteThis was a terrific story, Adair. I learned to make Norwegian cookies from my grandma, and in turn have taught it to my daughter and grandaughter. Ha! I'm one of those Bubbies myself.
ReplyDeleteI miss my own bubbie (although if I had called her that I'm pretty sure she would have knocked out my teeth).
ReplyDeleteDiva and Lynne: thanks for the kind words. Glad you enjoyed it.
ReplyDeleteErika: I don't recall calling any of my relatives that either!
This one resonates...my ailing 80someting 4-foot tall Jewish m-i-l (who we call Bubba) used to make one heck of an almond mandelbrot.
ReplyDeleteLovely story. I can totally identify with the generation gap - to those little ones I'm not as hip as I think. And, sometime soon, they will realize there is something to be learned from those older than 18.
ReplyDeleteGreat post. Love the cookies. When I talk to my nieces or nephews, they look up at me and make a 'W' with their hands. I thought it was some sort of Bush Family salute, then one of them also said: 'whatever'... and my imagined bridge across the generation gap collapsed... but after reading this post, I laugh and think... go eat a pop-tart kid... or suck on a fruit roll-up.
ReplyDeleteBeautifully written and heartfelt article; I could definitely relate to your awestruck admiration for these old ladies, who have no doubt seen and endured a lot and yet managed to produce such exquisite pastries for the event. As far as kids these days, you are so right! I was in a remote village in the mountain in north lebanon and in the midst of farmers and all the kids without exception were busy on their electronic gadgets.
ReplyDeleteWhat a great post Adair! Grandma's (or Bubbies) certainly know best about a lot of things. I've got my grandmother's old recipes in a cookbook that I need to get put together for some of the family.
ReplyDeleteThankfully, the younger generation in my family is still to young to think I'm anything but cool (they're 2 1/2 and 5 mos. - just to prove I'm not bragging ;) )