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Channeling Julie and Julia

December 31, 2014 by Carol 2 Comments

In preparation for cooking a Middle Eastern feast promised to the two highest bidders at a recent charity auction, I have been trying out recipes. What should I serve? How many courses? We will have five vegetarians between the two groups, so my options are somewhat limited, although all of the veggies will eat fish.

To help me decide on the menus, I am working my way through my own store of recipes and two particular cookbooks: restaurateurs Yotam Ottolenghi and Sami Tamimi’s Jerusalem, and Hadassah College Cooks, the latter published by the school’s renowned former culinary program.

One of my main concerns in all the whirl of cooking and baking is how long hubby Joel will put up with having to try new recipes on an almost daily basis. He does love to eat, and the recipes are all superb, but I fear that he will cry out at some point, “Enough! Just give me a scrambled egg!”

As I was pondering this potential roadblock yesterday afternoon, a bolt of electricity suddenly shook me. The spirit of Julie Powell had take residence in my soul — she, who famously spent a year cooking her way through Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

I tried to remember how Powell’s husband reacted to being force-fed French cuisine night after night like some human goose being prepped for its fois gras. My recollection was that he was fine with the eating, but not so fine with his wife’s obsession.

So far we have gobbled up wild rice stuffed grape leaves, homemade pita, a burnt eggplant soup with mograbieh, spiced chickpea with fresh vegetable salad, Moroccan vegetable stew over couscous, and roasted butternut squash and red onions with tahini and za’atar. Joel has not uttered one word of complaint, despite the mountain of pots and pans the preparation has entailed.

As for me, just reading this over makes me crave dry toast for supper.

Hitting the Sauce

December 18, 2014 by Carol Leave a Comment

Hanukkah is here, which means that it is time to bring out the traditional holiday foods. While I prefer my potato latkes straight up and salty, with no condiments, everybody else in my family wants sour cream and applesauce.

Sour cream is best left to Hood or Breakstone, but applesauce must be homemade. This will not be the stuff prepared from our wild apples, as that was inhaled before Thanksgiving, but a new batch made from Granny Smiths, my absolute favorite for cooking and baking.

Coming from the bitter cold into a warm house is comforting. Entering one filled with the aroma of cinnamon-infused apples cheerfully exclaims, “Welcome, and join us around the hearth!”

May all your candles burn bright with hope, peace, and freedom.

Dumb Luck: Winning (?) the Lottery

June 29, 2014 by Carol 1 Comment

The clerk promised me that being selected for jury duty is strictly random. She told me that on my seventh trip to court. A few days ago I received my ninth — ninth!! — call to jury duty in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

I know people who have never been called. How could it be that I have been so fortunate?

I should only be so lucky with the Powerball. Now, I actually studied statistics in college and grad school, and even taught the subject at one point. I know that my chances are slimmer than the proverbial snowball’s in hell. But I do buy a ticket when the jackpot is really, really big since my chance of hitting all six numbers is no less with a large jackpot of $300 million than with a small one of only $10 million (yeah, I know, “only $10 million” sounds crazy). That way, if I’m not going to win, then at least I will not have won a big jackpot.

And what the heck, this is entertainment. I can get several day’s worth of heart-pumping adrenalin awaiting the morning paper with its publication of the winning numbers. I think it might even count as aerobic exercise.

But back to jury duty. I have been summoned to trial court. Again. I will either be chosen, or will spend another four to five hours of my life sitting on a hard chair in a stuffy room, and waving a number placard overhead in response to questions. Would that count as aerobics, or weight lifting?

In theory, I think it would be a very interesting experience to sit on a jury, and I know it’s a civic duty. But, shouldn’t the other seven million people in Massachusetts have the chance to serve? I am willing to share my luck.

The Cane Mutiny

June 4, 2014 by Carol 1 Comment

I was determined to find the silver lining through the drug-induced post-surgical cloud. But, it turns out that there’s not just silver. We opened every drape in the bedroom, and through the wall of windows, I could see a veritable Joseph’s coat of colors: red and yellow and blue and pink and gold. Skies are either robin’s egg blue or black with threatening rain clouds. Sheets of water flowed in straight lines from the sky to the grass three stories below me.

And the sounds! Monday morning the garbage and recycling trucks rumbled through the neighborhood. Birds chirped their various songs. The growl of lawnmowers filled the air, accompanied by the buzz saws cutting wood.

In the evening, the rhythmic thrumming of a basketball on a driveway, was accompanied by the joyful shouts of kids enjoying the summer. The roar of motorcycles on distant streets brought back vivid memories of lying in my childhood bed, longing to participate in the summer night’s activities, while a mournful whistle carried through the humid night air ignited a desire to hop a train.

And, the smells of summer. The fragrance of freshly mown grass, the heady aroma of lilies of the valley my neighbors brought. A whiff of gasoline from the cacophonous lawnmowers and weed whackers and edge trimmers. The earthy tang of soil dampened by rain.

Then! When the weather cooperated I was able to hobble along on my cane outdoors. Up and down the street a few times a day.

How much I now appreciate that few minutes of freedom, drenched in the soothing sun. Confinement has definitely made me appreciate so much of what I have taken for granted.

I can’t wait to throw the darn cane out.

Riding the Rails

April 3, 2014 by Carol 6 Comments

During a wonderful stay with my family at the Chateau Frontenac in Quebec, we took a tour of the famed hotel and learned that it was just one of a series of grand chateaux the Canadian Pacific Railway built along its cross-country route. That tour ignited in me an intoxicating fantasy of traveling from east to west the entire length of Canada and staying in each one of those hotels.

In retrospect, I can see that train travel has always excited me. From Murder on the Orient Express to Strangers on a Train, The Old Patagonian Express, and even the Hogwarts Express, the romance and mystery have all left a big impression on my imagination.

So, you can imagine my delight when I learned recently that Amtrak is offering residencies to writers who want to pen The Great American Novel (or other work) while riding the rails. I decided to apply for one of the 24 positions available. I dutifully filled out the application form and hit “send,” only to have it bounce back immediately, with the warning that I must enter my Twitter handle.

Twitter handle? Did I really have to sign up for something I’ve always considered a major time suck?

I weighed the alternatives. On the one hand, I can certainly understand that Amtrak would want publicity for its ingenious program. Why a blog chronicling the trip – with no 140- character limit — isn’t sufficient, I can’t figure out.

And, on yet another hand, I would really love to take advantage of the opportunity to travel and write without distraction, fully immersed in the atmosphere and culture of the rails. I already have the kernel of an idea for a story on a train.

Which brings me to the point of this post. I did indeed sign up for a Twitter account, but now I need to get followers. (This Luddite had to ask her progeny for help on how to do that.) If I promise not to bore you all with ridiculous details of my day (e.g., I stopped to buy a postcard, I ate a salad for lunch), would you, my wonderful readers, consider signing up to follow me? My handle is @goodmankaufman.

There is absolutely no guarantee that I will win one of the coveted spots on the Amtrak residency (probably 24,000 writers will apply for the 24 spots), but with your help at least I can legitimately say I have a Twitter account.

Maybe we can even find a way for you to appear in the story that results (first name only, of course).

Thank you!

Misery Loves Company

January 22, 2014 by Carol 6 Comments

I am writing this post for two reasons: to get the word out about a rapidly spreading problem, and to solicit support for it. Or, more accurately, for myself. I have been diagnosed with a syndrome called BTK, or Bad Technological Karma. It is not, the experts believe, a serious condition, but it does make navigating everyday tasks quite difficult, and the more advanced our society becomes, the worse the affliction.

You may have had a hint here and there that you yourself suffer from this malady, but have been in denial. BTK starts slowly, and then seeps into every aspect of life. Let me describe the symptoms for you, so that you can see if you fit the profile, and I can find some company in my misery.

But first, some history. The genesis of BTK can be found back in the mists of time, with the VCR and its incomprehensible requirements for programming. VCR brain freeze hit epidemic proportions in this country, but that somewhat minor ailment has mutated, as do many viruses, into something resembling catatonia. This state is induced when one is trying to figure out how to use operate the multiple entertainment objects in the home. Some researchers have attempted to address the ailment by designing a one-size-fits-all remote control, but that device is doubly sinister in its opacity and only serves to exacerbate the condition.

Since time immemorial, or at least since the advent of the personal computer, there have always been computer hardware issues and software concerns: regarding the former, unpredictable freezing and crashing; on the software side, word processing that won’t search, random fonts appearing uncalled for in documents, and …

The disorder continues to spread, however, and it has now affected every aspect of our electronic life. I’m talking about the watch battery that runs out every six months. The microwave oven that sparks and dies. The cordless phone that only works when it feels like it. The car’s keyless entry fob that separates from the ring and disappears, rendering the automobile useless.

If you find that your electronic devices begin to display obstreperous behavior, it may be that you are the cause. You may be suffering from Bad Technological Karma. I would suggest an online support group, but knowing our affliction, it probably wouldn’t work.