One tradition that I look back on
fondly is apple picking. I have a
friend whose family just went to pick apples at an orchard that only grows
honeycrisps (jealous!), and I thought about when my family used to go. When I brought it up with my mom,
though, she reminded me that apple picking is an activity that is always better
in theory than in practice. One
conjures up images of frolicking through rows upon rows of plump, crisp apples,
stopping to snack on a juicy delight every few hours, and happily tossing the
red and green gems into a quaint wicker basket. What we often block out in our memories, though, is the
two-hour drive, the millions of bees that you have to dodge, the heavy bushels
that nobody wants to carry, and the hundreds of others who had the exact same
idea that you did. Moreover, you
pick more apples in five minutes than you could ever consume in one season, and
so the majority end up rotting in the basement. However, the absence of apple
picking in my life does not mean a shortage of apples. I don’t know about you, but I eagerly
await the two to three month window when honeycrisp apples are available, and
as soon as I heard rumors that they had arrived at Whole Foods, I hopped in the
beast and took a special trip to get the first pickings. Let me tell you, they are SO worth the
wait. I think about them all day,
and I am back to eating three plus apples a day.
Speaking of food, my mom and I are
currently setting up for break-fast.
On Yom Kippur, Jews all over the world begrudgingly starve themselves
for twenty-four hours for the holiday, avoiding the kitchen in an effort not to
tempt themselves. The ideal game
plan is to go to bed early, wake up late, go to services, come home, sit on the
couch, sleep some more, and then force yourself to sit still until break fast
rolls around. My mom and I,
however, are not so lucky. You
see, we host break-fast at our house, which means that we come home from
services and get to prepare food all day.
The smells, the delicious-looking treats, everything you don’t want to
smell and touch and look at when you cannot eat it. It’s sort of like being forced to sit in a fur coat next to
a swimming pool in the middle of July.
I think I just heard my stomach grumble.
Which brings me to my next
tradition: the overabundance of food.
My family loves to eat, but my mom has usually buys enough food to feed
a small country rather than a medium-sized family. Everyone eats their fill, and somehow we are left eating
bagels, smoked salmon, quiche, and fruit salad for two weeks afterwards, as
well as forcing our friends to take some of the food to their own homes. My friends never mind when I try to
force good Jewish comfort food at them, and it’s something that I’ve become
quite used to. But the best part
of the break-fast dinner is the battle of the kugels. If you have never eaten kugel, I genuinely feel bad
for you. It is the most heavenly
food I have ever tasted; I’m starting to get excited just thinking about
it. Kugel is a noodle dish that
has egg, cinnamon, and tender love and care saturating each and every
bite. My grandmother and my great
aunt both make killer kugels, and they bring them to break fast. It becomes a silent battle as we all
periodically walk through the kitchen to see which dish is emptier, and who
will win the battle that year.
Each family tends to stick with their own competitor, so in the end it
tends to be a tie. But who knows?
Maybe there will be an upset this year.
If you are looking to treat
yourself as a beginning of the New Year present, or to show someone else that
you care, buy a tote bag! They are
perfect for apple picking and smuggling leftovers home from a dinner party that
has way too much food. So on that
note, I wish you all a happy new year filled with love, happiness, and
kugel.
-Emma
-Emma
