During the past two years, my daughter has not been home for Rosh Hoshanah or Yom Kippur. Last year we Face-Timed while we lit the Chanukah candles. I drove 8 hours round-trip in one day, so she could join us for Passover. This year, she'll be at college for all of Passover. Luckily, being part of an interfaith family, she gets to be home and celebrate Christmas with my family.So, I was happy that my she wanted to bake for this weekend's Jewish holiday, Purim. Ironically, the cookies will be served to my Catholic family, since we will be celebrating my Dad's memory on what would have been his 100th birthday. My parents were all about family, and my Dad wanted to live to be 100, so my daughter and I decided to use his 100th birthday as an excuse to throw a party to bring our family together. It just happens to be Purim.
What is Purim?
For those of you who don't know what Purim is, it includes costumes, merry-making, and a reading of the Magillah, a story of when Haman - the bad guy - tries to kill all the Jews. Then, Queen Esther, part of an interfaith marriage, saves the Jews by going to her husband, the King, and begging him to pardon the Jews.
Here is a wonderful song my husband wrote about Purim.
Back to the kitchen
Baking with my daughter is a pleasure. She must have my mother-in-law's patience in the kitchen. Mom G. used to say that some of her best successes in the kitchen resulted from her biggest disasters. As you can see, making hamantaschen includes folding the cookies into Haman's hat. So, when the dough was very dry today, it began to
crack and fall apart. Me? I would have thrown out the dough and given up in quite the huff. Not my girl! She stayed calm throughout the process, figured out a solution, and we now have a couple dozen cookies to celebrate her Catholic grandfather's birthday.
Mom's Kitchen
Celebrations in my husband's family are ornate affairs. They include home-made complicated recipes. Nothing is simple. My family was another story. In Mom C's house, food was simple. With five hungry boys and one girl to feed, I suppose she decided early-on that it was going to have to be easy. When we visited my parents' home, pepperoni and cheese were served (the irony of that does not escape me for those who may keep Kosher). Our birthday cakes were made in a tube pan by Betty Crocker, and the frosting came out of a can. For more birthdays than I can remember, the cake was lopsided, and Mom was frustrated that it never came out perfect. All birthday cakes were served with a scoop of Neapolitan ice cream. "Would you like chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry with your cake," they would ask. The reality of it was that no one cared. The point of having cake and ice cream was simple - to bring our family together.
So, in memory of my Mom, I made a Betty Crocker cake. Can't wait to taste it. As is par for the course, I forgot an ingredient and threw it in at the last minute. My daughter's patience must be wearing off on me. I didn't even curse or cry. The good news is that the cake rose to the occasion, so at least it will look good. It will be a yellow cake with chocolate frosting from a can, just like Mom would have made. Oh, and just in case, I bought a pretty, decorated chocolate cake too! |
Happy 100th Birthday,
Daddy! I miss you.
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