The Mamaloshen

In 1791 Catherine the Great created the Pale of Settlement. It was the territory within Russia where Jews were permitted to live. It included all of Belarus, Lithuania and Moldova, much of present-day Ukraine, parts of eastern Latvia. And with Second Partition of Poland in 1793, the Pale included much of Poland and all of Lithuania.

My maternal Grandmother, Sophie was born in 1880ish Warsaw, then still part of the Tsarist Empire. She spoke Polish, understood Russian, both Slavic languages; but the lingua franca for Jews, spoken in the home, and amongst their co-religionists was Yiddish (the mamaloshen – “mother tongue”), which was and is a Germanic language. When she moved to America at the turn of the 20th Century, she added another Germanic language, English to her verbal skill set (although she never gained literacy in it).

My Mother was able to pick up Yiddish from my Grandmother (we called her Mommie Sophie). Mom developed a decent facility with Yiddish, and as a kid I would sometimes hear Mom and Mommie Sophie having extended conversations in Yiddish. Drawing the camera back, I think it was their language of “disagreement.” I couldn’t understand what was being said (and I am sure that was the idea), but words were exchanged in a hurried and excited manner, in a somewhat elevated volume. It wasn’t as if they were telling dirty jokes in Yiddish, either. It wasn’t, “chubdah, chubdah, chubdah, chubdah”; and then a bunch of laughter. Yeah, I think they were disagreeing about this, that or the other thing. Probably something family related, and not whether the flanken was too dry.

My Dad knew a few words and phrases, too. More than anything, he put Yiddish into play as a vehicle for humor. Which brings to me to the following.

Zack has sent me a book: The Encyclopedia Blazertannica, which is an alphabetic listing of subjects that, by and large, relate to things soccer. However, under the letter “Y” is this off-topic entry:

YIDDISH: No language does spite more creatively.

Two of the examples contained to illustrate the point.

“Ale tseyner zoln bay dir aroysfaln, nor eyner zol blaybn – af tseynveytok!”

Or, in English, “May all your teeth fall out except for one – so you can get a toothache!”

And my personal favorite…

“Zol dayne fis vern farholtzzene dayne bokyh ful mit vaser un dayn kop gamakht fun gloz azey ayer fis farbent, vet ayer boykh zidn un dayn kop vet plastn!”

Or, in English, “May your feet be made of wood, your stomach be filled with water, and your head be made of glass so when your feet catch fire your stomach will boil and your head explode!”

Lest you guess otherwise, I never heard such horrible words from the lips of Mommie Soph, or my Mother!

Yes, I know a few words and can get the gist of a couple of phrases. And it shouldn’t come as a surprise that you know a few words, too! English is a voracious language, gobbling up vocabulary from languages across the planet… including Yiddish. Among the terms that have crept into our tongue… bagel, blintz, chutzpah, glitch, kibitz, klutz, lox, nebbish, nosh, schlep, schlock, shnook and tushie… all are derived from Yiddish/German that entered into this country via Ellis Island… just like my Grandmother did!


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Foil Packet Bacon Ranch Chicken & Malk Sauvignon Blanc ’18

Living in the northern tier of States can mean that “grilling season” can be confined to the warm weather months.  That said, I have been known to put a thick bone-in rib-eye on my Weber grill with several inches of snow on my back deck. Nothing stops me from grilling!  So, as you might suspect, the idea of firing up the grill in warm weather holds little novelty for me… I just exchange my down vest for a Grumpy T-shirt and proceed as always. Hence, once I’ve grilled corn a few times (something I do only in the summer), my enthusiasm for warm weather outdoor grilling begins to fade.  What’s another juicy cut of steak?  Or burgers & dogs?  Or chicken kebobs?  Or grilled salmon? And another thing… I’m not a big salad guy. (It’s only June and I’m already dreaming of October and the return to casseroles, stews and the comfort of slow cooking!)   When I came across this recipe for a foil packet dinner I took notice!  Putting stuff in foil is nothing new.  Any source of heat can be put into play: an open campfire, a grill (charcoal or gas) & even the oven in the kitchen!  Assemble the ingredients… typically a protein, veggie & starch, and place all inside of the foil packet and put the packet on the heat.  Simple. Less time than a slow cooker, more convenient and less clean-up!

This recipe is shockingly easy. And the only “pre-prep” is cooking up a couple of slices of bacon.  Most important, it’s a change of pace recipe from what I usually put on the grill!

For wine I am opening a bottle of one of the few Sauvignon Blancs that I love, not named Sancerre.  I have enjoyed Malk Family Vineyards Sauvignon Blanc in several vintages.  The 2018 is the best I’ve tasted! I love the wine on its own merit, but it also a great choice with chicken and fish dishes.  And the Malk worked perfectly with this chicken dish!  Another choice would be a Cru Beaujolais, slightly chilled.  Or a Bandol Rosé.

Malk Family Vineyards Sauvignon Blanc ’18 (Napa, CA)
The 2018 Sauvignon Blanc is decidedly mineral driven. Wonderful limestone minerality presents upfront, highlighted with beautiful citrus notes of lime blossom and orange zest. As we employ fermenting in neutral oak barrels, there is a warmth and texture to the pallet due to the lees contact that provides a perfect balance to the wine.


6 ounces of Tanqueray Gin
½ ounce of Noilly Pratt Dry Vermouth
1 potato
1 cup frozen green beans (or canned, drained)
2 half, skinless & boneless chicken breasts
2 tsp ranch mix
2 tbsp butter
½ Cup of shredded cheddar cheese
2 slices of bacon, cooked & chopped

1. Put gin and vermouth into a glass pitcher, fill with ice, stir vigorously while incanting, “You who know all, thank you for providing us juniper and all the other obscure ingredients responsible for creating this sacred liquid!” Strain into a pre-frozen Martini glass of admirable size.  Skewer the olives on one of those tacky cocktail swords, place in glass. Immediately begin consuming.  Now you can begin the food prep, and the cooking!

2. Take two good sized pieces of heavy duty foil & spray with non-stick spray

3. Place a half of potato (peeled and sliced thin) in the middle of each piece of foil. Top with a half cup of green beans. Place chicken breast on top & season with salt and pepper to taste. Sprinkle with 1 tsp of the ranch mix and place a tbsp of butter on top.  Add ¼ cup of shredded cheese and bacon.

4. Fold up the sides of the foil, and pinch up the ends to make a foil pack.

5. Place packets on a grill for 30 minutes.

6. Open the foil packets carefully, dig in!

n.b.  The above recipe is for two.  But this recipe is perfectly “scalable” either down or up.  Also, I put the foil packets on a closed grill on a high temp.  This gave the potato slices a deep char crispness, which I think is great!  However, if well done potato slices is not your thing, and if you’re using a gas grill, turn off one of the sides of the cooking surface, and place the packets there.

OK, there is little difference between “deep char” and “burnt”.  I just think deep char sounds more “premeditated”, and less “accidental”.  In this instance, I just lucked into the potatoes turning out the way that they did. Next time, I’m planning on it!

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He Was a Dreamer

We’re coming to the edge
Running on the water
Coming through the fog
Your sons and daughters

Let the river run
Let all the dreamers
Wake the nation
Come, the New Jerusalem

As it turns out, my Aunt Meggie only had a short time left on this side of the grass. Although that was not present in her thoughts, or mine, when I visited her at her home in Chatham some two decades ago. In Meggie there was no shred of fear, disappointment or regret. There was a peace and kindness in her eyes that was, and remains, an inspiration to me to this day.

She used to tell me that Chatham was her “third” home. First: Brooklyn, King’s County; second: Woodbury, CT; and then Chatham, Cape Cod. Originally Chatham was just a vacation/weekend retreat for Meggie and my Uncle Saul. While as a little boy I loved when we took family day trips (and occasional sleepovers) up to Woodbury. But once I got to College age and gained independence (and after Meggie had sold the home in Woodbury), I tried to get down to the Cape for a visit at least once or twice a year. A visit to Chatham always “re-charged my batteries.” First, Meggie made boffo chocolate chip cookies. Second (and more important), she was a repository of wonderful family stories — stories, richly detailed, insightful and packed with warmth, wisdom and wit. And in particular for me, there was added poignancy to the tales after the passing of Saul, and after the passing of my parents.

Beach at the water’s edge.

On the day I am thinking of, it was a clear and not overly cold February afternoon. The type of day if you went to the Cape Cod shore the sky would be a brilliant blue canopy spotted with linen white clouds, and the waters of the Atlantic would be awash in the sun. Meggie and I made our way to Chatham’s Lighthouse Beach. We both love a beach in winter. There is a soothing quality in seeing an open unpopulated stretch of sand abiding next to lightly turning waves, and quiet except for the occasional cackle from a circling gull. We spotted a couple of like-minded souls working their way along water’s edge. Someone else brought along their Golden Retriever, who happily chased after a frisbee.

As much as I love looking out to an expanse of sea, my Mother had always advised me to keep looking down as I walked along a beach. “You never know what you’ll find, Jimmy.” And as a young boy, I dutifully followed her recommendation whenever I patrolled the beaches, first of Milford and then of Norwalk. A rocky jetty was home to snails, hermit crabs and mussels that clung to rocks. At low tide there would be an occasional horseshoe crab carcass rotting in the sun. Shells, and shell fragments galore scattered about in the soft Long Island Sound sand. And then a rarity: a piece of sea glass brushed to a dull appearance by decades of being beaten by sea and sand. The bright shiny surfaces transformed into soft dusty pastels. Above all else, I loved finding shards of sea glass… a pastime I passed along to my two daughters.

And so it was on that bright February afternoon, as Meggie and I walked along the beach, that she stopped and said, “Why look! A beautiful piece of sea glass!” She bent down, picked it up, brought it up to the sky and into the sun to better inspect it. “Blue! This is a keeper.” And she put the small piece of glass into her coat pocket. This was not to be unexpected. Meggie (and presumably Uncle Saul, too) was a committed sea glass collector. Evidence of this interest was clearly seen in their den. There on the étagère wedged in the corner of that room, on a lower shelf, was a good sized glass jar filled with pieces of sea glass. Blues, greens, a precious few reds or browns… and some whites. White sea glass most being the most commonly found, often didn’t make the cut to be saved for posterity.

We continued our walk. When I stopped to pick up the frisbee at my feet and return it to the grateful Retriever, Meggie paused, took out that piece of sea glass from her pocket, “Blue. Uncle Saul thought that blue sea glass was a gift sent by the angels.”

She continued. “Jimmy, you know how Uncle Saul used to love kidding around. He could tease me left and right. It could be of the most inconsequential things… the Grand Union was running out of toilet paper! And I would dutifully drive down to Southbury to lay in a supply of TP. But when he spoke of what sea glass represented, there was no foolin’ around in his voice.”

Meggie looked at that blue glass again. Closed her eyes, and brought that small piece of blue to her breast.

“My Saul was a dreamer. A marvelous dreamer. It could be playing the clarinet, or bewitching a young girl in Paris. A young girl in Paris, like me. There was something in those eyes that spoke of pages not yet written, adventures not yet charted.”

The small piece of glass was returned to the safety of her pocket.

“Our first discovery of sea glass happened accidentally, and I think that is the way it usually is with stuff you find on the beach. You just stumble upon something.  Honestly, I can’t remember the beach. I even doubt my memory to recalling the State! What I recall are Saul’s words. Words that are as clear to me as this February day.”

“When he picked up that small piece of brushed blue glass he looked at me, and said, ‘Miriam (yes, my given name, which meant that what followed was serious) this small piece of blue was sent to us! It’s a gift, it’s not happenstance. It comes to us from my Zayde Avraham. And my Bubbe Rachel has poked him in the ribs to send this to me. Rachel told my grandfather, let him know that our Sabbath table is set; but there is no need for us to rush.’”

“So with the found piece of glass in his hand, he then turned to the sky and said a prayer. As best he could, he adopted a solemn posture of reverence and respect. Although he didn’t admit it to me, I am sure that the Hebrew he intoned could have been pure drivel. When I asked him what the prayer said. He smiled, and he admitted that he didn’t know.”

“Then he looked at me with the warmest of expressions and said, ‘But words are just words regardless of language. For the meaning: it’s wrapped in our heart, our emotion and the melody for living.’”

Meggie shook her head. Laughed. Shoulders drooped some. Gestures that spoke volumes to a sweet richness of life, and a vacancy that could never be filled. Then a broad smile bloomed on her face.

Glass secure in her pocket, she brought the coat collar up to shield her face to the light breeze coming in off the sea. She looked at me with a warmth that I only wished I could have bottled for safekeeping. A warmth that was connected intimately to a dreamer in the sky.

Verse at the top of this story is from the song “Run River Run” by Carly Simon.

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BLT Supreme & Montesel Prosecco ’16

BLT Supreme

Hard to imagine that a sandwich as prosaic as a BLT needs further elaboration or exposition. It’s the way I felt! BLT? Yawn. Wake up you doubters! There is a “new” way to attack this modest assemblage and bring it to higher heights! And I am here to take you to a better way, a sinfully good way, a way that will make the angels in heaven weep tears of joy! How so? It’s in the creation of a “bacon weave”… a skill set I have recently acquired (thank you, Delish cookbook). Of two things I can assure you. (1) Once you try this method, your life will never be the same. (2) You will never order a BLT out again. For the rest of your life. Even if it’s in heaven, or hell (as the case may be).

Wine? You ask? Years ago I learned one of life’s simplest lessons: “Pearls go with everything!” And in terms of wine? Sparkling wines are the liquid pearls of the wine world. There is not a single food that will cross your lips that won’t be made better by the sip of a bubbly. And that’s certainly the case with Montesel Prosecco… which I have loved over the previous three vintages, and continue to love in this vintage!

Montesel ‘Vigna del Paradiso’ Prosecco ’16
(Conegliano-Valdobbiadene, Italy)

The Conegliano-Valdobbiadene is the only zone authorized to make Prosecco Superiore DOCG. This Prosecco is a delight great at any time, perfect as an Aperitif. Made from 100% Prosecco Balbi from a 7.5 hectare single vineyard, 30-year-old vines, dense planting, all hand-harvested. Velvety soft and fresh in the mouth, a bouquet of citrus, apple, pears, almonds and white florals. Superbly balanced with a delicate, persistent perlage.

BLT Supreme

Ingredients (for 1 splendid sandwich)

6 ounces of Tanqueray Gin
½ ounce of Noilly Pratt Dry Vermouth
3 slices of thick-cut bacon
2 slices of tomato
Some lettuce
Fresh ground black pepper
Russian Dressing
2 pieces of country white toast


  1. Put gin and vermouth into a glass pitcher, fill with ice, stir vigorously while incanting, “You who know all, thank you for providing us juniper and all the other obscure ingredients responsible for creating this sacred liquid!” Strain into a pre-frozen Martini glass of admirable size. Skewer the olives on one of those tacky cocktail swords, place in glass. Immediately begin consuming. Now you can begin the food prep, and the cooking!

    Bacon weaved

  2. Cut the three slices of bacon in half. And create a 3×3- weave with the six pieces, placed on microwavable plate, double layered with two sections of paper towel.
  3. Apply a serious amount of fresh ground black pepper to the bacon, and cover with another layer of paper towel.
  4. Put in the microwave for 5:15 minutes for “well done” bacon. Let bacon sit for 30 seconds, covered (helps absorb the grease).

    Bacon weaved

  5. Put a good shmear of Russian Dressing on one of the pieces of toast. Put down a layer of lettuce, 2 slices of tomato and then top with the “bacon weave”, cover with second piece of toast.
  6. Compress the sandwich a bit, and then cut on the diagonal. Take a healthy bite, then smile!

n.b. The Editors of Delish recommend “regular” thickness bacon. I only had thick-cut on hand when I first tried the “weave” so I used it… I liked the results, so I’m sticking with it. Don’t like pepper? Leave it out (Chicken Little!). Russian Dressing vs. Mayo? I made Sandy’s sandwich with Mayo, and she sang praises. I happen to love Russian Dressing, but I can imagine that many of the “alt versions” of Mayo that I see out there would work well here. I used “Country White” bread because I think the thickness and density makes for great toast. Finally, do you have a preference on how to assemble the sandwich itself? My preference is bacon on the bottom, lettuce next and then the tomato… it just doesn’t photograph well that way! But, and this is important, cutting the sandwich on the diagonal is not optional. (Cutting sandwiches on the north/south axis is not acceptable past the second grade.)

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