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THE RIGHT WAY
In a world besetby poverty and pandemic,global warming and hunger,there are a myriadof questons urgentlyrequiring answers. Among themis not the questionof the proper wayto eat with a fork,or more preciselyhow to hold itwhen bringing foodto the mouthfrom the plate. I was taught to holdit like a pen, buttilted so I lookeddown on the tinesbent in…
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CUISINE
When I was younger (much), Icould wander Manhattan and bewhat any neighborhood required,so long as I stayed southof 110th Street or north of 155th. I was Greek ordering gyros,Russian at the Tea Room,Italian along Mulberry and Canal,although in Chinatown I was justsomeone who wandered a bit farfrom the heart of Little Italy. I could order…
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COOKBOOK
As a youngster I thought I hadconvinced my grandmotherto one day entrust me withthe old family recipes, sincemy mother wanted little to dowith the kitchen and less withanything that came from “there.” It was a bit of a shock to learnyears later that grandma wasborn in London, that her mothershared my mother’s dislikefor the kitchen…
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DEAR ERASMUS, DIE
Today we welcome the rain, hopethat the wheaty winter lawn willshow some other color under its care. The birds ignore the clouds,accept the rain, care little howour lawn looks, their next mealof always greater importance. I am losing the vision in one eye,know I may soon be kingof the country of the blind,and sadly curse…
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DIFFERENT TODAY
The air we breathe is different today,and we inhale more deeplywith the energy of our youth. The tears we cry today are notsolely tears of loss and sorrow,but also of promise and hope. The wine that we drink todaywill be the same as before, butnow sweeter on the tongue. The sleep that we sleep tonightwill…
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WE COULD
We could, if you want,sit in the park on our foldingchairs or better a folded blanketand stare out over the pond,its silver surface shirredby a midday breeze. We could picnic, sandwichesof brie and apples, or for ushummous with tahini anda bottle of chardonnay, carefullypoured into plastic glassesimagining themseles crystal. The dragonflies would ignore us,busy doing…
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DRINKING TEA IN KABUL*
Rockets flash brieflyacross the chilled sky,plumes of smoke, ashcarried offby impending winter. Over the lintel of the entryto the Inter-Continental Hotel Chicago,carved deeply into the marbleEs Salamu Aleikumstaring implacablythrough ponderousbrass framed doorsonto the Miracle Mile.Countless guestspass below itunseeing. My son and Isit across a small tablespilling bits of tapasonto the cloth,laughing lightlyat the young boybathed…
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JUST ONE MORE HAND
My parents, well my father,always felt is was necessaryto stop on the way to our summer homein the Western Adirondacksto visit Uncle Morris, who mayor may not have been an unclein the blood sense, it was never clear.It was he who sold my father the cottagenear the small lake, he who nowlived in a nursing…
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TOO MANY COOKS
I can still recallthe day my motherwas ecstatic on learningthat everything grewout of a primordial soup.It was proof, shewas certain, of a JewishGod, even if he didn’tdo it all with his own hands.And, with a broad smileshe said, I’m fairly certainat the soupwas chicken, maybewith kreplach on the side.
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WAITING FOR HEAVEN TO CALL
He says he is waiting patientlyfor the arrival of heaven on earth. He is not sure what that will be likeand the descriptions he has seenare too fantastical to be believed,all clouds and angels and music He is hoping the things he lovesmost will be available in heaven,a good Alfredo sauce and Germanchocolate cake, for…
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an old writer and his words 