One of the things I did not get to do on birthright in January 2002 (for those who need a refresher, that was the first trip after September 11th) was to go to the shuk. Beth and Ira decided that it was wrong that I had never been to the shuk and took it upon themselves to remedy this situation.

The Shuk is an experience of all senses. The colors are amazing… there are a lot of things I could say but they’d all sound like dumb clichés, so this will be mostly pictures.

Here Beth is showing me that, as evidenced by the beautiful apricots that this is mishmish season. This made me think of my friend Karam in Brooklyn. He taught me the Arabic expression “بكرة في المشمش” - “Bokra fi al mishmish” which he told me means “tomorrow in the apricot,” and I have heard variously translated as “come back in the apricot season” or “Tomorrow there will be apricots.” Essential meaning, “Yeah, right” or “never gonna happen.”

This is fresh pita. As we approach the pita stand that Beth likes, she explains to me that you don’t want your pita 15 minutes old. She points to the pita coming out of the oven and says “This is what you want.” She picks up a freshly packed “נילון” (That’s “neelon,” plastic bag) of pita and holds it out to me.

“Feel.”

“You have to beg them to take your money,” she explains. “See, he’s walking by and he’s going to ignore me. Again.”

“Fried things, grape leaves, schnitzel, to honor the holy Shabbat”

Stopping for some sweets for Shabbat, Ira points out this place. “See,” he says “where there’s a menu, and it looks like it’s telling you what they have? They don’t mention the pots. See, if you know to peek in the pots, you can get something nice.”

And this, of course, is the infamous David Dagim.

“This is the guy who takes my order,” says Ira.

“And this is the guy who gives me a hard time.”

One of the really lovely things about shopping the shuk is that you get to taste just about everything. The cheese guy gave Ira and me each a slice off a big hunk of really lovely gruyere, while another poured us each a taste of some pretty nice Tishbi wine. Beth and I were handed some dried cranberries by the nut guy and we all tried the mysterious bean salad at the place with the humous and herring.

I am a fan of the shuk.

On the way there, Ira pointed out this sign:

“Doesn’t it look like it says OBGYN?”

I ventured out of my apartment today despite my sore back to buy some kosher chicken thighs from the Shop Rite on Ave I. Not the best thing for my back, but it alleviated some of the cabin fever I’ve been experiencing and I also ended up with quite a tasty meal and confidence that I can indeed make cholent.

The Coney Island-bound F was skipping several stops today including Ave I, Bay Parkway and Ave P, and proceeding straight on to Kings Highway. The conductor announced that there was no Coney Island-bound service to these stations and for these stations one would have to transfer at Kings Highway for the Manhattan-bound train for the bypassed stops.

I was reading a book and when I looked up the train was pulling into a station, and a woman looking very distressed was asking another woman, in broken English with a thick slavic accent, what she was to do. The other woman tried to explain briefly and then walked away. The poor woman stepped out onto the platform and looked around, clearly still bewildered.

I walked up to her and she said to me “Excuse me… Avenue P… Wait here?”
“No,” I said, looking her in the eye and pointing to the opposite platform. “We go to the other side.”
“Avenue P? Not here?”
“No, the other side. Come, I’ll show you. I go to Avenue I.” I began to lead her to the exit where one transfers to the opposite platform and she suddenly stopped, looking more distressed than before.”
“Other side? Is Manhattan!”
I smiled and pointing north said “Yes, back toward Manhattan, Avenue P, and Avenue I.” She suddenly seemed to understand and followed me, looking very relieved. We got to the other platform and I said “And here we wait.”
“Thank you, thank you. Thank you very much,” she said to me. I replied, as I do, “no problem” and leaned against a beam to continue my book.
We got on the train and ended up next to each other.
“Cold,” she said “here is cold.”
“Yes, it’s a cold day,” I agreed.
“In Manhattan, no, here cold.”
“You think so? You think it’s warmer in Manhattan?”
She shrugged. “A little. Warmer yes.” She pointed out the window to the low apartment buildings and houses of Brooklyn. “Is no buildings.”
“Ah, yes…” I said. “The buildings… they block the wind.”
And there was a pause. It could have ended there.
“Are you from Russia?” I asked.
“Eh? No… Ukraine.”
“Ah, Ukraine… I don’t speak Ukrainian.”
“You speak Russian?”
“No, no… I wish I did!”
“Ah… I speak Russian… Ukraine, Russia, now…” she put her hands close together “neighbor.”
“Yes, very close. How long have you lived in America?”
“Four year.”
“Four years? Very nice. You have family here?”
“No… my grandson, he come… four weeks… no four months… school in emmm… computers. He visit summer, and then, he go home.”
“How old?”
“How old? Twenty-One!”

Then it was her stop. I said goodbye, and wished her a very good day and she thanked me again and went on her way. I returned to reading Tevye’s Daughters by Sholom Aleichem and felt a little bit like I may have done a good thing.

Missed two days. Please don’t fail me. I’ll do extra credit.

I just made the most wonderful egg salad. The only problem is that it came out a little runny. I’ll figure that out somehow… maybe I should let the yogurt drain through cheesecloth or something… anyway, here’s what I used:
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Last brief post before Shabbos starts in my house…

I made pareve chocolate pudding for dessert for tonight’s dinner. My sister is coming over. It was a basic vanilla pudding recipe from the back of a box of cornstarch, using soymilk in the place of milk, and with pareve semi-sweet chocolate morsels added at the end.
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Okay, so today is going to be a FoodBlogging(tm) day. Jason wants I should post my mom’s Challah recipe. Along with that, I’ll go ahead and post the revisions that made the Ma’aseh HaGoyim(tm) bread.
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Okay, I’m WAAAAY too excited about this to not write about it.

I made French Toast.

But that’s not all…

I made banana stuffed french toast.

But wait… there’s more…

I made it with homemade bread.
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