A night to remember and cherish

Plate of latke, salad, and bagel with lox and cream cheese along with brochure for cooking class

I try not to speak for others, but I daresay we all enjoyed ourselves at last night’s Jewish cooking class. Thanks to the we’ll-try-anything attitude of 14 special friends, and Judy’s powers of persuasion, the previously cancelled class ended up filled to overflowing with dear friends from all walks of our lives. They mingled and fumbled and helped one another to assemble rugalach and knishes, ending up with substantial overflow to bake up at home.

The instructor made a mean knish. Sure, the potential knish fillings he provided included bacon, but at least he acknowledged the irony. My conscience allowed me to add a few porky bits. (Any moral superiority implied in adding a few vs. a ton of bacon is questionable.) I didn’t ask, but I imagine the other two Jews present added bacon to theirs as well. J. added a lot more bacony goodness, and hers tasted better for it.

The instructor also demoed latke making, which we weren’t expecting, for good measure. Sure, Bubi would never have added garlic to her latkes, but I granted him creative license and choked that fried deliciousness down. We were there for tasty Jewish food, but more importantly, the company of good friends.

Could it have been a more perfect evening? When I looked around the room, I saw people having fun, enjoying one another, and glad to be there. I could not have asked for anything more.

But the wonders of the evening didn’t stop there. One friend secretly sewed me a gorgeous apron that all attendees signed. The inscriptions were beautiful, and J. had to wrest it from me at bedtime before I put it on over my pyjamas because of the greasy, floury mess I’d made. What a beautiful and thoughtful memory of the evening.

Another couple shared news of their long-awaited pregnancy, complete with ultrasound photo. I have been biting my tongue until it bleeds not to ask if there are any challah buns in the oven. Parents extraordinaire they will be.

Kudos to every person there, who showed up simply because it was important to us.

At the end of the class, the instructor pulled me aside to ask if I was happy with the outcome. I told him I was indeed, and explained that the class was especially important to me because I didn’t expect to live long enough to attend. He told me he was happy to be able to provide a distraction from my reality for at least a few hours.

A few hours?? How about the whole week leading up to the class when, after being so distressed over the cancellation, I learned J. had resurrected the evening with a little help from our friends? The joy I felt when J. described the immediate responses to the invitations? The friends who regretted they could not attend but offered to pay for a spot to ensure the class would happen? The excitement of anticipating everyone’s enjoyment of the evening, and creating memories for all?

The distraction is not over yet. We have a lot of baking left to do. Anyone want some porky potato knishes hot from the oven? I’m sure J. would be more than willing to share.

 

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11 thoughts on “A night to remember and cherish

  1. Oh Annie, thank you for sharing this story so beautifully. My heart could burst with joy! Your writing is extraordinary, and I felt like I was in the class with you. Bravo! Bravo for a wonderful night with friends.

    Sending love, hugs, and prayers. ❀️

    Like

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