All posts tagged Family Traditions

Tradition…. Tradition. Passover at Our House

source: http://www.littleblogofjewishhumor.com

Every year we debate whether to serve meat or chicken as the main course at Passover. The meal, by tradition and definition is pretty massive already, with several ritualistic and traditional courses as part of the evening.

Passover is the re-telling of the Jew’s exit from Egypt after being enslaved by Pharaoh. We hold two Seders (the word means ‘order’, as the evening’s proceedings follow a certain order), and we read from the Hagaddah,which means ‘to tell’, since we tell the story of our ancestor’s delivery from slavery in the land of Egypt.

In a nutshell, Moses, acting on behalf of the Big Kahuna himself, is sent to convince his people to follow him right out of slavery, and hopefully to the Promised Land. Ever polite, Moses asks the Pharaoh several times to ‘Let my people go.’ Helping out in the background is G-d, who sends any manner of what should be convincing messages (the plagues) to Pharaoh to try to convince him to release the Jewish people from slavery. Pharaoh is a stubborn monarch, and holds his ground until the last plague-the smiting of the first born. After that, he tells Moses to take his people and get the heck out. And to do it fast, before he changes his mind.

Enter the Passover Seder, an in-the-home service and meal where we re-tell the story of the Exodus and eat ourselves silly. Stretchy pants are de-riguer.

We are not very religious. Or Seders take about 30 minutes (in other homes they can be up to two hours), and they are a bit chaotic, involving a lot of screaming, matzo throwing, and my older brother screaming out ‘Where’s Elijah’ in a Deep South accent. But, we love our version of Passover. To me and my siblings, tossed around in our childhoods by divorce, tradition means everything. That means that we serve the EXACT same meal, year-over-year. We use the same recipes, even though my mother tries to suggest, delicately, that we try something new. But, in this we children hold firm.

So, back to the beginning and the moot debate about meat or chicken. I say moot because even though we discuss it, the menu does not change. We serve both, and the meat’s always brisket, and the chicken is always Lemon Chicken.

I have to say, I’m like a Passover dictator. I make almost all the food myself (Matzo ball soup, meat, vegetables, sides, even the desserts). I carefully parcel out contributions to my family-I let someone bring the Gefilte fish, and my brother makes the chicken. My sister rocks the Charoset, and I’ll let just about anyone boil and peel the eggs to be served in salt water.

But, other than that, its all me. It’s truly a challenge to make amazing food when you follow the restrictions imposed by the Passover ban on anything leavened or that expands (you can’t even eat mustard). But, I do believe that I’m the master. Especially, when it comes to Brisket. Everyone says theirs is the best, but mine truly is. And, I don’t even have to brag about my frozen lemon meringue cake. The fact that it always gets finished, even after a 5000 calorie meal speaks for itself. Here’s a post with the recipes for both.

If you can wrangle an invite to a Seder, you should do it. According to tradition, we’re supposed to have someone there who has no better place to be, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find yourself a seat at a Passover table.

Oh, did I mention that we are REQUIRED to drink four glasses of wine during the Seder?

Happy Passover!

For more Passover posts:

Ima on and Off the Bimah

6 Comments

by chickymara on March 26, 2012 • Permalink

Posted in Cookery, Family, Holidays

Tagged Family Traditions, Passover, Passover Seder

Posted by chickymara on March 26, 2012

https://beniceorleavedotcom.wordpress.com/2012/03/26/tradition-tradition-passover-at-our-house/

Psst. Here’s the Brisket. Pass it on.

My life is different this Passover. There’s someone missing. The person who taught me to love food, to feel it smell it taste it , is gone. It’s hard to imagine having a Passover Seder without my father. He was a grumpy pain-in-the-butt. But, his huge presence filled the room. He loved the family time, and to hear the kids read from the Haggadah. And, even though he wasn’t a religious or even traditional man, he still was crazy for the traditional Jewish foods: Gefilte fish, Matzoh Ball Soup, and my Brisket. When I cooked for two days for this meal, it was always with him in mind. And, that’s why I decided to boycott Passover.

How I was going to do this, I wasn’t sure. I figured that I would just put it out there, and whoever was managing my life that day would make it happen. The fates came through for me with an email that said, ‘Our quarterly Management Meeting will be in Vancouver on April 19th.’ I read that email with both elation and dread. The former because it would solve my boycott conundrum, and the latter because I would have to tell my mother that not only would the Seder not be at my house, I wouldn’t be at the Seder.

This is what I said to my mother:

“IhaveameetinginVancouverrightinbetweenthefirstandsecondsedersandIhavetogo

becauseIjuststartedmyjob (take a breath)

andJandItalkedaboutitandhesaysitsoksoI’mgoingsodontsayanythingitsalreadydone.”

She said, “OK. I understand. I’ll do it. I will have the Seder at my house.”

After I fainted, I asked, “My family will still come. What would you like me to make?”

Now, a bit a of background, I’m a bit of a Jewish holiday control freak (its not really appropriate to call me the Brisket Nazi). I like it the way I like it. I usually have everything at my house (grumbling the whole time that its a big mess, every one is ungrateful, yadda yadda). I’ve established unbreakable traditions; we eat the same foods at every meal, year after year. My brisket is LEGENDARY, so obviously, that’s what she asked me to make. Since I was given the opportunity to boycott Passover, I thought I would share the recipe, just in case you aren’t and you need to impress people with minimal effort.

Two days before:

Slice two HUGE Vidalia onions. Place 1/2 of them in a large roasting pan. Flip a 5-6 lb beef brisket over to the yucky side. (You’ll know it when you see it). Season very generously with 1 tbsp at least of chopped garlic, and then some salt, freshly ground black pepper, and Paprika. Flip over and throw that slab of meat in the roasting pan on top of the onions. Repeat on the top of the brisket, then spread the rest of the onions on top.

Key Brisket Ingredients

In a large measuring cup, ix up 1 pkg onion soup mix, a big splurch of ketchup (probably 1/2 cup), about 1 1/2 cups of dry red wine (pour a cup for yourself while you’re at it-some for meat, some for Momma), and 1 1/2 cups of orange or apple juice (orange works best, or even those tropical blends are delicious). Pour over the brisket. Cover and refrigerate.

Not Passover? Add some mustard, any kind, although the hotdog mustard works best, to the measuring cup. How much, well, you know, a big splurch (maybe 1/4 cup).

The Day Before:

Remove from fridge and let sit out 1/2 hour. Roast in a slow oven (325 degrees or even 300 degrees depending on your oven). Keep it covered so that the liquid doesn’t evaporate and the meat stays moist. Check every two hours and if the liquid is almost gone, add more orange juice and some water. The brisket should take about 4-5 hours to cook. It’s done when you place a fork in the thickest part and the fork comes out easily when removed. Its not done when the meat lifts with the fork. (There I spelled it out for you.) When done, remove from oven and cool overnight in the fridge.

The Day you want to eat it:

Take the roast out of the fridge. If there’s fat hardened, take it off (gross). Remove the meat from the pan, scraping all the now-carmelized onions back into the roasting pan. Slice thinly with an electric knife or very sharp knife, against the grain. If you slice and its all stringy, you’re going the wrong way. Reheat in the pan juices. Serve on a platter with the juices and onions on top. Delicious with red horseradish.

Note: if you want to eat it on the same day as you cook it, then its totally fine. Its easier to slice when cold, and also, you can scrape of the extra fat when its cold. But, do what you need to do. Its just meat for goodness sakes.

Since I’m leaving the day before, all I’ve got for you is the uncooked photo. Use your imagination for the rest, or even better, send me a picture of YOUR completed meaty masterpiece.

ChickyMaras famous (in my head) Brisket

By the way, I’m actually really sorry that I’m missing Passover now. I definitely have boycotter’s remorse.

Added later due to popular request…

Passover Lemon Pie (aka the only thing my family will eat after eating 17 courses at a Seder)

Crust:

Crush 1 box of passover mandelbread in the food processor (or make your own and crush to about 2 cups worth). Mix with 1/2 cup melted butter or margarine and press into the bottom of a springform pan. (hint: if you line the bottom with parchment, you can easily lift out later to serve).

Note: if its not Passover and/or you’re not of the Passover celebrating religion, you can substitute Nilla wafers for the crust (or even chocolate chip cookies)

Filling:.

Place 6 whole eggs, 6 egg yolks, 1 cup fresh lemon juice, the zest of 1 lemon, and 2 cups of sugar in the top of a double boiler (to make your own double boiler, boil water in a med pot and place a metal bowl on top.) Whisk over a slow boil and low heat until the mixture begins to thicken (its like magic). Set the lemon curd aside to cool. Beat 6 egg whites for about 2 minutes in a stand mixer or with a hand mixer. Add 6 tbsp of sugar and beat until soft peaks form. Fold into the cooled lemon curd.

Pour the lemon/egg white mixture into the prepared crust and freeze overnight or 12 hours.

Meringue:

Beat 6 eggs whites until foaming, then add 5 tbsp sugar slowly until stiff peaks form. Cover the frozen lemon pie with meringue, making it look fancy by swirling and twirling the meringue. Broil until golden brown (or if you’re me until you smell burning)

Refreeze until you’re ready to serve.

13 Comments

by chickymara on April 17, 2011 • Permalink

Posted in Cookery, Family, Holidays

Tagged Brisket, Family, family dinners, Family Traditions, frozen lemon pie, Passover, Passover Lemon Pie

Posted by chickymara on April 17, 2011

https://beniceorleavedotcom.wordpress.com/2011/04/17/psst-heres-the-brisket-pass-it-on/

Never be the Same

Cordwainer-Smith.com

Tuesdays will never been the same.

Snowstorms, seafoam green, Pasta Puttanesca, Vancouver, Cyndi Lauper. These will never been the same.

December 7th will never be the same.

Bear Hugs, the word Daddy, brisket, report cards, the Palm Treo, magazines. They too will never be the same.

Valentines Day, holiday dinners, dirty jokes, dental work, man purses, the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show, Law and Order SVU . Not the same.

The Royal Ontario Museum, The Art Gallery, food, The Science Centre, The Stratford and Shaw Festivals. For sure, never the same.

When I lost my father, I lost a piece of me. I lost a giant point of reference by which I measured my accomplishments, my experiences, my life. Infuriatingly bossy, so full of love, extraordinarily and joyfully eccentric-those were ways to describe him. But right now, the only way I can describe him is gone.

But, just like any other day that comes after the one before, I need to try and remember that nothing ever is the same. That every day is an opportunity to create new memories to layer ontop of the old. Except, I don’t want to.

And so, in this, the first piece of writing I have created, other than business documents, since the night my father died, I pledge to recognize and embrace the fact that nothing will ever be the same. Is that a new addition to the stages of grief?

First I was in denial. I pretended he was on vacation.

Then I had the good old guilt. I didn’t tell him how much I loved him, how special he was to me, how he had shaped my life. We didn’t have ‘the conversation’. Then, I realized, we’d had that conversation. Throughout my life. Just because my siblings had summed it up in a final talk, and I hadn’t, didn’t mean it didn’t happen. And he did tell me he loved me, over and over in the last weeks. And he did tell me I was a ‘good little caregiver’ days before he left us. I’mworking on convincing myself that this knowledge is enough (guilt is definitely a work in progress).

Then, I was angry. So very angry that the last time I was supposed to see him there was a snowstorm and I couldn’t get to his house. And that he died while I was in Vancouver on a job interview. And that he’s not here. When I want him.

Finally, I guess there was acceptance. That happened a few times. Once, I went to call him when I was at the Science Centre with Little J. I started to dial then realized there would be no one at the other end of the line. When report cards came, I went to dial once again. And left a message for my step-mother instead. Another day, probably the hardest, I was cooking for my son’s birthday brunch and I thought ‘Oh, my Dad’s gonna love this quiche with leeks, mushrooms, goat cheese and dill.’ And then I thought, ‘Oh. He’s not coming. He’s dead.’

And now, I’m fixed on ‘Its never gonna be the same’. The place where he lives in me can’t be filled just by memories. His presence was too large. I need substance. But I’m not ready to fill that space with new experiences.

I said to my Step-father, ‘I want to boycott Passover.’

‘You can’t stop life’. He replied. Why not, I want to know. I’m just not completely ready to create new experiences.

My father’s death may be the first time that something has happened to me that I haven’t been able to joke about. That’s a weird feeling for me. Usually, I am a master at self-mocking. Plus, I’m actually known for making cringingly inappropriate comments at the most inopportune times. But I guess, that too will never be the same. I have found something that isn’t funny. But, maybe someday I will. After all my Dad would definitely want me to.

So, in the spirit of finding the funny, and to cheer both you and me up after this depressing, albeit cathartic diatribe, I give you Cindy Lauper Because my Dad, ever the rebel, named his ‘pussy’ (and yes, imagine him saying that with a filthy twinkle in his eye) Cindy, because she just wanted to have fun.

And as I recognize that things will never be the same, I will try to get my funny back and to encourage my kids to get up to all manner of mischief so I can entertain you once more.

6 Comments

by chickymara on February 23, 2011 • Permalink

Posted in Family, Life, Life Lessons, Uncategorized

Tagged Arthur Rubinoff, death, Family Traditions, Fathers, Fathers and Daughters, grief

Posted by chickymara on February 23, 2011

https://beniceorleavedotcom.wordpress.com/2011/02/23/never-be-the-same/

A Eulogy: My Daddy, Their Grandpa Treats, Everyone’s Dr. R

Dr. Arthur Rubinoff

Anyone who knew Arthur Rubinoff knew he lived his life to the fullest. He marched to the beat of his own drummer, followed his own set of rules, and had a damn good time in the process. He was also one of the smartest people you’d ever meet, able to converse with everyone and anyone, regardless of their interests.

It’s hard to sum up a man like him in just a few words, but I’ll try.

There was the public Arthur. Charismatic. An amazingly talented dentist. An art collector, a wine connoisseur. A gardener. A rebel. A lover of women. An unbelievable cook. A father, a husband, a friend. A maker of nicknames. There was never a more gregarious, intense, emotional, multi-tasking person. Not only did he attack life with an unsurpassed passion, he also practiced gentleness, humility and kindness.

There was also the private Arthur: Daddy, Grandpa Treats. The sensitive, loving, humble, warm, sweet man. Who would tell you, and anyone else who would listen that he was proud of you. Praise your accomplishments. Tell you that you were beautiful. That you were a wonderful mother. An amazing cook. An excellent dentist. A good provider. A great dancer. An amazing musician. An excellent student. A great artist. Daddy didn’t give praise for the sake of it, but when he did, it meant something. Daddy had pictures of us, and the grandchildren all over his office, and no matter what procedure he was doing, he always would take our calls. “Hello. Which one is this? What do you want? That’s not important…why did you call?”

Our childhoods were unconventional with our Daddy, but boy were they a whole lot of fun. We went to plays, museums, country fairs, the planetarium. We never just sat around watching TV.

Every visit with Daddy started with the opening of the glove compartment, where the candy would tumble out. Jujubes, black babies, licorice, you name it. Obviously, that’s how he got his name, “Grandpa Treats” as he always arrived with goodies for the kids. Never empty handed or empty hearted, he loved his grandchildren so much. I’ll never forget his face when my daughter Skylar was born, and he held his ‘pumpkin’ for the first time. That pride was repeated 9 more times, as each of his much-loved grandchildren arrived to enrich his world.

Daddy had several passions in life, His family. His artistry as a dentist. His commitment to finding a cure for Neuroblastoma, and to raising money for the James Burrell Fund.. He believed in the importance of education, and was always asking about the kids’ marks and if any of us adult childen wanted to take courses. He had conviction: he didn’t make any decision lightly but once he did, he stuck by it.

With Paddy, he finally found his life partner. He loved, respected, and admired her. She brought richness to his life he didn’t have before, with family, friends, and travels. Paddy, thank you for being such a wonderful wife to daddy, and for finally getting him to be on time. He loved you so much.

A few more things maybe you didn’t know. Random people used to give him tastes of their dinner in restaurants. He loved spicy food. He would eat just about anything, but drew the line at blood pudding. He bought art because he liked it, not because someone told him it had value. He loved traditional Jewish food like brisket. He always took a doggie bag when he ate at someone’s house

What we know, as his children. He taught us how to love, what love means, and how to say ‘I love you’ with ease. He taught us that if you love your work, you’ll want to go every day. He taught us that you can find joy and richness in everyday things. He showed us that you can connect on a personal level with everyone you come into contact with; that everyone is a potential friend.

Once Daddy said to me: Its not where you’re going, its who you’re with. It’s the people who matter. Its not the place, or the money you spend. That’s how he lived his life. People were important to him: his loved ones, his children, his grandchildren, his patients, his friends. His legacy is of love, life, generosity, and learning. This world will not be the same without Arthur Herbert Rubinoff (he would kill me if he knew I said his middle name). I used to say it to him, and I’ll say it again, “Look around. This is ALL because of you.”

10 Comments

by chickymara on December 10, 2010 • Permalink

Posted in Family, Life Lessons, Uncategorized

Tagged Arthur Rubinoff, Daddy, Family, Family Traditions, Fathers, Fathers and Daughters

Posted by chickymara on December 10, 2010

https://beniceorleavedotcom.wordpress.com/2010/12/10/a-eulogy-my-daddy-their-grandpa-treats-everyones-dr-r/

Chanukah-And the beat goes on…

Jews Do it for 8 Days (Chanukah Tote Bag)

Tonight is the first night of Chanukah, Hanukkah, or Chanukkah (however you choose to spell it). In the Jewish tradition, this Festival of Lights is a time for family, food, and celebration. Its a children’s holiday, full of chocolates, games, and gifts. Unlike most of our holidays, this is not a religious time; Orthodox Jews don’t take off work, attend synagogue, or pray. Rather, it is a time to celebrate triumph over adversity, and the strength of a people to believe in both miracles and their convictions.

I happen to love Chanukkah. Why? Because I absolutely ADORE choosing, shopping for, and giving gifts to people, and watching their faces when they open the gifts. I also love throwing parties, feeding people, and having my family around me.

Since I’ve had children, Chanukah has been a big deal for me. I created some what I thought were amazing traditions. We decorated the house with cutouts, pictures and streamers. (Its hard living in a Christmas world, so we’ve gotta make Chanukah as good or better, you know.)

My kids each got a gift a day for the eight days (5 of their own, and then 3 were family sharing gifts like a video or a game). I wrapped each of their gifts in a unique-to-them wrapping paper so they would know which pile was theirs. They would sit and stare at that giant pile of gifts, trying to guess what was in each package (Of course, Little J would rip open the corners of his packages, and one year, when he was about 4, actually unwrapped EVERYTHING). We lit the candles every night on my Great Grandmother’s Menorah. My sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews, parents, everyone would come over. It was BEDLAM. And I loved it!!!

Bobi Vi's Hanukiah

Now, I’m struggling with the kids growing up, and just not being interested in our Chanukah traditions. My picture of the perfect Chanukah doesn’t gel with their teenage sensibilities. And Chanukah, with its fun and games, is really geared at little children. My teens (and tween) don’t want to hang around singing songs and colouring Chanukah pictures. They don’t want to bake Dreydl cookies with me. Its hard enough to pin them down just to light the candles every night for a week. Bubba even asked if we could ‘defer’ his Chanukah present until the spring so he could have Lacrosse equipment.

Dreydle Cookies (Yes mine looked exactly like that...)

Let’s face it, that ship has sailed. So, how does a Mommy grow up with her kids? I can’t let it get me too far down that my babies are growing up, and are way more interested in their friends than hanging out with Mom (no matter how ‘cool’ I am.) While I’m waiting to be a Bubbie (Jewish Grandmother and it better be a real long while…) it’s time to create some new, grown-up traditions. While they may be more sedate, these traditions will have to do, as yes..the beat does go on.

Tonight we will light the candle for the first night. Big J has a meeting, so my Mom and Step-father are coming over for dinner, which will of course include Latkes. Hopefully, my kids will fight over who gets to light the Shammash (The lead candle that lights the other ones). And, we’ll say the blessings, smile at each other, spend the evening together, and know that we are a family.

How are you adapting your family traditions as the Beat goes on?

Now, for some fun: