As
Karen talked to her mother, her glance at the kitten-themed calendar made her
stomach clench. The days seemed to
scream at her. ‘Hanukkah is coming! Hanukkah is coming! And it’s coming fast.’
“Oh, Mom, what was I thinking? I can’t cook.
Why did I volunteer to bring the potato latkes to Aunt Susan’s party?” She turned her back on the kittens to look
out the kitchen window where nothing accused her of inadequacy.
“Karen, Karen. Now you listen to me. It’s not such a big deal, and I can help. You don’t have to cook it on your own.” She knew her mother was trying to be
reassuring, but it was irritating.
“Right. I’m a grown woman who still needs her mother
to solve her problems.” Karen was
sinking into self-pity and she didn’t want anyone to throw her a life-saver.
“If you’re determined to wallow in
misery, I’m not going to listen to you.
I’ve got enough to do without spending time on a fruitless task.”
Karen tried to put on a happy
face. She smiled grimly having heard
that salespeople always smiled when they made phone calls. “I’m sorry Mom. I know you’re just trying to be
supportive. Ooops, there goes my
doorbell. I got to go. I’ll call you tonight, OK?”
“All right, talk to you later. Be sure to look thru your peep hole before
you open the door.”
“Yes, yes. Don’t worry.
I’m always careful.”
No one had rung the doorbell. Karen just needed to start on the pile of
cookbooks she had checked out of the library.
She had tried searching the internet for recipes as she did for any
information, but none of them seemed right.
She was going to make credible and special potato latkes without her
mother’s help or die stuck to the kitchen floor with grease. Maybe she shouldn’t have volunteered to be
the special latke maker, but she was tired of being the family klutz when it
came to cooking. Everyone laughed at the
store bought cookies she brought to every family gathering.
She took a deep breath and opened the
first cookbook, “A Cheery Chanukah,” skimming her finger down the index looking
for latkes. She passed an hour looking
for a perfect and easy recipe. She
didn’t realize there so many variations to what she thought was a simple dish. “I guess it’s just like two spellings of the
festival—Chanukah or Hanukkah.”
At last. The recipe from the ‘Happy
Jewish Cooker’ seemed to be just what she needed.I t
said latkes could be made a day ahead and kept in the refrigerator until ready
to warm up and serve the next day. She
made a careful note of the page so she wouldn’t forget.
Every time her mother called and
asked about the latkes, Karen countered with a question about her Dad’s
health. That always got her mother off
the subject. She didn’t want any advice
from her mother about how everything she was doing was wrong.
Aunt Susan’s family Hanukkah party was
on Saturday night, the first day of the Festival of Lights. She always liked to get a head start on
everything.
On Friday, after about her 100th
careful check of the recipe, Karen made a list of the ingredients she didn’t have. At the grocery store she found everything she
needed. She had already checked her
cupboards to make sure she had all the necessary bowls, pans and utensils to prepare
and cook her special latkes.
Back home, she set out all the necessary
ingredients and bowls and pans. She concentrated fiercely on doing everything
exactly as the recipe called for. She
almost bit her tongue off when her phone rang.
“Oh, Mom, I’m in the middle of latkes making and I absolutely,
positively cannot talk to you now.” She
hung up and turned it off.
She couldn’t believe how easy everything
turned out to be. “I think I must be a
born cook. I should do this more
often.” The latkes were light and fried
nice and crispy. When she taste tested
them, she thought the special ingredient she added gave them an extra zip. It was a gamble but she was sure everyone
would love it. After all, most potato
recipes called for it.
She put each latke between waxed paper and
then in a shallow Pyrex casserole dish.
All she needed to do at Aunt Suzie’s was set the oven to the right
temp, remove the waxed paper, slide the glass casserole in for the specified
warm up time, and Voila! Compliments to
the Chef.
Karen
stood back proudly as everyone exclaimed over how beautiful and delicious the latkes
looked. She just ignored the insulting
comments her younger cousins made.
One asked, “Are you going to poison the
whole family to get everyone’s inheritance?”
“Ha, Ha.” She felt so self-confident,
insults rolled off her back.
As everyone sat down with their
filled plates from Suzie’s beautifully decorated sideboard, the young kids
started in, “Wow, these are the best latkes I’ve ever eaten.”
The adults smiled warily. Her mother bit into one and couldn’t stop
herself.
“Karen, there’s alcohol in these latkes!”
“No there isn’t,” Karen argued. "I followed the recipe exactly.” She crossed her fingers behind her back as she said that.
Uncle
George laughed and said, “Your Mom’s right.
But they sure are tasty.”
Aunt Suzie said, “I thought they
smelled a little different but I didn’t want to criticize Karen’s first
attempt.”
“But these aren’t different,” Karen maintained.
“The only change I made was in the milk.
I had some special cream a friend gave me as a present. Most potato recipes contain milk, so I thought it
would make the latkes more delicious and special if I used a richer cream than
everyday milk.”
Uncle George reassured her, “Honey,
everything’s fine. But do you remember
the name of the special cream you used?”
“It was Bailey’s Irish Cream. Can’t you use Irish cream in a Jewish
recipe?”
The End
I've never made latkes, but Irish Creme usually makes everything taste better.
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