ALL ABOUT FOOD

ALL ABOUT FOOD

Well, this was the plan: to write about how this past weekend was all about food.

Friday night we met our old friend The Curmudgeon and his new lady friend (as in love interest, good for them) at Katz's [1]. They'd flown in from the West Coast, and this was the big "meet my new Significant Other" meeting.

Much Corned Beef, Pastrami, Brisket, knishes, pickles and Dr. Brown's soda was consumed. And, of course, Susan made sure to grab the french fries (they use chicken fat, that's what makes them special at Katz's!) when she saw them come out from the kitchen, all hot and fresh.

Curmy announced that Susan and I simply HAD TO COME WITH THEM the following night, when they'd be having dinner with her sister and brother-in-law, and some other friends. When Curmy told us the dinner would be at Sammy's Roumanian [2], we were not so sure. Two evenings in a row, all that heavy food? All that meat? Hmmm, maybe not.

We were very glad to meet Curmy's new other half. As expected and anticipated, she and he make quite the comfortable twosome. We are very happy for both of them. Curmy is a close friend of long-standing. There was no doubt that if he would be sharing his life with someone, we'd also enjoy that person's company.

A long time ago, back when the world was a dark and foreboding place and things were dismal, to say the very least, Curmy said to me, "Now is the time for friends and fellowship!" And he meant every word of it. Friends like this are few and far between.

The next day, while I was visiting a friend who made a shrimp and scallops green salad (much cholesterol), for lunch, Curmy called on the cell phone. He made it clear that this was not an option, it was a necessity: we would show up at Sammy's [2]. A command performance, show up, no questions, just be there.

And so we did.

Going to Sammy's Roumanian [2] is like attending a Jewish wedding (or Bar Mitzvah) where you're a guest, but not with either side of the family. And there's none of that tension and politics, or all the subtext that often goes along with such affairs.

The music is fun, there's dancing, and the food --oh, the food! Chopped liver with gribbenis and schmalz, potato latkes, kreplach, stuffed cabbage, karnatzlach, kishka (similar to stuffed derma, but not quite the same thing!) --and those are just the appetizers! Seltzer on the table -- yes, the real thing, the bottles with the lever -- and then comes the main courses.

Burp.

A fine time was had by all. One table got up and danced a Conga Line around the place. Various others joined them, or just got up and danced throughout the evening. Two of the waiters grabbed the mike and sang. One did a version of "If I Was A Rich Man," that was so close to the original Zero Mostel as to make one's eyes water. The other one sang "Fly Me To The Moon," as though he was channeling Sinatra from 35 years ago. And the main organist/deejay/singer did every well-known Heimishe or Klezmer classic. It was Hava Negilah and Havenu Shalom Aleichem, et al. And again, it was as though being at one of those celebration events.

Curmy was asked if he and the his new lady friend should be hoisted up on chairs and carried around during Hava Negilah. He demurred, as can be expected of the Curmudgeonly one. But one did detect a slight grin, and an acknowledgment of the memorialization and sanctifying of their union as official...meeting the friends, meeting the family, breaking bread. Er, well, breaking shmalz(?), and guzzling down some seltzer.

Then on Sunday it was Mother's Day. So off we went to The Brasserie [3]for brunch with my parents, recently returned to NY from Florida, snowbirds that they are. We had eggs, since we were still feeling stuffed from Friday and Saturday's meals.

Maybe all I will eat this week is fruit and fish. If I can stomach even that!

Adding to the nice time had in each event --Katz's, my friend Ralph's (he makes a great shellfish salad!), Sammy's, The Brasserie -- was the wondrous fortune of getting a legal parking space in close proximity, each time. It was as though some guardian angel of parking and heavy food was shining on us all weekend.

Even the car burped. With satisfaction, of course.

It was all about food. And friends, family, and abundance. Not a bad way to spend a weekend.