Hamentashen and other tasty treats

This weekend, we are approaching one of my favorite holidays. Purim is a holiday of utmost celebration… not to mention the holiday of getting so incredibly wasted on wine that you don’t know what the difference between good and evil are. There is so much substance to this holiday, even though we consider it a children’s holiday, partially due to the dressing up and the carnivals that are associated with it.

There are so many interpretations of this holiday that it’s enough to make your head spin. There is the fact that Purim is the exact opposite of Yom Kippur (in fact, in Hebrew, Yom Kippur is often referred to as Yom HaKippurim, so the opposite of the holiday). There are interpretations of the Purim story itself, and all the fascinating traditions that come with it… and, of course, the wine and the food

The truth is that when it comes to Purim, there are a lot of good things. But my favorite is the hamentashen. These amazing cookies are so delicious – a shortbread-like cookie surrounding the deliciousness of whatever filling you choose. I personally am not as big of a fan of poppyseed as other people are, but if you put a raspberry, cherry, apricot or strawberry hamentashen near me, I am a little mushball. I can’t resist the flavor. I have heard rumors that the hamentashen have significance for women, but I don’t know what it is. All I know is I can’t get enough.

So, in honor of the hamentashen, I am saluting some of my other fave Jewish foods, whether they’re Sephardic, Ashkenazi or whatever. They are some of the best things ever. Yes, they even rank with lamb bacon:

BAGELS: Before I continue on with this, I must add that I am very particular about my bagels. I don’t eat certain brands due to the fact that their bagels aren’t, in my mind, true bagels. Rather, they are breads shaped like bagels, meant to confuse clueless Americans who don’t really know what a real bagel is. But when you find the perfect onion bagel – with a wonderfully chewy texture and the perfect flavor that melts in your mouth without anything else needed, not even cream cheese – it’s like heaven.

BORECAS: Yes, I do like the Israeli variety, and they are mondo-tasty filled with potato, cheese or spinach. But sorry, Israelis: my grandmother’s borecas could not be beat. Instead of the flaky dough, she used a straight pastry dough, and she used to turn up the sides ever-so-slightly to make them look super-pretty. I’m still yet to learn how to make them. So, mom, if you’re reading this, we need to learn how!

LOX: No, I don’t love cream cheese. But lox is amazing, not to mention the source of many of Ari’s insanely terrible jokes. I think of it as the Jews’ version of sashimi: raw, smoky and going with almost anything. During a bagel brunch, I will have my traditional bagel with onion and butter (and dodge Jewish culinary bullets) and just eat the lox straight.

CHICKEN SOUP: Seriously, how good is it? So delicious, whether it’s a Friday night or you’re sick. Mind you, mine isn’t like the Ashkenazi version (see my recipe for chicken soup here).

HUMMUS AND FALAFEL: Ah, yes, two more foods that I’m insanely particular about. The hummus has got to be the smoothest thing, so creamy that it just is pure flavor. I love the Sabra brand that you can buy in the grocery store, but if you want to order a great one at a restaurant in Los Angeles, Aroma on Sunset and Martel can’t be beat. As for falafel, I find some varieties to be too strong. Thank G-d for places like Open Sesame in Long Beach, where you can have great falafel and not be cleaned out.

RYE BREAD: Why is rye bread Jewish? Why is the sky blue? While you contemplate that, I’ll take some of your rye bread and have it with some delicious corned beef or even as a cheese toast (but, obviously, not at the same time).

FRITTADA: In Spanish cooking, it’s a baked omlette. In our Sephardic tradition, it’s a delicious matzah, veggie and cheese dish. We usually use zucchini or spinach, and there’s a joke in the family that one version comes out better than the other. I like the squash better, and I am considering making it for Passover this year.

SUTLACH: This is my grandmother’s traditional rice pudding, and it is, was and always will be heavenly dessert, better than any rice pudding you would ever order. However, there are great debates in my family about it. My cousin David is convinced that no one can make it like my grandmother. My cousin Lorrie says she’s close. I have made it twice – once it was too thin, the next time it was too thick. However, I have gotten the flavor down and am close to nailing the recipe. My father doesn’t believe me. One Rosh Hashana, I’m going to totally surprise everyone and get the recipe right – and you heard it here first.

And on that note, I wish you all a hearty Shabbat Shalom and Purim Sameach filled with wine and, of course, hamentashen!

Punk Jew

After Jewlicious this weekend, I have come to the conclusion that I am a strange anomaly in the Jewish community. I’m kosher, but not completely – I will eat hot dairy when I go out. I wear long skirts and sleeves… occasionally, and depending on my mood. I consider Friday night possibly the most sacred time of the week, but am not Shomer Shabbat in any way, shape or form

So here I am, a Jew in Long Beach, filled with unusual contradictions and odd ways of looking at my faith. You could say I’m conservative, and I do associate myself with the conservative movement in Judaism. But for me, I guess I would consider myself a Punk Jew – right down to my red-and-black checkered Vans, also known as the Anarchy Shoes, 2.0.

Now, I don’t look punk in any way, shape or form – unless you counted the times I dyed my hair red. But the fact of the matter is that when it comes to my Judaism, I have a nonconformist and rebellious point of view when it comes to faith. Sure, I’m traditional, but you don’t see me covering my hair (and if I was, I’d be wearing a bright purple wig) or completely covered from head to toe. I also support things – such as gay marriage or sitting with your family during services – that would have some Orthodox Jews freaking out.

At the same time, I don’t associate myself completely with the reform movement. I like using Hebrew when I pray, separating myself from my normal world. I don’t feel like Shabbat services should be quiet with the strumming of guitars – instead, I want the power of loud and powerful voices filled with joy dancing me into Friday night, no instruments required. I am of the belief that the best thing you can do in Judaism is sit down on Friday night to a Shabbat dinner with friends and, if you have them close by, family.

I reject the fact that I have to be told by the rabbis what to do or how to live my life. I am a Jew, and I feel that I have the free will to do what I want with it. I’m no less of a Jew because I don’t observe the way you do, and I am no more of a Jew because I may observe more than you do.

When it came to kashrut, I dedicated myself to this practice because I wanted to. It was something that was important to me, that made me aware every day that I was Jewish, and therefore I was special. I felt that it was the right decision for me. But I don’t push others to do it.

I may not be an anarchist, but the fact is that I don’t need authority to tell me who I am, or what I can and can’t be. I don’t need people telling me that I’m not Sephardic because either my skin is too light or the fact that my father isn’t. I don’t need people telling me I’m not good enough to be a certain type of Jew. I’m proud to be Jewish and somewhat traditional, yet I am proud to be progressive and accept those who may not have a place in Judaism and welcome them to my movement of being a Punk Jew, and not being in just one place.

The Booksteins taught me that any way that you can be Jewish, you should – and it doesn’t matter if you are Orthodox, Conservative, Reform or Reconstructionist. You should embrace everyone and let them become close, and encourage love. I guess I am a Punk Jew in that way: I believe more in love than anything else in my faith. I believe in basic human values – not embarrassing people, respecting those around you, loving openly, being honest, understanding, kind and giving.

I believe these values come before anything that is written in the Torah – and trust me, I love my Holy Book. But these values come before any laws, rules and regulations. So, in this way, if being a Punk Jew means loving with a full heart, I don’t mind it in the slightest.

In honor of anarchy and going against the grain, I give you Pollack Salad – named after the famous painter Jackson Pollack. Every time I think of him, I think about an incident when I was in Israel. I was in a drama class, and my friends had a conversation about Jackson Pollack splattering paint all over a toilet seat and selling it for gobs of money. But if the guy had to make a salad, I bet he would do it this way.

POLLACK SALAD

1 bag salad greens

1 large carrot

1 yellow squash

2 zucchini

2-3 scallions

5-6 radishes

¼ cup balsamic vinegar

¼ cup olive oil

2 tablespoons garlic powder

Salt and pepper

Pour the bag of salad greens into a bowl. Using a vegetable peeler, peel the skins off of the zucchini, yellow squash and carrot and discard them. Then, using the peeler, slice the vegetables over the salad greens until you reach the centers and are unable to peel. Discard the insides.

Meanwhile, chop the scallions into ¼ inch pieces and top the salad. Slice the radishes into small pieces, like matchsticks. Top the salad.

Meanwhile, whisk the balsamic vinegar, olive oil, garlic powder and salt and pepper together. Once ready to serve, pour over the salad and mix.

No Regrets

“Two roads diverged in a wood, And I—

I took the road less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference.”

-Robert Frost

About seven years ago, give or take a few months, I made a decision about the future of my education. I was at Pierce College, and it was time to transfer out to university. At the time, I wanted to transfer in USC’s Annenberg School of Communications.

But, upon meeting them and realizing that they weren’t interested in someone like me (read: educated at a community college where I learned more than half their seniors), I decided to go south. I transferred to Cal State Fullerton, where they were at the peak of their journalism school. It was an unusual move for me: most people from the Valley stayed there or somewhat close by, attending CSUN, UCLA or USC.

I got the chance to look back on these past seven years at Jewlicious this past weekend. While I was monitoring the archway between the festival and the concert Saturday night, I was tapped on the shoulder.

“I know you,” he said to me. His face was different now, but I recognized his voice – a Brooklyn accent, which I knew was hiding his Russian roots. I squealed his name (which will not be named here to protect him) and hugged him. I doubt he remembered my name, even though we were friends when I was at Pierce.

I saw what he had become, and it wasn’t the same guy I knew – he had turned from one of the sweetest guys to some person who wanted to take advantage of the fact that he knew me way back when. He lost his friendliness and his genuine nature.

It made me wonder what would have happened if I stayed in the Valley. Sure, I had friends there, but what would I have become if I had stuck around?

But then I looked around Jewlicious at all my friends that were around me, dancing and singing and laughing, hugging me and smiling. That’s when I realize the greatest decision in my life that I ever made was leaving Thousand Oaks. It was leaving it all behind and taking the risk, starting a new life far away from a lot of the people that I had known. I gave myself a new life, a new start – and it was something I desperately needed If I hadn’t left, I wouldn’t become the person that I am today, and I happen to like that person right now.

I think that, if fate had intervened and I had gone to USC, I would have been miserable. I’m not sure I would have fit in a school where I was looked down upon for having community college education – which Michael Parks, dean of the journalism school at the time, called, “too much experience.”

Then I think back to the wonderful years at Fullerton, where I hung out in the basement of the Comm building, had junk food parties on the beach in Huntington Beach with my best girlfriends, absorbed knowledge and enjoyed the memories with all my friends. All the wonderful journeys I had as a result of that move– going to Washington, D.C. as an intern, meeting my husband, being involved in all the amazing things I’ve done -- all stemmed from my experience of moving away. I couldn’t have done everything I have done had I stayed at home, including moving to Long Beach, which is everything I could ever want in a city that I live in.

I remember, recently, that my friend Ann’s husband, Frank, gave me a piece of advice regarding a job that I ended up not taking. He said, “Reina, no matter what decision you make, a couple of years down the line you’re going to say, ‘Wow, that was a great decision.’” And although some people don’t think that is the case, looking back on my life I know it is the truth.

Although I wasn’t sure about the decision to go to CSUF, it was the best decision. It was the road less travelled, but you have to make the most of whatever road you choose. I guess I learned that on my journey to Orange County, followed by settling in Long Beach. And it has, indeed, made all the difference.

So in honor of different paths, I am putting in a recipe courtesy of my brother-in-law’s wife, Renee. It’s inspired by a cake recipe that she gave to me for a vanilla cake with amaretto. Mine has chocolate cake with peppermint schnapps. Ari’s cousin Sabrina is a big fan of this cake, too.

CHOCOLATE PEPPERMINT CAKE

1 package devil’s food cake mix

1 package chocolate instant pudding

4 eggs

¾ cup peppermint schnapps

½ cup sugar

¾ cup oil

1 cup powdered sugar

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Mix the cake and pudding mixes, eggs, sugar, oil and ½ cup of peppermint schnapps in a bowl. Pour into a greased bundt cake pan. Bake for 40-45 minutes. Take out and let the cake cool.

Mix the remaining schnapps and the powdered sugar in a small bowl, making sure all the sugar is dissolved and there are no lumps. While the cake is still hot, poke numerous holes all over the cake with a fork. Pour the schnapps mixture over the cake. Let the cake finish cooling.

Quick Tip: You can use other spirits for this cake, except substituting the chocolate pudding and cake mix with yellow cake and vanilla pudding, depending on what liquor you’re using. Renee loves the peach schnapps with the vanilla cake.

KOSHER ALERT! You need to be careful about particular liquors, especially if they’re flavored. Certain ones are only in dairy form and others aren’t even kosher. There are plenty of websites that can help you out which alcohols are okay to use and which are not.

Once again making up for not posting -- a special shout-out to YBK friends!

Hi everyone!

This isn't the second post I promised, but a special shout-out to YBK friends!

I would first like to salute my friend Aryeh at http://mykosherla.com. He and his co-founder, Uzi, got mentioned in the LA Weekly food blog, Squid Ink! Check out the link here:

http://blogs.laweekly.com/squidink/food-blogs/mykosherla-kosher-website/

And I would like to shout out to Smooth-E -- my fellow former Thousand Oaks resident who proves that there are/were actually Jews in my hometown! I ran into him this weekend, talked coconuts with him and heard him perform this at Jewlicious, so it's worth linking to:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9oYDBtCN-hk

If you ever need some YBK love, feel free to let me know: youngbrokekosher@gmail.com. I am also good for hugs, long conversations over coffee and advice.

Second post to come later today!

A Ode to Garlic

Dearest Garlic,

We have known each other a long time. Mom practically weened me on you. I remember drives to Southern California from our home in NorCal (NOTE: I lived there between the ages of five and 10), lowering the windows through the fields of Gilroy, smelling your delicious goodness wafting through the car -- although my friend Parker told me later that the scent was probably you drying in the ConAgra plant there. Way to kill a dream, Parker! ;-) Naw, I'm just kidding.

But no matter where I went, you were there, and when I first started to cook when I went away to college, you were an essential ingredient. I couldn't live without you. I didn't care if you made my breath smell. You made my college apartment a home away from home, not to mention made my food super-tasty. I used to use a minced jar, but eventually made the switch to the real deal -- full-on cloves of garlic, ready for me to peel and mince.

It was amazing to me later that you actually have Talmudic history. According to the Sages, garlic is an aphrodesiac, and it should always be eaten on Friday night to encourage the big double mitzvah of Shabbat (if you don't know what this is, ask your Rabbi). My friend Robert is convinced that this has to do with the fact that, because of medical research, you actually have many heart and circulation benefits. I'm not sure, because I think that if you're going to smell of garlic, you might as well smell together.

Restaurants understand the power of garlic in dishes, such as those that feature the delights of Mediterranean cuisine. I have eaten cloves carmelized on a sandwich in Cambria (more about that later), spread on a slice of bread or merged in a fragrant olive oil. Your flavor and power are not underestimated. You even have restaurants dedicated to you, most famously The Stinking Rose off of La Cienega in Los Angeles, where it is rumored you will reek of garlic for two days after you eat there. It doesn't matter to me, because I would happily smell of garlic for several days to fulfill my lifelong dream to eat at this restaurant (it's been difficult for Ari and I to afford any restaurant, let alone The Stinking Rose).

So, therefore, I dedicate myself to you, garlic. I will always celebrate you in my food, from the delicious flavors of barbecue to any pasta dish that I might cook up. I will mince properly (which I learned from an Israeli chef, Margot, this weekend -- see below) and sniff my fingers with delight after I scoop you up to put you in a dish. I will try my best to always use fresh when a dish calls for garlic, although if I can't for the sake of texture in a dish, I will use garlic powder.

I know you can't be in every dish, because there are some dishes where other ingredients have to shine. But you always play a beautiful note to complement certain dishes, or take on a starring role when it comes to flavor. Either way, garlic, never change.

In dedication to you, I am writing one of my favorite pasta recipes below, where you have a starring role. That is how much I love you. Garlic, you will always have my heart.

Love, Reina

ARTICHOKE OLIVE PASTA

1 pound penne pasta (see Quick Tip 1)
2 cups or 2 small jars of marinated artichoke hearts
1 can black pitted olives
4 garlic cloves
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
salt and pepper
parmesan cheese (optional for dairy)

Boil the pasta according to package directions, seasoning the water with salt before adding the penne. Meanwhile, drain both the artichoke hearts and olives. Slice olives and coarsely chop artichoke hearts. Mince the garlic (see Quick Tip 2).

Drain the pasta, and transfer back to the pot it was cooked. Lower the heat on the stove to low. Add olive oil and garlic and mix. Add artichokes and olives and stir. Season with salt and pepper. Serve hot on its own, or if you're having a dairy meal, sprinkle some parmesan on if you'd like.

QUICK TIP 1: I prefer penne with this dish, but I find that other pastas work well with this too. I don't recommend spaghetti or long-stranded pasta, as it doesn't seem to mix as well with the ingredients. I recommend any small pasta that has a hole in it to absorb all the deliciousness of the olive oil.

QUICK TIP 2: Margot gave me the best tip to mince garlic, as it seems like it can take an extra-long time sometimes: To work faster with your knife, place the hand that is not holding the handle on the knife on the top of it (the opposite side of the sharp side, obviously), and use that to go faster and have more pressure. It works so well. She also does it with parsley.

Goodbye, Rabbi Bouskila

My wedding day was a very special one. The memories, the family members, the love that surrounded all of us were immeasurable. And in the middle of it all was a rabbi by the name of Daniel Bouskila.

This man is the strength of the Sephardic community in Los Angeles. As the head of the Sephardic Temple Tifereth Israel, he set himself up to be one of the strongest Israel advocates for AIPAC, a phenomenal speaker, a wise man and a person of heart and fairness. He was a son of the Los Angeles Sephardic community, a part of it from childhood, not to mention the one that many people trusted with the most important events of their lives. (NOTE: For those who aren’t familiar with Sephardim, it’s the Jews of Spain who trace their ancestry before the inquisition in 1492, and are from Western Europe and around the Mediterranean).

And now, after sixteen years, he is leaving his post. This is the only job that this rabbi has ever had, and now he is moving on.

The shock of this turn of events seemed to reverberate through me. This was the man who buried my grandparents, oversaw my family’s mourning, and stood by Ari and I at our wedding. He comforted us, gave us strength, showed us possibilities where there seemed to be none and often surprised us (let’s face it – I never expected him to like “Waltz With Bashir.” By the way, it’s worth a rent if you’ve never seen it).

This man was our center, and his beautiful family -- with the amazing Peni, his wife; Shira, his daughter with the gorgeous voice and tremendous spirit; and Elan, a child with so much heart that obviously came partially from his father – were the first family of this community. His father, Nessim, was also a part of this. His passing last summer obviously struck our rabbi hard.

I’m sure a lot of people are questioning what we are going to do without our beloved Rabbi Bouskila. Before him was Rabbi Jacob Ott who had his position for over 40 years. He left many wonderful memories as he passed on into his retirement, as will Rabbi Bouskila as he moves forward with his sabbatical and projects.

But even though the community is confused, not to mention afraid of what is to come, all I can think of is a portion of our Torah that was recently discussed at our Long Beach women’s weekend. It is called Lech Lecha. It’s a portion traditionally read in October, but it’s one that is worth remembering any time of year. And it basically translates to, “Go forth.”

It is what we are meant to do. We have to keep moving forward. No matter what happens, we are always meant to move forward. We can’t linger in our past. We must remain strong, and go to destinations that we may not be familiar with. It might be frightening, but taking the risk is worth it.

Let me not forget the story of the hiring of Rabbi Jacob Ott. When he came to the Sephardic Temple, he was a controversial figure. He wasn’t Sephardic, and he had been a part of a huge scandal. Despite all this, he was wise and an incredible rabbi. Many people at the temple were against taking him, but a few men stood up for him, saying that he was a great rabbi and we should be thankful to have him. I am proud to say that one of the people who stood up for Rabbi Ott was my grandfather, Joe Amira.

It was frightening to take him on, but they had to move forward. And, as they say, the rest of the story with Rabbi Ott was history… although the way I like to remember the man is giving him kisses as a little girl, with him laughing and saying, “I’m melting! I’m melting!”

We will find our footing, and I am not afraid for Rabbi Bouskila. He is an amazing man who has only just begun to leave his huge footprint on this world. I wish for all his success, not to mention that of his family. Unfortunately, I will not be there for his final service at the Sephardic Temple (Jewlicious got in the way), but I know it will be amazing. I wish for him the renewal of spirit, and all the strength in the world to go forth, as G-d told Abraham. I will always remember the comfort he gave to me in my time of need, and the joy he provided at the happiest time in my life. I will remember him every step of the way as I go forth on my journey – and, hopefully, our paths will cross again.

When I think of Rabbi Bouskila, I think of Israel, so therefore I think of Israeli salad. He likes his with a bit of parsley and lemon juice. My former roommate Boaz likes his with Za’atar and lebne cheese. Ari likes his, “Very nicely, thank you.” Don’t ask.

ISRAELI SALAD

2 tomatoes

1 cucumber

1 green onion

2 tablespoons lemon juice, or juice of ½ lemon

1 tablespoon olive oil

Finely dice the tomato and cucumber and put into a small bowl. Cut small pieces of the green onion and add to the bowl. Juice the lemon or add the lemon over the vegetables, and pour on the olive oil. Serve.

Jewlicious: Delicious and Nutritious

I don’t know how many times I have told this story, but I figure that it’s a story worth telling, so I might as well do it again.

It was a Thursday night in November, and I was sitting in the kitchen of Rabbi Yonah and Rachel Bookstein. They had just moved to the West Coast from New York, and were getting accustomed to California life with their three children (there’s now a fourth Bookstein child, but he wasn’t there when they first moved).

Rabbi Yonah was sitting at his computer in the kitchen, being very excited about this big plan he had. He wanted to create this huge festival in Long Beach with a blog known as Jewlicious. It was going to be great, he said – Shabbat dinner, music, discussions and all sorts of fun. There was that glimmer in his eye that I am so accustomed to by now whenever he has some great plan or idea.

Although I wasn’t sure at first, it certainly did happen. It started in April 2005 on a weekend with 80 people, several bands, a few presenters and a ton of food. It started small, but it was joyous and unlike anything I experienced. When I would tell people in the Jewish community in other parts of the southland about it, they would raise their eyebrows at me.

Currently, they’re biting their tongues.

It’s because six years later, it has over 500 participants from all over the country. Bands are lining up to perform, artists, presenters with all different types of credentials come to talk and there are vendors now – and we still have a ton of food (some things just never change, I guess). It reunites a community once a year that seems to stretch to the ends of the earth, but comes together to laugh, dance, sing, share and enjoy each other during this special weekend. It’s hard to explain what it feels like to have hundreds of people dance around on a Friday night to greet the Shabbat or dancing to the music of a super-fun concert.

For us in Long Beach, this is an important festival, as it makes us the center of young Jewish life for a weekend. We put ourselves on the map as a true center for diversity – and if you need any more proof, the Ragamuffins festival is also this weekend.

Jewlicious has added such a special edge to Jewish in life in Long Beach that the Westboro Baptist Church has come to deal with us. When you ask Rabbi Yonah about how he feels about this, he glows, saying this is the best publicity that the Jewlicious Festival can get.

For those of us who know Jewlicious, we know how special and incredible it can be. It’s more than just a weekend – it’s an experience and experiment in total and utter unity, between Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, Reconstructionist, those converting, those who are Sephardic, Ashkenazi, Mizrahi, tree huggers, music lovers, artists, foodies, spiritual seekers and secular people who are just trying this on for size. For those who don’t know, experience it once – you will never regret letting it into your life. I know I haven’t, and some of my best friends have been made courtesy of this festival.

I am so glad to know the Booksteins, for they are amazing people who believe in love and unity among the Jewish people, and getting involved in Jewish life, no matter how small it is. They are beacons, which is why so many people love to be around them. If you live locally and haven’t had a chance to meet them, please do. They are incredible people.

I know there aren’t many tickets left for this weekend, but there are tickets for the concert and for Sunday for a low price, if you want to check it out. For more information, visit www.jewliciousfestivals.com.

In order to pay real tribute to the genius that is the Booksteins, I am putting in a recipe from the kitchen of Rachel Bookstein. As many of you know, I am a huge fan of dill, so this is a great dish.

COLD SALMON WITH CUCUMBER DILL SAUCE

4 salmon fillets

4 tablespoons garlic salt

1 whole English cucumber

½ cup mayonnaise

½ cup soy cream cheese

2 tablespoons dried dill or 1 bunch fresh dill (see quick tip 1)

2 cloves garlic

1 tablespoon lemon juice

1/8 teaspoon cumin

Season the salmon fillets lightly with garlic salt. Either broil on low or lightly grill for 5-7 minutes (see quick tip 2). Set aside to chill.

Peel the cucumber and chop into fine pieces, approximately ¼ inch cubes, and put into a bowl. Peel and finely chop the garlic. Add the dill, mayonnaise, soy cream cheese, cumin and salt and pepper. Stir ad let refrigerate.

Before serving, put lemon juice on top of the salmon. Serve with sauce on the side.

Quick Tip 1: If you choose to use fresh dill, you’ll find it with all the produce. Just remove the leaves and use them.

Quick Tip 2: Broiling is when only the top coils of the oven are being used to heat the food. Traditionally, this is used for meats, but it works nicely with fish too.

Quick Tip 3: If unable to find soy cream cheese, mayo can substitute for it.

Getting Active

Recently, I made a big decision about my life. I decided that I was going to get active.

I know that most people talk about losing weight. We are conditioned to do this – and we are conditioned to give it up as we go on and we don’t see any results on our bodies. Or, worse, we are conditioned to give it up once we have lost all of the weight, only to gain the weight back.

And despite this, I see those commercials for kids to get out and play. It doesn’t tell you what to do or you have to do. Just go out and have fun, which will hopefully convince them to make this a lifelong habit. It’s not about losing weight for kids. It’s enjoying life.

Sometimes we turn off kids to being active, partially because we think there is only one way to do it. When I was in high school during P.E., one of the only ways to be fit was to run. I was a terrible runner. Therefore, I was turned off to a lot of activity.

However, I took dance classes in Hebrew High, and I loved to dance. That is really great activity, and good for the body and mind. It’s very social, not like running. I found that, when there was a social element to activity, I enjoyed it. Every person gets active differently, just like every kid gets out to play and enjoys life differently.

So, what prompted this big decision to get active? I’m sure, since I am not the lightest person on the planet, that a lot of people would wonder why I would make a commitment to getting active versus losing however much weight I should.

But the truth of the matter is that I think of one particular person in my family. He has had a bad back, and has all his life. When I was a child, he and I would go on walks together. He was active and moved around. My sister and I went on adventures with him.

Now, I see a man who has not continued over time to stay active. He sits all the time. He no longer moves as he should. His mind is as strong as ever, but his body can’t go the way it used to. He can’t accomplish all the dreams that he has wanted to fulfill in his later years, all because his body is in the way.

I have a strong feeling that I may have inherited parts of this genetic coding. However, I feel that if I start a lifelong commitment to getting active, to moving my body, that there are ways where I won’t live my life in a chair. I refuse to do this. I am thankful for what G-d gave me, so I love the fact I can get up and move around.

So now, I watch those commercials for kids to play outside at 60 minutes. I always wondered why it should be limited to kids. Would it really be so hard for us adults to follow that advice? For companies to allow some time for fun instead of making us sit behind desks all day? Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I like going out to play and being able to move my body. It may be worth a try.

In order to get active, you need some serious protein, but you also need the carbs afterwards. But for now, here is a protein-heavy meal: chicken breast, which is perfect to get you going before you work out.

MUSTARD AND HERB CRUSTED CHICKEN

3 boneless, skinless chicken breasts

1/2 cup balsamic vinegar

1/4 cup olive oil

1/2 cup whole grain mustard (see quick tip)

2 tablespoons garlic powder

¼ cup herbes de province

Salt and pepper

Combine the balsamic vinegar and olive oil in a plastic storage bag. Add the chicken breast and put in the refrigerator to marinate.

Meanwhile, combine the mustard, garlic powder and herbes de province in a small bowl and mix. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees

Once the chicken is done marinating, rub with the mustard mixture and place on a cookie sheet. Season with salt and pepper. Put in the oven for 30 minutes. Serve hot.

Quick Tip: Whole grain mustard has all the mustard seeds in them. It’s actually easy to find next to your usual mustards.

A message from YBK to kosher restaurants

Dear Kosher Restaurants and those that will come to be,

I am addressing this letter to you as a patron of many years. I love the fact that you exist. I love the fact that when I am up in LA, I am able to come to your restaurants and eat your food.

But as much as I love many of you and think that you have a lot to offer, you also need to know that we are watching you. You shouldn't just be good enough. You should be great.

I speak of this as I was having a discussion with several women at a women's event tonight about food. One of the women, who was from Irvine, spoke about the need for this city, with it's ever-growing population, to have a kosher restaurant to call their own (other than the deli counter at O.C. Kosher -- which I am not dissing. I happen to love them). Of course, when you talk about kosher restaurants, the subject comes to Jeff's Gourmet, it seems.

"Everyone loves Jeff's," she said to me. "It's not just that it's great kosher food. It's great food that happens to be kosher. Everyone goes there."

This woman points out something that has been lacking in many communities outside of Los Angeles. This weekend, I spoke with my Ima (read: mother-in-law) about how in San Diego, there have been many kosher restaurants that have opened, and then almost immediately closed. Today, there is currently not a kosher restaurant in San Diego. They have opened up a brand-new amazing kosher section at Ralph's in La Jolla, but that's as close as they're coming for now. The secret, it seems, is to have something that everybody wants to go to.

There are many road blocks to the secret of success for kosher restaurants. The meat is more expensive. You have to pay to have a mashgiach (or rabbi trained in kashrut) to come in regularly to make sure the place is up to standards. The prices will be higher already, and on top of that, you need people to want to purchase the food, so it has to be in a location that is accessible to people who want it. Not to mention you are closed a day and a half out of the week, and those days are the more popular days to eat out for people who may not be shomer Shabbat.

It's not like it's impossible. Quite a few restaurants have mastered the formula. Jeff's, obviously, is one of them. The other that I am thinking of is the lovely Tierra del Sur in Oxnard, right next to the Baron Herzog Winery. And special note to Long Beach, Orange County and San Diego: The only place you're probably going to find Jews in Oxnard is at their Chabad. But they aren't going anywhere, because they're popular both among the locals and the kosher set. It's mainly because the food is damn good (special shout-out/note: I am biased on this one. I had my wedding there, and it was the best food. People still talk about it).

Currently, I have heard rumors about a kosher delicatessen looking to open in the Bixby Knolls section of Long Beach -- not just kosher style. Long Beach could use a bit of deli, and if it opens, I look forward to supporting it. I know for a fact that this place is going to have a fight to stay open, but if the owners know that it's the food that sells your place -- that it should be great food that happens to be kosher, not just good for kosher food -- then they have a good opportunity for success. Same goes for anyone who thinks about opening a restaurant in Irvine and/or San Diego.

But before I go, I want to praise you, the restaurants, for the courage to go forth into a volatile market and open your doors. Do you think I would have the guts to do it? Hell no!

Love,

YBK

P.S. I know I haven't posted recipes in a while. But I promise to have one for tomorrow!

Eshet Chayil (A Rosh Chodesh tribute)

Friday afternoon, I had the absolute pleasure to watch my cousin Hannah rehearse all her prayers for her bat mitzvah. She sung beautifully, and I looked up at her in wonder, amazed at how what was once a two-year-old wandering my uncle’s house in a tutu could become the amazing young lady she is today.

She was saying the morning prayers as I heard her say the line: “Baruch atah Adonai, elohenu melech ha’olam, sheasani bat horin.”

I lingered on this line in my head, enjoying my cousin’s beautiful voice. Hannah will probably learn one day, as I did, that in the Orthodox version of this line for men boils down to, “Blessed are you, G-d, lord of the universe, for not making me a woman.”

There are many interpretations to this line – supposedly, the rabbis felt that women would be too busy so they would be unable to fill all of the mitzvot, or commandments. In fact, there are three mitzvot women are commanded to do: bake challah, light Shabbat candles and family purity (don’t get me started on that subject; you don’t want to go there with me). Then there’s the concept that women are spiritually higher than men, so therefore they are also not obligated to do as much. So men must thank G-d for being able to perform more mitzvot

No matter how you approach it, being a Jewish woman is not an easy task. It is multifaceted, filled with potholes, loopholes and any other type of hole you can imagine. We have a strange place in the Jewish community as mothers and/or daughters, but at the same time, we are still trying to find a place. This struggle comes with confusion, obligations and difficulties.

I have been at different services, ranging from Reconstructionist up to Ultra-Orthodox, where the dividing line between men and women, or mehitzah, is so high that you can’t even see what’s going on, and all you can hear are the children running back and forth and talking loudly to all their friends, with their mothers trying to quiet them. I grew up in the Conservative movement, so sitting an area where I can’t pray, but rather get to listen to everyone’s screaming children run around and slam doors isn’t exactly my cup of tea. But for some women, they have their glory behind this barrier, and enjoy it. Being a woman in prayer behind a wall isn’t where Jewish womanhood is for me. And so, I worry.

I worry about if I have a daughter in the future, and she would have to be a part of this. How do I explain to her the confusing absence of Miriam and all the amazing prophecies she had during the Exodus from Egypt in the Torah text? How do I explain that women supposedly “aren’t required” to perform all the mitzvot the men are? What do I tell her when she hears stories of boys getting their grand bar mitzvah at the Western Wall in the heart of Jerusalem with cheers and celebration, and the girls being regulated to a tiny and quiet party in some obscure corner of the state of Israel?

Then there are the interactions she may have with the Orthodox community. How do I explain that, after a certain age, she is no longer able to sing in front of men as loudly as she wants to, no matter what she feels in her heart? How would she feel while the men danced in joy and the women were just left to clap quietly, and she is dying to dance, too? Would she understand the mehitzah? What do I tell her about this strange barrier, or why boys and girls aren’t even allowed in the same classes together in Orthodox schools?

It’s during this that I think about two things. One is the prayer of Eshet Chayil, or “Woman of Valor,” which is sung in many Orthodox communities on Friday nights. I happen to love this song, as it acknowledges women as being the backbone of their households, working hard and strengthening the children and their husbands (Interesting fact: In ancient times, since men were supposed to study Torah all day, it was the women who often dealt with commerce and trade and made the living for their families). It is amazing that a song, that talks of women as being the ones who make all the difference, although their difference seems small.

The second is something that was mentioned at the recent women’s weekend that I went on. At one point, one of the girls asked if there were men’s weekends as well.

“They tried to keep it up, but they just couldn’t,” one of the women who had been there since the beginning of these retreats. “We women are organizers.”

There are many things that women have that men don’t seem to quite get. We organize and we are able to bond. We share in laughter, tears and everything that the world wants us to shut ourselves off to. We understand life and love on a level that seems to enter the realm of men. Men have to learn love of Torah, while I have found that some women just grip onto it, not letting go of the joy.

It’s why it makes me so happy that Orthodox women are starting to host women’s-only services, complete with Torah readings, dancing and celebration of the Holy One. I personally don’t think it’s enough to say to women that you’re holy enough. We need to pass this on to the girls of the Jewish people and make them feel involved in this incredible legacy that they are going to get from their mothers and grandmothers. They should not be silent; they should never be silent. They should enjoy, pray, laugh, sing, celebrate and love the Torah with all of their hearts, souls and mights.

Since this is a special holiday, there will be no recipe, but rather a video that will make all women laugh heartily. Let’s just say that that Dodge’s commercial of man’s last stand has nothing on us ladies.

Love and the fight

Seventy-two years ago – at least according to my great aunt Esther – my grandmother woke up in the morning and was about to elope. Within that one day, Esther arranged everything so that Regina Abrevaya could marry Joseph Amira without running away, and then have them go on to their honeymoon to Washington, D.C.

They would look at each other with love in their eyes as their picture was taken while they were away – the closest thing that they had to a wedding photograph. In the next 66 years, they would have two children, a large and loving extended family and a commitment to their Sephardic community.

They didn’t have everything: My grandfather worked three jobs to try to keep the family afloat. My grandmother didn’t always have everything she wanted. They never were able to own a home and were never able to drop a ton of money at the drop of a hat. Up until the 1960s, they didn’t have much money to spare.

Despite all this, my grandparents had love for one another. They loved each other and enjoyed each other as best as they could. When I was a teenager, I found Viagra in their apartment. At that age, I thought it was gross. As I got older and got married, I realized it was almost a miracle that my grandparents still desired each other enough to have sex into their 80s.

It is true, they struggled together, but they found that they fought together, cried together and were a united front together. The determination to survive on top of the love in their marriage set them apart and solidified their relationship. I only realize it now that I face a similar struggle with my husband. We cannot afford to go out for Valentine’s Day. Tonight, we’ll be celebrating with a special dinner, as we won’t be able to celebrate after this, as we have a busy weekend in store for us.

In the face of the difficult times, there is still love. We find a way to have intimate conversations, laughter and joy along with the tears that may flow. Sure, we don’t have a lot of money, but the truth is that most couples struggle at the beginning, no matter who they are. Those who don’t are few and far between or lying, and by struggle I mean everything from fighting to dealing with money.

I think about all the wonderful couples that I know who have just gotten engaged. Yes, there is love, but be prepared for a fight. Relationships are a tricky thing no matter how much cash is in your pocket or how much you love each other. Couples are meant to be a united front against the world and all its difficulties. We are supposed to be part of a team to face the difficulties of this earth. We fight together, we love together, and we come together to face the problems. We create the circle to defend ourselves from the forces that try to bring us down. You should always have each other’s back in this. It’s harder than you think.

So, as Valentine’s Day approaches, I wish you the love that my grandparents had – a love so strong that it was able to take on the world. It kept a family together, inspired children and adults alike, and faced the darkness with a candle so bright that not even Hashem himself could blow it out.

In honor of this, this is Nony’s pink rice recipe. It seems like there are a lot of red rice recipes, but only Nony gets the pink. The thing that makes it so different is the crunch. In fact, my sister tells the story that one time, my family was running late to my grandmother’s due to the fact my mom and I were arguing. When we walked in the door, in a typical Nony fashion she said, “Don’t worry. The rice is nice and crispy.” Very rarely have such comforting words been said.

NONY’S PINK RICE

1 cup rice

1 small can tomato sauce

2 tablespoons oil

Salt to taste

Bring 2 cups of water to a boil over a high heat. Add the salt, oil and tomato sauce. Bring them back to a boil and add the rice.

Stir and cover. Lower the heat to the lowest possible level. Allow to sit for 20-30 minutes. If you want the crunchy part that my sister and I would fight over, you can either raise the heat a little and let it get crunchy, or put it in a baking pan and bake to allow it to get toasty.

Sing a song of tofu

Dear Tofu,

Words cannot express what you mean to me. Kosher meat is super-expensive, and you are $1.50 at my local market. Your creamy goodness translates into so many meals, and has so many purposes.

You are more than just a health food, Asian staple or even bean curd. You are a good source of protein and iron, and even calicum depending on how the tofu is processed. There is an amazing history behind you, dating back to ancient China in the second century BC. You have been a staple in a variety of dishes such as miso soup, and a godsend to all vegetarians.

Whether it's silken, firm or extra firm, you transcend boundaries. Since you actually have no flavor and have such a unique texture, you can be used in a variety of dishes. You can even substitute in other dishes, whether it's for ricotta cheese in my lasagna florentine (see the recipe here) or pureed to the point of replacing dairy in a dish.

Some people may say you are difficult to work with. I do not find this to be the case. As long as you are fully drained of water, I find you a lot of fun to play with. You transform and take different shapes. You develop a great crunch on the outside when you're fried, and get soft and silky when I cook you with teriyaki sauce.

And this is only just the beginning. You have so much potential, and the possibilities are endless. Since you are so adaptable, you can go with plenty of meals. You even find your place in desserts. Who knows what the next step will be?

Although I love meat too much to give it up for good, just know, tofu, that you have a special place in my heart, and in the heart of all adventurous kosher eaters. We will continue to use and enjoy you, no matter your form.

Love,
Reina
YBK Founder

TERIYAKI TOFU

1 box tofu
1 cup teriyaki sauce
1 tablespoon canola oil

Remove the tofu from the box. If stored in water, drain all the liquid and wrap the tofu in a paper towel or cloth. If using paper towels, make sure to change every so often to absorb the liquid.

Once it's drained, cut the tofu into cubes and place in a bowl. Pour over the teriyaki sauce and allow to marinate for 10 minutes, lightly mixing halfway through, as it should absorb the liquid like a sponge.

Heat canola oil in a saucepan. Add both the tofu and marinade, and allow to cook until tofu is warm and has a good color from the teriyaki. Serve hot, or as a part of noodle bowls.

Can't read my Kosher Face!

Because Lady Gaga is awesome, and so is this video!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zXHPXpdwimY

Money-saving food tips

Since the title of this blog includes the word "BROKE," I think it's time you earned some tips on how to shop and keep kosher broke. This is in lieu of a recipe today, but I think these tips are worthwhile.

Here are Reina's best tips on how to do kashrut and other shopping on the cheap:

* Look at the unit price of each item, or how much each serving costs. For example, if a $1.50 box of pasta has eight servings, it actually costs approximately $0.19 per serving. Most grocery stores list them, but if yours doesn't, just divide the price by the amount of servings.

* Reconsider your proteins. Certain cuts of meat are much more expensive than others. In the kosher world, I find ground turkey to be a cheaper cut of meat, as well as ground beef. You can also get whole and cut-up chickens for not too much money, and they will last you a long time.

* Other cuts of meat that I like: London Broil and skirt steak (it will last you for many meals, cooks quickly and isn't that much at a kosher market), pepper steak and chicken thighs. Chicken breasts are a little more money, but I save a ton if I buy a bulk package and freeze them into their own separate portions. Bison is a low-fat option that is emerging in the kosher world, but be wary of the price.

* If all else fails, if your kosher market is fortunate enough to have a butcher, talk to them about pricing on your meats.

* Don't forget vegetarian options. When we were children, my mother would make us beans and rice, like her mother did when they were poor. Not only are they tasty and inexpensive, but they have lots of nutrients. Tofu and "mock meats" are cheap and a good source of protein, so don't hesitate to cook with them to replace meat several times a week.

* Buy seasonal fruits and vegetables. It's a lot less money than in the off-season, when they have to be shipped in from different parts of the world. However, certain items -- staples like potatoes, onions, garlic, celery, lettuce and carrots -- tend to have a lower price tag no matter the season. I'm particularly loving potatoes right now, as they're filling and have a ton of nutrients in them.

* Canned and frozen items are inexpensive and major timesavers in the kitchen. Stock up on canned corn, beans and tuna, or get spinach, broccoli and peas in the freezer aisle. For those who can't find kosher canned beans, purchase dried beans and rehydrate them when you're ready. The nutrients are still there and they will last longer than fresh items. Just remember: For canned items, drain and rinse them in order to get rid of that in-the-can taste.

* Look to your backyard. If you have the space and a green thumb, grow your own fruits and vegetables. If you feel uncomfortable, start with herbs: You can save lots of money by growing your own basil, parsley, rosemary, thyme or oregano versus buying them at a store. Tomatoes are also an easy-to-grow option.

* Certain kosher grocery items are much cheaper to purchase at a kosher market than at your regular one. I find that items such as kosher boullion, breadcrumbs and marshmallows are much cheaper there.

* Do a price comparison of your local grocery stores. Take a look at your reciepts from each place, and don't be afraid to talk to your neighbors about their preferences and the reputations of some of the shops. For example, I found that, through price comparison, Trader Joe's happens to be my lowest price option, along with Vons and my local farmers' market.

* I have heard from many people that one of the best ways to save money is to shop the perimeter of a grocery store. Supposedly, the most nutritious and lower-cost items are in this area. I don't always think that this actually works. But it is worth a try to see how much you save and how healthy you eat.

* If all else fails, do it the old-fashioned way: Look at sales at your local grocery store and clip coupons from your local newspaper. There are also sites that specialize in coupons (such as my friend Nicole at The Frugalista Diva), so you will be able to get coupons from there, too.

Enjoy!

Hagbah

Everyone probably knows by now that I am an incredibly dramatic person. It’s in my nature, a thing that can’t be helped. But I can honestly say that I had the most spiritual experience in the most unexpected place.

This past weekend, I went on a women’s retreat up in Malibu. It’s beautiful up at Camp Hess Kramer, about a quarter mile from the beach, with stunning green foliage and a babbling brook. I figured it would be a great time to reflect on all the insanity that’s been happening as of late: the insanity of tightening purse strings, the fear of what’s to come and the heartbreak of not being able to help yourself out of this mess.

It led me to Saturday morning services, where I sat pondering my life. I felt so helpless, although I did not want to be. I looked out the windows at the beautiful light that was emanating off the emerald plants and deep, dark earth. And my mind began to travel to where it has through almost every religious service I attended in the months since my last blood clot and layoff shortly after.

I questioned why I was doing everything I do, why I live a Jewish life. Why should I follow G-d’s words when he does not hear my cries? Everything was taken away from me, right down to my own ability to bear children. Does G-d not see the my and my husband’s suffering as I watch him fall further away with every day that he’s left to continue to be unemployed? Why should I fulfill my commitments to G-d when he hasn’t fulfilled his to me?

We eventually got to the Torah service, and were called up for aliyot. The women draped talitot over their shoulders and prayed, looking over as others read the portions from the ancient scroll, which talked about the journey to Mount Sinai. But then it was time for hagbah.

For those who don’t know, it’s the person who lifts the Torah after the portion has been read, and displays it for all to see -- and for the record, the Torah is not light. Traditionally, it’s a very strong man who does it.

“Who here has not done a hagbah?” the rabbi asked, her smile friendly and engaging. A few ladies raised their hands, myself included. I found out later that many girls who are bat mitzvahed in Long Beach are asked to do it for themselves. At my bat mitzvah in Thousand Oaks, my cousin Paul did it.

Sure enough, me being the young, very tall and very strong-looking person that I am (the broad shoulders I inherited from my father don’t help), I was called upon to do it. My mind went into shock. All I could think was that if I dropped it, these women would all have to do 40 days of fasting because of my sorry butt.

Lift from the knees, lift from the knees, I kept thinking. I wasn’t quite sure what else to think other than “Don’t drop it.”

I approached the Torah, it’s perfect text seeming to look back into my soul. I faced all these women, most of which who barely knew me, but saw me as a tall and broad-shouldered woman. Suddenly, the rabbi stepped forward, wrapping me in a prayer shawl.

“This was my first talit,” she said softly to me in my ear. “This is for your first hagbah.”

I saw the unbalanced sides of the scroll, wondering how it would balance in my hands. I was told to move it out a little first, and then lift. When I gripped, I wasn’t sure. My left hand felt the strong weight of what it was about to lift, but I was determined. I had to do this. It was time.

And then I lifted. My eyes seemed to pop open as I saw the living Torah before my eyes. My hands shook slightly, part of the amazement and the glory. I saw the text, the true text, in my vision, and I was awed. My mouth was open, as if I wanted to breathe in every moment, and yet was gasping for the glory in the air. I couldn’t quite describe it.

As I sat with the Torah, and watched as those around me were dressing it, I was in complete amazement. I had never done such a thing, and was now looking lovingly at this scroll with a smile on my face, the combined forces of joy and relief that I didn’t drop it. The woman who was dressing the torah, Heather, had never done that before either. She was also amazed at what she was doing, and began to cry.

After that moment, I rose, and I cradled this sacred book like a newborn baby, kissing it and loving it. I handed it off to Heather, who handed it off to the Rabbi. When we finished, Heath and I embraced, and suddenly, as if it were something more than rain, it began to pour hard outside. The rain hit the windows and the ground with such force that I only have heard several times in my life. Those times, from what I can remember, were moments that were darkness at one point, but then found a way to joy. Today, it almost sounded like applause.

I stared at this rain, not paying attention to anyone else, feeling a strength and power emanating from my hands. I felt something stir inside of me. Is it really possible that G-d has a way of communicating with us in the subtleness of nature? I don’t know if it was really a message for me (and even if it was, I wouldn’t even know if I got the message right), but I found strength. It was as if my spirit was saying to that inner voice of doubt to shut up about questioning my faith. I was stronger than that. To prove it, I just had lifted a Torah.

So this writing is for anyone who needs to find strength, who finds themselves doubting and questioning. I’m not telling you to go lift a Torah. But I am telling you that the answer to if you’re strong enough is inside, and all you need to do is prove it to yourself.

In honor of our weekend away at the camp, I bring forth the egg salad. This is reminiscent of Camp Ramah weekends, where they would serve us hard-boiled eggs every Saturday morning, and we'd all make our makeshift egg salads from the packets of mustard and mayo that they would leave us. Personally, I love dill with hard-boiled eggs.

EGG SALAD

6 hard boiled eggs

1/2 cup mayonnaise

2 cloves garlic

2 tablespoons lemon juice (or juice of ½ a lemon)

3 tablespoons fresh or dried dill

¼ cup dried chopped onion

1 tablespoon Dijon mustard

Hard boil the eggs and let them cool. If using fresh dill, chop it finely. Meanwhile, finely mince the garlic and add to the mayonnaise. Add lemon juice and dill. Set aside for about 30 minutes. (see Quick Tip)

Crack eggs and add to bowl. Smash them finely with a fork. Add the onion, mayonnaise mixture and mustard. Mix. If using fresh dill, you can garnish it with a sprig in order to look super-fancy.

Quick Tip: Believe it or not, in that simple mixing of mayonnaise, you created an aioli, or garlic mayonnaise. Feel free to use that as a dip or a topping on a burger.

A lot of people wonder, with a blog like this, if I have any other loves besides food. What else do I do, after all, besides stand around in my kitchen and make food, not to mention kayak?

The truth of the matter is that I do have another love. It’s film. I am enamored. The experience of watching film is something incredible to me that I can’t even quite begin to explain.

It’s been a long-time love affair – from going to the movies with my father as a child, smelling that greasy movie popcorn lingering in the air, sitting in cushy chairs and getting to take in our movie. But my adult love started at 16. Ironically, it was around the time that the AFI list of top 100 movies was first released. I became determined to see them all, and start at the beginning: “Citizen Kane,” considered by many to be the greatest film ever made.

I sat down to watch it with my dad, and I was entranced: the angles of the camera, the clarity of the film and that gorgeous storytelling. Needless to say, I became a junkie after that, absorbing great filmmaking. I watched “The Godfather” with glee (and before anyone challenges me, I think the first one is the stronger film of the two) and really understood what I was watching before – such as my childhood favorites, “The Wizard of Oz” or “Yellow Submarine.”

As I got older, my tastes diverged from my father’s – while he favored more classical filmmakers, I enjoyed watching the crisp dialogue of Quentin Tarantino and absorbed Marty Scorcese’s beautiful cinematography work. But I never gave up appreciating it, loving it, sucking in everything each movie had to offer. Netfilx has been very helpful in being able to get all these films into my home (except “Forbidden Planet” – still waiting for that one to come out).

Although my dad is still trying desperately to get me into a basic film class, I enjoy interpreting and enjoying the film, even without the criticism that goes with it. And what do we get from these films? We get the ability to laugh together, to cry together, to be a part of each other’s lives. You don’t need to take a film class to appreciate what film brings to our experience as human beings. We share in cultural experiences and truly appreciate what a crew of potential crazies bring to us.

For me, film is a sacred form of storytelling, and it is important to preserve the originality instead of trying to retell stories that have been done over and over again with motion capture, Robert Zemekis (you’re on my not-nice list, as you are going to destroy one of my favorite childhood memories). I look to current films, such as “(500) Days of Summer,” “Inglorious Basterds” and yes, even “Avatar,” to help keep strong filmmaking going – to make us wonder, laugh, cry, understand and find a way to be a part of this world.

In honor of the free spirit of film and everything it has to offer, I am offering an alternative to greasy movie popcorn – a favorite of mine, but insanely fattening. You won’t get much better with White Chocolate popcorn, but it is a sweet treat.

WHITE CHOCOLATE POPCORN

1 large bag of kettle corn popcorn

½ cup white chocolate morsels

Pop the popcorn according to package directions. Pour into a large bowl and set aside.

Pour the morsels into a small bowl and put into the microwave. Microwave for 30 seconds and stir. Repeat this until the mixture is smooth without any lumps. (see quick tip) Using a spoon, pour over the popcorn mixture. Allow it to cool before serving.

Quick Tip: If there’s anything else that burns faster than popcorn, it’s chocolate. White chocolate is particularly susceptible, so keep a close eye on your microwave. If unable to use a microwave, put a bowl on top of a saucepan of boiling water and melt that way. It’s known as a “double boiler,” and is the traditional way of melting chocolate.

In the Trenches

This afternoon, after finagling my way to a lower price for my oil change, I immediately settled in the lobby of the Jiffy Lube in Lakewood to look at magazines. I settled on Newsweek.

When I was growing up, Newsweek was one of my favorite magazines. Well-designed, intelligent and interesting, it was somewhere where I would dream of working if I had advanced far enough in my journalism career. It’s a different magazine now – thinner, badly designed and forgetting about who the heck reads their articles.

And there I was, thinking about my husband, who is having a difficult time getting over his loss of confidence and lack of job, not knowing where to turn to. I think about the bills that we have to pay, the care that I take in what I put on my credit card and the fear that I face when it comes to how my husband and I are going to deal with our expenses.

Newsweek is probably still in some lofty building. But they seemed to have forgotten what it’s like in the trenches. It’s most obvious in a section that’s called “My Turn.” This used to be the section where normal people got to tell their stories, how they were fighting, how they were learning to live with whatever problem they were faced with. Now it’s replaced by “more important” people, like Bill Gates or the archbishop of Canterbury talking about whatever is important to them.

What is more crucial to our lives than the common man? Who shaped America, who helped drive change? Who really plays the most important role in our lives? You can say the American government, but I would say that if the Senate was anything like it is today, it’s not the case. I think the people come first, and then the Senate gets so scared out of its wits that they have to go through with things.

I think that, in today’s economy, the common man is more important than ever. We are the ones who are digging in the dirt, finding a way to survive despite the difficult times, while the wealthy are sitting far and away from this struggle, looking at it as simply observation. They just sit there, scratching their heads trying to figure out how to help us – when, in truth, many of us have found ways to help ourselves despite them.

I think that we are led to believe, as common people, that we really don’t have the power. We just have to sit back and let other people make decisions about our lives, and then be helpless and follow them no matter what.

Common people are better than this. We need to stand up and tell the world that we matter. We are important, and we are the ones who really make a difference. There is a quote: “Be the change that you want to see in the world.” Do you really think we would be if we just sat up in those fancy Senate offices just thinking?

I hope that journalism remembers that. Charles Kuralt , the American journalist, travelled this country telling the stories of regular human beings, finding the beautiful and fascinating stories in all of them. It was always a dream of mine that I would pursue that beautiful kind of journalism of loading up in a van, going to different places and meeting the ordinary person, yet find that they are more extraordinary than anyone thought. It is because of drive, determination and that ever-beautiful hope that exists in the heart of every American.

Meanwhile, like those regular Americans, I refuse to surrender. From the age of two, I learned that I had to fight for everything – even the ability to speak. I was born to fight it all despite everything. You will never see me give up. I want to fight for my right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. The truth of the matter is that I will always stand for the common man, no matter where that person is. It is a part of who I am.

So I salute the common man by giving a common recipe: deviled eggs. A part of me wonders if there is anything more American than this picnic food – and don’t say hamburger.

DEVILED EGGS

6 hard-boiled eggs
½ teaspoon mustard
2 tablespoons mayonnaise
¼ teaspoon dried garlic powder
1 teaspoon dill
Salt and Pepper
Paprika

Hard boil the eggs. Once cooled, peel them and slice each egg in half. Very gently, pop the yolk out of the white part into a small bowl and mash.

Combine the mustard, mayonnaise, garlic powder, dill and salt and pepper to taste in with the yolks. Mash and make sure they’re evenly combined. Put the yolk mixture back into the whites. Sprinkle with paprika and serve.

Quick Tip 1: Because the eggs should look pretty, you may want to make several extra hard-boiled eggs, just in case some explode during the cooking process.

Quick Tip 2: If you want them to look super-fancy, you can always use a piping bag to put the filling back in. If you don’t want to buy your own, take a heavy-duty plastic bag, put the filling in and cut off the tip.

Quick Tip 3: Feel free to play with your food. I’ve seen fillings of deviled eggs with goat cheese, minced celery or relish. The best thing I can suggest is to experiment and see what you like best.

In the meantime...

I will be posting something new later today, but in the meantime, I found a few kosher-oriented articles.

This one is a survey of people who purchase kosher meats. Turns out the main reason is food quality, not kashrut.

http://www.mintel.com/press-release/3-in-5-kosher-food-buyers-purchase-for-food-quality-not-religion-?id=321

Here's an article from the New York Times citing similar facts.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/13/dining/13kosh.html?pagewanted=1&em

Here is another article from Nina Rastogi from Slate. It asks if Kosher and Halal meats are better for the environment. Turns out, not much, but we do have some advantages.

http://www.slate.com/id/2242295/?GT1=38001

I give a special shout-out to Nina -- I went to elementary school with this girl in Northern California before we moved away!

Post to come later today...

Barely Breathing, Part I

Hi everyone!

After a long day, I'm going to go slow and post one of my favorite articles from the past. It's called "Barely Breathing." I'm going to do it in stages, though -- it's a long sucker.

BARELY BREATHING, PART I

“Oh my G-d, mom, I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!”

I had collapsed under a pine tree at Cal State Fullerton, on a clear day in late January. I was talking to my mother on my cell phone.

“Reina, stop being so hysterical. Just come on home.”

That was me, the great medical hysteric. But I felt like I was dying. The pain in my chest had become excruciating.

Picking myself up had to be the hardest thing. I went to my apartment, grabbed my Vicodin and cell phone charger, and with only a backpack, I went down to my car and started driving home; it was like driving drunk without a single drop of alcohol.

The next 36 hours weren’t even there. I don’t remember anything, except perching myself on the couch, holding slightly onto my chest and only moving when I had to go to the bathroom. At 10 o’clock Wednesday night, when I coughed so hard that something came up, that something was blood. I may be a medical hysteric, but even I knew this wasn’t a good sign.

At noon the next day, I was in Dr. Gonzalez’s office. He was a good-looking, older Latin man, the kind you were sure the ladies swooned about when he was young.

I was paler than a ghost as he studied my left leg. “Your leg is warm, not to mention extraordinarily swollen.”

“Yes,” I whispered. I couldn’t talk that loud. “It’s been that way since I was in the walking cast.”

After the tests, he looked at my mother. “Don’t take her home. Don’t take her anywhere. Take her straight to the hospital. I’m 90 percent sure that it’s a blood clot.”

He should stand corrected: It was five blood clots, three of which had lodged themselves in my right lung, which go by the medical term of pulmonary embolisms. By 5 p.m., I was lying on a hospital bed, while nurses kept poking me with needles, desperately trying to save my life.

Meanwhile, six months before, I had started a new life. I moved away from my parents’ house in Thousand Oaks to Fullerton, a place where the only people I knew were my cousins 20 minutes south. But it didn’t take too long for me to pick up friends.

Each friend played his or her own significant role in my life, and took on a very strong meaning for me. My classes were amazing, and I felt like I was in a place that fit perfectly for me. Orange County had its own culture and sound, which I drank in. My friends from back home didn’t really come to visit, but the fact was that now I was living two very separate lives: one in Orange County and one at my parents’ house.

When winter break approached, I returned home and spent time with local friends. The last day I really felt fine before all of this, I was with my friend Michelle at a mall in the Valley. I bought shoes, and she bought some clothes. We had a good time. I really wish that I cherished that day more, because what would happen afterwards would change my life.

The day after, I had pain in my ankle. That pain led to a walking cast, due to the readjustment of bones in my foot (due to flat feet). That walking cast led to a very swollen leg, followed by food poisoning, and the never-ending pain in my chest, to the point where I couldn’t even laugh.

At 5 a.m. on the Tuesday before my hospital visit, I went into the E.R. in Fullerton, because my chest pain became so bad I couldn’t even lie down. They misdiagnosed me with bronchitis and a chest wall strain, for which the prescription was an antibiotic and Vicodin. I took a winter class, and I remember storming out of the classroom, because I couldn’t breathe, as if going outside would help it. Needless to say, the rest came to be a trying experience in my life.

I lay down gently on the hospital bed after I was taken for tests, and little did I know it would be a while before they let me get up again. I was the youngest person on the ward as the nurses moved my bed into a room. They moved me next to the window, where I could see a hill that set the background for Thousand Oaks. There was nothing more I wanted to do than run up that hill and curse at G-d for putting me into this situation.

That night, I couldn’t breathe, and the nurse stuck an oxygen tube up my nose. My mom was sitting there, and for every night I was terrified I wouldn’t wake up again, this was the night where I tried to stay awake in fear of it, but the vicodin overpowered my will. I wanted to just cry in terror of what I had become.

Of course, everyone found out almost immediately, and the calls came pouring in. The most memorable always came from Martha Wendy. She was my mom’s best friend since they were teenagers. She called almost every day to check up on me.

“Babalee,” she said. “You know, you’ve got to be more assertive. If you want to get what you want, you have to stand up and say, ‘I need this.’”

“Uh, Wendy, I’m kind of not in the state to do that,” I replied. “And I’m not allowed to stand, anyway.”

“Oh well. At least do me a favor.”

“What’s that?”

“When they bring you some Vicodin, save some for me, okay, honey?”

Parts Two and Three to come later this week!

Baking Vs. Cooking

For those of you who have seen the show “Top Chef,” you may notice something when it comes to the chefs on the show. They have no problems in most of the challenges, and skate by with ease. However, when it comes to making dessert, they become panicked. These all-confident chefs become lumps of fear when dessert is mentioned.

I can relate, as when it comes to baking, I start to cry in a corner and rock back and forth. I can cook you anything -- if you need a soup, entrée or appetizer, I’m your gal. But baking? Oy vey. You don’t want to be around for that one.

Mind you, I can follow baking recipes. If I have one for a cookie or cake, I can make it. But coming up with my own is a scary proposition. It’s not like with cooking, where I can start with next to nothing and come up with something. In baking, things have to be exact in order to get your desired result. Everything has to be in the house, ready for you to make it.

This reality didn’t hit until yesterday, when I was planning to make a cookie for my friend Lisa. She was hosting a cookie exchange, where people made their best cookie recipe to share. I was planning to make a cookie with ollaliberry preserves, a hybrid raspberry/blackberry only native to Northern and Central California (which has the power to confuse people and get them to think of “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory”).

Then it happened: Everything went wrong. The preserves were way past their prime. The pasty blender that I purchased immediately clumped up. Flour began to fly all over the kitchen. To paraphrase a former high school teacher of mine, “Murphy is quite alive” -- and kicking me in the butt every step of the way of my cookie-making fiasco.

Luckily, there is always a plan B, and mine happened to be a concoction known as cookie pizza (see the recipe in the blog post “Telling Stories”), which looked pretty as could be for a last-minute disaster. Although one day I would love to be able to bake and develop my own recipes, I think for now, I will have to just be the cook who can make a soup out of almost anything out of nothing – not to mention an entrée.

In the spirit of Reina-can’t-bake, I am going to post a soup recipe.

BLACK BEAN AND CORN SOUP

3 cans black beans
2 cans whole kernel corn
3 tablespoons oil
1 red pepper
1 large onion
1 large carrot
3-4 cloves garlic
3 stalks celery
1 bay leaf
3 cups water plus 3 teaspoons beef bullion
1 teaspoon ground cumin

Chop the onion, celery and garlic, and sauté them with a bay leaf in a soup pot with the oil. Once the onions are translucent, add the red pepper and let soften. Add carrots. Drain the beans and corn and add to the mixture. If desired, some of the beans can be mashed to thicken up the soup.

Add the water, bullion, and cumin and allow to simmer for 20 minutes. Serve.

Quick Tip: You can drain and rinse the beans in a drainer in order to remove all the packing liquid. However, in a soup like this, I don’t really mind it so much. You should drain and rinse the corn, though.