Desperate Times, Not Desperate Measures

There is a woman I have known for quite a few years who owns her own business. It is a luxury business, so naturally she has been going under since the economy has fallen apart. She lost her home and the office that she had been doing business in. Naturally, she should be scared.

However, being scared in her case means throwing things out the window left, right and center. Her fear has overpowered her and caused her to make stupid decisions. She has put her faith in the wrong people and things, such as TV appearances (which, knowing the entertainment industry, I can tell you for a fact that Hollywood is not a miracle worker and does not solve problems). Meanwhile, she is tossing aside people who stood by her through the years through thick and thin -- myself included.

When we are on the verge of losing everything, it’s often easy to lose our heads. We put our faith in the wrong things, often losing ourselves to our imaginations of how our lives should be versus the way they are now. Trust me, I know – I struggle with it every day.

With all the free time that I have, it’s very tempting to shop, take vacations or act like I don’t have to find a job soon. Quite a few friends of mine have used their unemployment time to go to far-off lands or lounge around. Since I feel like I’m currently draining my savings, I’m trying my best not to ask my parents for help and I have a husband who’s also out of work, I don’t feel it’s wise of me to do the same thing. Although it would be nice to get away from the stress, it’s something out of the price range of a couple who is just squeaking by.

And it makes me wonder: Why do people do this? Why, in times where we need to be responsible and take care of things, do sabotage ourselves and invest ourselves in unrealistic things?

Pull yourselves together, people. Yes, we may not have jobs, and the future may be completely uncertain. But it doesn’t mean that we should throw everything away and become hedonists. We need to realize that after the vacation or shopping spree that we going to come back and still have to deal. The problems will still be there, no matter what how we distract ourselves.

We need to think about what we’re doing in a time of crisis. Just because the world is going insane doesn’t mean that we should, too. And, above all, we shouldn’t throw away the things that matter for impossible dreams and delusions. After all, when things get better and we pull ourselves out of our crises, we are going to find out we lost a lot more than just our money in that difficult period. We lose the people around us.

In the meantime, we need to cherish those who have stood by us through these difficult times and have loved us no matter how much money we have had in our pockets or how well-traveled we are (even though they may love us for our peach cobbler). So in honor of the people who I had the pleasure of having dinner with – Jeffrey, Sabrina, Tal, Merav, Josh, Drew and Elana, I post the peach cobbler that the majority of you enjoyed last night.

PEACH COBBLER

2 cups plus 1 tablespoon flour

1/3 c plus 1/2 c sugar

1/2 tsp salt

11/2 sticks butter, room temperature

1 egg, slightly beaten

4-7 fresh peaches

1/2 tsp cinnamon

½ tsp ground cloves

½ tsp nutmeg

1 tablespoon lemon juice

1 tablespoon honey

Preheat oven 400 degrees..In a bowl, mix 2 cups flour, salt and 1/3 cup sugar. Using a pastry blender, cut in butter until the mixture is fine particles. (See QUCIK TIP) Mix in egg.

Press 3/4 of the dough in a greased pan and up edges. Slice peaches (do NOT peel) and mix with 1/2 cup sugar, flour, cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves.

Pour on top of the dough in the pan. Drizzle with honey and lemon juice. Crumble remaining dough over top. Bake in oven on the shelf below the center rack 45 minutes to 1 hour.

QUICK TIP: Don’t worry, a pastry blender is not an expensive high-tech gizmo. It has a handle and three blades or wires attached to the handle. It is worth the investment for a job like this, because it’s just that much easier.

Let's Talk About Anti-Semitism

Since this is a blog with a Jewish theme (albeit a food-angled Jewish theme), it’s important to address issues going on in the Jewish community. And one of them is the rise of anti-Semitism.

Oh sure, I’ve heard in the past that Jews aren’t a minority, that we have nothing to fear, we are basically assimilated, etc. But then comes Oliver Stone.

Mind you, Oliver Stone is crazy. This is common knowledge, particularly because he has a history of conspiracy theories, practically making love to dictators and verbal diarrhea. This time, though, he claimed that the Jews control all the media and Washington, that the Holocaust was blown way out of proportion and Hitler was a scapegoat.

He quickly apologized, but I’m not as concerned about Oliver Stone. I know he’s looney tunes. I’m concerned about all the comments on the articles talking about this who claim that Oliver Stone’s quick apology was proof that the Jews control the media with everything else, listing companies that are run by Jewish people and saying how horrible we are and how we are going to dominate the world and the Holocaust wasn’t that bad.

The truth is the Jews can’t win. Whether it’s being blamed for the death of Jesus, blood libel or a little pamphlet called The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, we just can’t escape it. Sometimes, the anti-Semites create this for themselves – for example, in the late 19^th century and early 20^th century, Christians didn’t want to deal with money or entertainment. They thought of these as dirty. Jews never did, so they took on industry, film and the theater with no shame. So now it’s all about the money, and we have it – naturally, you get mad when people have something and you don’t.

What scares me is that people don’t want to see this. They want to believe that, in the 21^st century, that we are beyond hate. We really aren’t. I dealt with anti-Semitism as a child (at nine, I was told I couldn’t come over because, “My mommy doesn’t like Jews”), but it doesn’t even hold a candle to what some of my friends have gone through. Several were called kykes on almost a daily basis. One of my friends had the pleasure of going to class to find a swastika carved on her desk that told her, “Go home Jew.” Several of them were beat up continually.

The worst part? They are all around my age. We are not talking about the ‘40s. We are talking about my generation of young Jews. This has driven their passion to stay Jewish in a time where many are assimilating. It has led them to be proud and not self-hating Jews. But we shouldn’t need to face anti-Semitism to be proud of who we are.

I am constantly reminded of my economics professor from Georgetown, Thomas Rustici, as he roared through a class one night after he discussed how many governments are responsible for killing their own people and discussed the Holocaust. Several girls giggled, and fire seemed to rise to his eyes. I had never seen a man that angry. That night, a group of students stayed late to comfort him, many of them the students I made friends with, the majority of whom were black. He apologized to me, saying that he could never imagine how that could make me feel. My friends and I were talking, and they said, “We know. That’s how we feel when people talk about slavery.”

I would have never known that had we not experienced this moment together. I saw into their lives as black people struggling for their identity, and they saw into mine as a Jew who had to deal with the difficulties of the past. I will never forget what Felicia, E.R. A.J. and the gang taught me on that night – that hate in all forms is still hate, and we must fight together and start a new tradition.

So therefore, I want to reach out to all the people whose minds are still open to love and acceptance: Get to know your neighbors. Meet those unlike yourself. Get to know us as Jews, Latinos, African-Americans, Muslims, Asians, whatever. Introduce yourselves. Sit down and have dinner with us (I promise that if you come to my house, I will cook for you). Hate must be taken down in simple baby steps. Young, Broke and Kosher is not just a lifestyle – it’s a way of coming together.

So in honor of this, I'm going to post this recipe which I am making tomorrow night. Enjoy!

TORTELLINI IN INFUSED BROWN BUTTER SAUCE

1 bag tortellini

1 stick butter

3-4 cloves garlic

1 teaspoon lemon zest

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons parmesan cheese

Prepare the tortellini according to package directions. Meanwhile, melt the butter slowly in a small saucepan and remove any milk solids that float to the top. This is clarifying butter.

Smash the garlic (DO NOT MINCE) and add to the butter once melted. Add lemon zest and salt. Allow to cook slowly until the butter is browned.

While the tortellini is hot, add the brown butter mixture and toss gently. Sprinkle in parmesan cheese. Serve hot.

Life in Suburbia: The Legend of Mr. D

Recently, I went to see a movie in Hollywood Forever Cemetery with Ari, my sister and several friends. One of those friends I hadn’t seen in over 11 years. We went to high school together, and she was a year behind my sister and one year ahead of me. The thing that we had in common was choir.

All three of us were in choir, and Mr. D was the director (I am not using his name, or even the first initial in his name, in order to protect my sorry butt). Mr. D was a Napoleonic figure, a short man with a short fuse. He was beloved by many students, but he wasn’t the nicest man in the world. In fact, if you did something that he didn’t like, Mr. D could be meaner than any football coach.

Mr. D wasn’t all bad. He taught me a lot about music, particularly classical vocal pieces. I understood the beauty that harmonies and choral music could be. I have an incredible passion for music because of him, partially because he was an incredibly passionate person. But in that passion was a form of madness. Mr. D demanded conformity. And if you didn’t conform, you were persona non grata.

Probably the best example of this was me. I fought with him regularly, whether it was having to sing songs talking about “the Lord and savior” (the reply I got was that all the other Jewish kids were doing it, which was probably because they didn’t want to get on his bad side) or even the pronunciation of Hanukah (he pronounced it as if there was an “i” in it, and I called him out, saying there was no “i” in the word Hanukah). My punishment was never making it to one of the top groups, no matter the fact that I could sing a lot better than quite a few of the people who did (and everyone knew it). Mr. D ran a tight ship, and anyone who got in the way was going down. In high school, where you're supposed to be trying to figure out who you are as an individual, why should be forced to conform at every turn?

The worst part about it was that Mr. D could get away with anything he wanted. His booster club made a ton of money, and he always brought back trophies from different competitions around the country. Naturally, this made the administration, particularly the principal, turn the other way when he put Vaseline on the teeth of his choir kids so they’d smile more or yell at them when they weren’t doing things his way. The friend who was with us that night told us that after she dropped the top group in the choir for the spring semester (as she was about to graduate early), he came out to the cafeteria and started screaming at her loudly in front of the entire study hall.

Unfortunately for her, she didn’t see how things changed in the years afterward. In my senior year, a new principal came to the high school. He was a reasonable man, not taking anybody desperately trying to kiss his butt seriously – particularly Mr. D. I came to know the principal well, and he liked the fact that at 17, I had a good head on my shoulders and knew what I wanted in life. During our first meeting, he asked about Mr. D. I remember giving a diplomatic answer – not mean, but not necessarily that nice. It was probably from that moment that he kept a closer eye on him.

When I was awarded a high school graduation speech, Mr. D took more notice of me and gave me something to do in the choir final show of the year. Mind you, we butted heads again, as he expected me to give the same performance every night for the video they made. But I realized at that time that he had no power over me anymore. I heard a rumor later that he was particularly mad at me after my high school graduation speech, as I stole the show from his beloved singers who also performed during it.

Time went on, and I kept in touch with several of my younger friends who were still in choir. One of them became the downfall of Mr. D.

One day, he was yelling at this student, who was then in senior year, and got so mad that Mr. D pushed the student into a door. The student and the student’s parents reported it immediately. When it was reported, former students came forward and reported their stories of Mr. D’s abuse. The principal suspended him from teaching for a year. It was also around this time that his wife left him. His daughter also stopped speaking to him.

He got remarried and once again teaches choir, but from what I have heard, he doesn’t have the power he used to. The principal who started in my senior year is still there, 11 years down the line, and seems to not be going anywhere. I’m sure he’s still keeping an eye on Mr. D.

As for me, I sat in a Denny’s 10 years later talking to a friend and my sister and reminiscing about how Mr. D couldn’t stand me and it was the reason why I wasn’t in a top group. Back then, it was considered the worst thing not to be the good girl and conform. Now, 10 years down the line, my sister is so proud of what I did. It may not have been the most popular thing to stand up to Mr. D, but it was the right thing to do – and we don’t often remember what was popular, but rather what was different, yet true.

Sometimes, you just need to stand up for yourself. Your voice will be heard, and it certainly won’t be forgotten.

So on that note, here is a recipe for you. It’s something that is super-easy to make, so if you have to stand up for what’s right, you can eat something delicious, too.

COD WITH SALSA

3-4 fillets of cod, boneless and skinless

1 jar of peach salsa

Salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Put the cod in a baking dish and season each side with salt and pepper. Pour the peach salsa over the top of the fish, making sure it’s covered as much as possible.

Put the fish in the oven and bake for 15 minutes. Serve hot with either brown rice or salad for a delicious healthy meal.

QUICK TIP: If you can’t find cod, this recipe will work with halibut or even tilapia, although tilapia may get a little flaky during cooking.

Who is a Jew?

NOTE: I would like to apologize for being a bad little monkey and not posting as much as I should have last week. But we are getting back on track for this week with a little dose of controversy.

Here at YBK, I don’t try to get into politics. Being in a bi-partisan marriage (he’s a die-hard Republican, I’m… well, not Republican), I understand that sometimes bringing up tricky subjects in my beliefs will only isolate people, and the goal of YBK is to spread the love.

But there is no love in Israel with this Conversion Bill that the ultra-Orthodox parties are trying to pass through Israeli Parliament, or Knesset. If it passes, it means that the Hardei, or ultra-Orthodox rabbis will have full control over who is determined to be or not to be a Jew in the state of Israel. They will be able to reject any conversions that aren’t “fit,” including those by several Orthodox and modern Orthodox rabbis. They will have control over births, marriages and deaths and how they are dealt with in the state of Israel.

This reminds me exactly as to why my mother has had such a hard time dealing with members of the Orthodox community: When she was a child, growing up with a Sephardi lifestyle, these people were the ones who would harp on her family and tell them that they weren’t really Jewish because of where they were Sephardic. I’m glad we have moved forward in the American Jewish community, but it seems like Israel needs to get a grip.

In the Torah, it strictly outlines that G-d is the almighty and true judge, not the Hardei who will tell people if they’re Jewish enough. It’s almost as if this power would make them feel better about themselves, which G-d has told us in many different stories that to try to possess the power that G-d has is blasphemy.

I always wonder what these people would have told Ruth, who converted simply with, “Wherever you will go, I will go. Let your people become my people and your G-d, my G-d.” Would the Haredi tell her, the woman who would be one of the direct ancestors to King David and, eventually, our Messiah, that she wasn’t Jewish enough? After all, she was a Moabite woman, and she wasn’t supposed to be allowed to convert according to Jewish law. And yet she did, showing loyalty and being given the gift that from her line that the savior of her people would be born.

It’s here when I realize that I feel like that the Israel that I would want to be a part of is never going to exist. After all, it’s Israel that arrested Anat Hoffman, a member of the group Women of the Wall, for carrying a Torah scroll. It’s Israel that won’t recognize the fact that I’m married because I put in an important amendment into my ketubah, or marriage contract. It’s Israel that thinks it’s a good idea to give the Jewish world identity, particularly to those in the Diaspora, to a bunch of extremists. Israel, when I was younger, seemed to be a place where we can all be Jews together. Now, it seems, we can only be Jews if they say that we can be Jews.

I understand now why the secular Jews of Israel have such disdain for the minority of the Orthodox. Not only are they paying taxes so that the ultra-Orthodox won’t have to work, but now they are trying to force their ideas down everyone’s throats. And now, they’re trying to do it with Americans, who, when we go to Israel in the future, would not be considered Jewish because these rabbis say so. It’s isolating the people who love and believe in you. With Israel being such a PR disaster already, why would you want to do something stupid like that?

I would love if, in my lifetime, I could see the Holy Temple in Jerusalem be built up once more. But I have to ask the Haredi – how do you expect it to be built if you reject the majority of Jews from being a part of it? How are we going to get our Meshiach when all you want to do is fight those who are Jewish, identify as a part of the Jewish people and want to help shape our destiny?

So today, I wish on this Ninth of Av that we do not destroy ourselves by dividing us against one another. The Hardei could really use a lesson in that.

And since it is the Ninth of Av, it’s traditional not to eat, so therefore, there will be no recipe… just some food for the mind instead.

Why I Call Long Beach Home

I have recently started a walking routine during the day. It is something I feel that is important, and I feel like that I have needed. And every time I do it, I’m reminded of why I love Long Beach.

I go down to the bike path that runs between Belmont Shore and Downtown Long Beach. The beautiful sunshine and the nice ocean breeze are great, but what really makes it amazing is the fact that as I’m walking, there are little things to make you take a step back and smile – a little family with a many trying to help his child ride a bike while he rides alongside on a tiny razor scooter, a little girl studying objects in the sand while her grandmother looks on and even a young man escorting his grandmother for a leisurely walk down near the water.

Every runner is different and every walker has their own motivation. But I am constantly amazed at the little things as I walk along the beach – whether it’s a cute little graffiti-ed monster on the ground or the name of Hashem drawn in the sand. It’s a tribute to the quirks and joy that is our beloved city.

It’s so unlike where I grew up. In Thousand Oaks, everything was clean and free of such whimsy. The people who were running along the streets were typically super-skinny women, blonde and in high-end workout gear. Mind you, in a town where everyone seems to be the same, it’s hard to expect anything else.

I came to Long Beach three years ago (it will be the third anniversary at the end of the month), and the beauty of it is that I still discover things about the city. There are tons of local businesses, hundreds of different roads and plenty of new and fascinating people. There is always something interesting to do – half of which I’m probably not even aware of.

The best part, though, is that it’s a city for everyone, whether you are a shopper, an eater, an artist, a dreamer or lead an active life. A nerd like me, wearing my thick-framed Ray-Bans and anarchy shoes is not some weird freak who wandered into town -- that’s saved for when I walk into a market in Thousand Oaks. Long Beach has been the first place that I have lived where I could be me. I didn’t have to conform like in my suburban life. Although it’s not as comfortable, I’m getting the amazing adventure of living in this city, from kayaking to visiting the farmer’s market. It’s a city that, instead of being pretty and perfect, feels like it’s breathing. It’s the most alive city I have known.

All in all, Long Beach is like me – a little gritty, unusual, awe-inspiring, never just one thing and yet always fun. What more could you ask for?

And on that note, here are some of the pictures that I have taken on my walk on the bike path. Enjoy!

Tales from the (Job) Front

Since the middle word of this blog is “broke,” it’s probably no secret that I’m out there with millions of other Southern Californians looking for work. So therefore, we are experiencing many of the same quirky “career counselors,” hypocrisies in hiring and the frustration of, “Why isn’t this person calling me back? Can’t they see I really want this job?”

I have applied to many jobs. I’ve had interviews. And most recently, a lot of them have been weird. The jobs that I want to call me don’t, and those that do have odd concepts of how to approach me. Several of them have even been sex-oriented. But the truth is that they tell a lot about the current job market and what it has in store for people like me.

Consider my last three job interviews:

The first was with a major pornography magazine that I will not name here (some of you already know, but as we don’t want to defame them, please do not say who they are). When I got there, they were professional and courteous, and I felt that I connected. The guy who interviewed me said, “Look, I understand this job isn’t for everyone. So I’m going to give you some copies of the magazines to look at, and if you’re not comfortable with the content, I completely understand.” I give him full credit for being upfront and honest with me, and I took my three copies, stuffed them in my resume folder and walked down the street with them. After scanning them, though, everything became a private part of some kind for the next three days. Even if they offered the job, I would have refused. I realized there was so much I could take. But at the very least, they were professional.

The second was with a marketing company. The job description seemed like it was okay. The company looked legit, so I went to the interview all the way out in the San Gabriel Valley. I was brought in and filled out an application. After I did that, there were three boxes put in front of me on a desk. One said, “Feel me.” One said, “Rock me.” One said, “Savor me.” There were also three tiny envelopes with the names on them. The man explained to me that these boxes were the company's new packaging – for condoms. And I had to write the copy for one of them. I was in shock that a company would do this in an interview, but I felt like I had to do it, even though what this company did was totally unprofessional. The worst part about being unemployed is that it feels like you have to jump through hoops to beg for a treat, even if the hoops are on fire. This was definitely not right.

The last of these was for a sales job – finally, a job interview without sex. I met them at a job fair, and the man for this office was insistent that I would be a perfect fit for their sales office, saying what a good personality I had. I’ve done sales before, and I mentioned that I wasn’t successful at it. When I got in their office, they were nice enough, but left me in a back room for 15 minutes without an, "I'm sorry, I will be X amount of minutes more." When the person who I talked to got in there, he outlined the sales job, and I realized this was a pitch, complete with no pay – exclusively commission. I then asked, “What percentage of people who you bring into your office succeed and stay with the company?” When the answer was, “Well, you know, if they do X, Y and Z, then they stay.” Not a direct answer – this was the ultimate sign of spin. It wasn't that they wanted me -- they wanted a body to bring in, because the chances were that probably 80 percent of people didn't succeed.

Three different stories, but they have a similar meaning to what the job market is right now. I studied economics in college, so I know a bit about supply and demand, and the fact of the matter is that the spectrum is skewed. When you reach a scarcity in jobs and an increase in applicants, companies have control in the job markets, and there are quite a few of those that take advantage of their position.

I’ve seen postings for jobs that require you to have a ton of experience and list tons of job duties that you will have to do for them … all while making $8 an hour. And they can do this because there are people who are more than willing to put up with anything so they can have a job. And then, when they’re hired and being underpaid, overworked and treated unfairly, the whole idea is, “Well, they should just be thankful they’re working.”

I know it seems odd and unusual, and companies will probably not listen to me on this, but is it so hard to treat your employees (or potential employees you interview) with an ounce of respect? I know times are tough, but just because they are doesn’t mean you should make people eat dirt, whether it’s in the job interview or after you bring them on board. It may not be the cool thing to do, but the right thing to do often isn’t. Heck, if a pornography magazine can be nice enough to be straightforward, honest and considerate of me and my feelings, could it hurt if you did it, too?

Meanwhile, I will continue submitting my resume and putting a big smile on my face when I walk in the door wearing my super-high heels. I will do what it takes to get work in order to get my husband and myself out of this hell that we call unemployment. But, in all of this, I know I am worth something. I may not get paid well, but I’m not worth being treated like less of a person because I should be thankful for any job that comes to me.

What is Za'atar?

I use unconventional ingredients. Romanesco cauliflower? No problem. Purple carrots? Bring ‘em on. Coffee grounds as a rub on steaks? Awesome. But there is one particular unconventional ingredient that I am particularly fond of. It’s the one that started it all: za’atar.

What is it, you may ask? It is an actual plant, but most of the time, it’s a combination of herbs such as oregano, marjoram and thyme, along with sumac and sesame seeds. According to My Jewish Learning, in the Torah what we know as za’atar had many purposes, including purification. (Read the article here). Today, it's used on foods in a variety of Middle Eastern countries, including Israel.

I came to discover za’atar from my former roommate, Boaz. I was not so culinarily advanced in those days (so much so that he claims rights on my current cooking skills), but he knew how to do some things. Boaz introduced me to pizza dough from Trader Joe’s, Israeli cow chocolate and, of course, za’atar, which he would put on his Israeli salad with lebne cheese.

You can’t get it at a regular grocery store. It has to be bought at a Persian market or at a kosher market that ships in Israeli items. I got mine at a kosher market on Pico that sells Middle Eastern items. But it’s worth it. I found plenty of use for it over the years on beef and chicken, and you can even use it to top pita.

And then, all of a sudden, it became trendy. On Top Chef, chef and master of the French accent Eric Ripert had contestants one season try his dishes and replicate them. Hosea had a za’atar-crusted fish. Mind you, it didn’t stop him from sounding completely goyish when he said: “I don’t know what za-TAR is!” Unlike Hosea (who, due to some odd twist of fate, won that season of Top Chef), most chefs have learned to think outside the box when it comes to food.

The best part about this exploration is that we embrace the world as we take in our food. To be adventurous and choose the ingredients that not everyone knows or understands, let alone contemplates ever being allowed on certain types of food, is priceless. In this way, za’atar stands apart. When I mention it and people kind of look at me funny, it’s a way of introducing them to something new and unique. It's a special experience.

When we try new things, we open doors to places where we never thought possible. It’s the only way to get anywhere in this world. Sometimes you have to try something new in order get where you’re meant to be. As it’s true in food, it’s true with the job hunt, moving to a new city – or anything else you can think of. Let loose and have fun, and don’t let there be any horizon.

If you want to make you own za’atar, follow the link above to My Jewish Learning. Once you do (or buy a box of it), you can use my recipe below. Ari loves this preparation of chicken, and it’s the best to make chicken soup with. You may have found tips to do it under roast chicken, but here is the actual recipe.

REINA’S ZA’ATAR CHICKEN

1 whole chicken

¼ cup za’atar

3 tablespoons olive oil

2 tablespoons garlic powder

Salt and pepper

1 whole lemon

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

Put the chicken in a roasting pan, and add za’atar, olive oil, garlic powder and salt and pepper. Massage both into the chicken skin and underneath the skin (you should be able to loosen the skin at either end and slip your fingers in). Slice the lemon and insert into the cavity of the chicken, and add salt and pepper.

Place the chicken in the over and cook for 1 ½ to 2 hours, making sure to baste the chicken in order for it to get golden brown and develop a crispy skin. The chicken should be 160 degrees at the thigh if you have a thermometer. If not, wiggle the chicken legs. If they move freely, the chicken should be ready.

QUICK TIP: I’ve heard of recipes for za’atar chicken that incorporate apricots, prunes and other dried fruits to counteract the sourness. I personally like the flavor, but if you want, feel free to substitute the lemon with the fruits.

The Beatles and Me

My friend Susanna posted a Facebook status about teaching the kids in her class in Israel to sing “She Loves You” by the Beatles. One of the little kids perked up and sang that falsetto “ooooh.” It was the same one that made girls squeal back in 1963, back when the Beatles were starting to get their footing in the United States.

My sister and I may not have been children of the ‘60s, but our parents certainly were. We listened to music of that era, and it was played throughout the house. My parents didn’t always like the same music (mom liked singer-songwriters, dad liked showtunes), but they always came together for the Beatles.

As a child, it was John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr who taught me the power of imagination. There were yellow submarines to travel on and tangerine trees and marmalade skies to find. It was constantly playing in the house, whether it was the early albums or when I got older and began listening to the White Album.

As I got older, the Beatles’ music amazingly grew with me. Very few things from childhood stay with you, but I always grin when one of their songs comes on the radio. Sometimes I hear songs and feel like I’m discovering them all over again. I play them when I’m in the kitchen cooking and sometimes Ari and I will dance like goofballs to them. It’s happy music.

But the most incredible thing is that the Beatles seem to bring out the best in everything. If you ever pick up the book “Where the Girls Are,” by Susan Douglas (which is a great read, so I recommend you pick it up through Amazon), her love of the Fab Four resonates on the page. It’s where she makes her some of her best arguments regarding the beginnings of feminism in the 1960s – how the Beatles were unusually androgynous, fun-loving and, above all, loved and cherished their female fans, which made them go ga-ga for them. One of my favorite lines in the book talks about how all the Beatles wanted to do was hold our hands and be good to us, unlike other threatening sex symbols.

Susan Douglas connected in her own way to the Beatles, and I always am amazed how each person connects to the music. Whether it’s my younger cousins when they were little to how my father listens to the music and muses about how the Beatles seemed to understand the stories of others, it touches us. It moves us in a way that feels so far away in current popular music, and although I love the stuff that is currently on the scene and there are plenty of talented artists out there, much of it can’t even begin to hold a candle to what the Beatles did.

The reason why they can’t understand is simple – it’s because the Beatles understood life and the world around them. They didn’t just write about going to dance, drink and have fun. They sung about love, peace and changing the world. They mused about small towns and about days in the life. They spoke of freedom, new beginnings and, yes, even about sex sometimes. They knew more about the human condition than most people, and never shied away from even the dark parts of it. And the simplicity made it work. It made them the soundtrack of this world, to the point where you could probably go to almost any place in the world, start singing a song and have people nearby echo it.

Even in my darkest times, it gives hope to me to know these four guys from a working class town in England could understand this world and then find the power to inspire others. So my hope to you is that you take the Beatles’ power and find your own way to change the world. You may not get everyone in the world to sing your song, but to reach out and change a few people to spread the word can make a difference, too.

In honor of the Beatles, I’m putting on my mom’s rice and beans recipe – the ultimate in simplicity and humble roots, but still hearty and delicious. Also, it’s vegan, so even Paul McCartney could eat it.

BEANS AND RICE

1 bag dried Great Northern, Cannelini or white beans

1 large onion

3 stalks celery

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 can tomato sauce

1 teaspoon sugar

Salt and pepper

2 cups rice (white or brown both work)

Reconstitute the beans either by allowing them to soak overnight in water or boiling them for one hour. Meanwhile, dice the onion and celery.

Heat the olive oil in a large soup pot. Add the onion and celery, allowing the onion to become translucent. Add water and the beans in a 2-1 ratio. Add tomato sauce and sugar, along with salt and pepper.

Cover and cook low and slow for five to six hours – the longer you cook it, the tastier it is. When you get closer to the time you eat it, prepare the rice according to package directions. Serve hot.

QUICK TIP 1: This recipe is so simple that it can be varied in many different ways. My mother sometimes makes the beans with marrow bones so it adds some extra flavor, if you don’t mind the meat. But feel free to experiment and use different spices to go along with the beans – Italian spices would probably be super-tasty.

QUICK TIP 2: When you make the rice, feel free to toss in a consumme cube with the water you use to boil it. It gives a little extra flavor to the rice.

Welcome Newbies!

Friday is usually a slower day on Young, Broke and Kosher. But not today – YBK has been featured in OC Jewish Life, and upon last check, the article is one of the most popular stories on their website! So since there are a lot of new people coming by, I thought I might as well introduce myself personally:

My name is Reina Kutner, known to some as Reina Victoria, known to dad as just Victoria. I’m from a town called Thousand Oaks, which is so white that white bread is achingly jealous. I went to Pierce College in the San Fernando Valley, then escaped to Orange County to be at Cal State Fullerton. My Nony, Regina Amira, who hailed from a Sephardic family that relocated to New York from Turkey before she was born, was the best cook in the world. She taught me about food and love, and although she is gone, I miss her every day.

I am a bit of a punk Jew – I do things my way, right down to my red-and-black checkered Vans. I keep kosher, but I’m not super-religious. Instead of living in Pico-Robertson, the Jewish area of Los Angeles, I keep kosher in an obscure part of Long Beach, about 30 miles south. Here, I don’t have to keep up with the Schwartzes or Goldbergs. Instead, I can be me, kosher and happy. Long Beach is really the first place that I have ever considered home.

When I got married, I began to teach myself about cooking. I could cook before, but I wanted to learn it all. In my unemployment right after I got married, I started watching Food Network shows and started teaching myself about food. I learned a lot by being intuitive, going to farmer’s markets and talking to others. I then decided to write a memoir/cookbook, “Young, Broke and Kosher.”

Eventually, I would find work at a national newspaper syndicate, but then my husband would be laid off. We had a hard time, but we made do. Then came Six – the nickname I gave to the sixth blood clot I had. The first five came in 2004, at the age of 21. Despite this life-threatening condition, I continued to go to work. The result? Two weeks later I was laid off from my job, and my husband and I were left with no jobs and a pile of medical bills.

Six months after the blood clot, I decided that I shouldn’t just sit around on my butt and wait for something to happen. I made “Young, Broke and Kosher” into a blog, and hence this site was born. With recipes and stories, I was going to let people in. I didn’t want to hide from people – rather, it was time to show them who I was and what I do. I feel that I need to be able to talk about anything, be funny and goofy if needed and be serious at other times.

I have gone super-viral, and that has meant that I had to teach myself about social media and what it takes to promote a blog. I have a Facebook fan page for Young, Broke and Kosher and a Twitter account. (On Twitter, you can find us @youngbrokekosh)

Currently, I’m trying to develop video, which we will post onto YouTube, and launch our actual site, youngbrokeandkosher.com (still looking for cheap hosting for this broke lady). I have recently joined up with a federation of food bloggers called EatNation, and represent the Los Angeles region.

Less than a year after Six, I’m healthy and moving on with my life, complete with full control over my medical condition. I feel like I have no limits. Yes, I may be broke, and I may be odd, but I’m not afraid.

For those who have been with me all this time, I still love you! Here’s the link to the article: http://www.ocjewishlife.com/site/“young-broke-and-kosher”/

In the meantime, here is one of my favorite recipes, which I made the other night. It’s been posted before, but it’s worth doing again. P’tayavon and Shabbat Shalom!

TURKEY JOES

2 pounds ground turkey

1 large onion

4 cloves garlic

Salt and pepper

2 tablespoons olive oil

¼ cup flour

1/2 cup barbecue sauce

2 teaspoons mustard

2 teaspoons honey

4 tablespoons rice vinegar

hamburger buns

Chop the onion and mince the garlic. Meanwhile, season the turkey with the salt and pepper.

Heat two tablespoons of the olive oil in the pan. Add the garlic and allow it to cook slightly in the olive oil. Add the onion and salt to soften. Allow them to become translucent.

Add the ground turkey and stir in the pan until all the pink of the meat is gone. Add the flour, stirring until it absorbs the juices from the meat. This is going to be the base of your sauce.

Add the rice vinegar, barbecue sauce, honey and mustard. Stir until every piece is completely coated. Serve on hamburger buns. Get yourself a napkin, because it will be messy!