My generation is an odd one. I feel that we are misunderstood, often characterized as narcissistic and feeling that we deserve a lot more than we do. I’ve read books basically talking about how horrible my generation is (which begs the question: If we are that way, then what does that say about the people who raised us, who probably wrote some of these books?).
This comes up as I read an article on MSNBC.com recently, which said that unemployment rates for our generation are at their lowest in decades. On top of it, we can’t get work in the fields that we trained for because the older generation is still continuing to work and getting the jobs that used to be filled by us. It discussed how my generation is incredibly educated, but saddled with college loans and having to move back in with their parents in order to get by. In turn, we won’t make as much as our parents and will have a difficult time achieving what came so easily to them.
The way we have dealt with the recession has varied. I have watched as many people from my generation have gone back to school either in order to ride out the recession or to maybe get a better job. Quite a few of my friends applied to law school and are attending in the fall – some of them going to incredible schools. Same goes with MBA programs. On the opposite side, I have also seen members of my generation behave foolishly, taking trips they really can’t afford and spending money they don’t have. But it doesn’t answer the question – who are we, really?
We can’t seem to be explained in song like our parents, or even have a whole bunch of movies like Generation X did with John Hughes. Heck, we don’t even have a war to define us like the World War II generation. The culture of America can’t seem to touch us or put a finger on us, and G-d knows they have tried their best. They have appealed to our demographic in television, film and whatnot, but at the same time they haven’t captured our essence. In a sense, we are elusive – which results in many books trying to explore this question.
The truth is that we are still trying to learn who we are. We were raised by parents who either were so busy working they threw money at us or had their entire lives revolve around our different lessons and sports. They were successful, but we learned that success sometimes things would fall by the wayside. We also lived in a generation where our parents’ divorces or those of our friends’ parents became a natural part of our lives, so there was a degree of heartbreak as well.
The fact that the feminist and civil rights movements came before we were born has given us advantages that our mothers and sometimes fathers never had. It was a given that girls were going to go to college, and not just to find a husband. I feel like we have had a lot, and I have always appreciated what our parents have done in order to provide the lives they gave us.
But the truth is that maybe we don’t want the lives our parents had, no matter what they gave us. Perhaps we want to put more into our relationships than we do into our working lives. We may not work 16-hour days like our parents did, but we will be able to have fulfillment beyond just making a check. This doesn’t make us less ambitious – just more aware of what we can lose if we give everything to our work or to our kids.
All I really know is that members of my generation are in for the fight of their lives. Our parents were fortunate enough that when they were growing up, most of them never knew firsthand what our grandparents went through in the Great Depression. But the fact is that we are dealing now, and we will learn through experience what it takes to survive.
After all, who knows? We could become a greater generation.
When I was in high school, I had a friend who figured out he was gay, and came out. He was a good friend, and what he did took a lot of guts: Admitting you’re gay in a high school that was insanely homophobic, right down to every person saying, “That’s so gay” whenever anything was wrong, was beyond courageous. I will always admire him for it, and never forget it.
Even before I knew that certain friends were gay (many of whom came out later), I knew that being homophobic was wrong. I knew it just as much as I knew that being racist or sexist was wrong.
The issue became personal later as I realized that someone very close to me who I love is gay. Growing up, I thought that my Uncle B living in West Hollywood, having a bunch of Disney stuff and an interior design business was normal. I wondered why he didn’t get married, because he was the best uncle that two little girls could ever ask for. I was beginning to sense that he was gay when my dad, his brother, had a conversation with him about my sister’s first boyfriend, and he was talking about the wedding.
“Now, now, she’s got a lot more boys’ hearts to break,” my father said.
“Well, so do I!” Uncle B replied.
The truth was that I found out later about how his sexual identity tortured him. My grandfather never really understood my uncle, and my grandmother never really accepted his sexual identity. It was during a complicated time where homosexuality wasn’t talked about openly. There have been so many generations where people were ruined by living in a world where there wasn’t acceptance of how they lived.
I love Uncle B very much, and think of him, and all my amazing gay friends of past, present and future, today as proposition 8 was overturned by a federal judge. Gay marriage, for me, is right for so many reasons, from helping increase our revenues from the increased marriage industry that California would have or simply because it’s better than the lame excuses that the other side gives (Protect marriage? From who? Is there an evil monster coming to destroy the Los Angeles County Registrar-Recorder’s office because of this?).
Yes, I do keep kosher and I am a conservative Jew, but the fact of the matter is that I am a fan of progress. I am not for tradition unless it means something at the end of the day, and not a fan of things being a certain way just because they always were that way. So in a world where straight people get divorced as quickly as they say, “I do,” I am a firm believer in giving marriage to people who still hold it as something sacred.
This does make me an odd anomaly in a world where I balance tradition and the modern world. I have detested the arguments where people say “Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve,” or that the bible said it. The truth is the bible also outlined how we sacrifice animals. And many of the who don’t want gay marriage and cite the bible for their reason I’m sure love their pork – and this kosher goddess may take away your pork and cheeseburgers in that case to prove your hypocrisy (Leviticus is where they first outline kashrut laws and where many cite the “homosexuality is an abomination” thing, FYI).
The truth of the matter? It’s not our business. I have come to the conclusion that I am the only one who can control my life, and I believe that everyone else should be given the same autonomy. The whole question of G-d is something that cannot be forced down our throats. When it comes down to it, my personal choices are between Hashem and me, and I will only answer to The Holy One at the end of the day. It should be the same for our gay friends.
I want to let my gay friends know that I will be a friend to them no matter what happens. It’s why the overturning of Proposition 8 is so important to me. I stand against inequality and always stand for love. When I see pictures of you looking so happy with your loved one as you are about to be married, I am joyous in the fact that there is more love in this universe than hate. And it gives me that much more of a chance to see a gay wedding. I definitely want to go to a gay wedding!
And on that note, here is a pizza that you could serve as an appetizer at your wedding. Here’s to all my gay friends and to my beloved uncle. I love you!
GOAT CHEESE PIZZA
1 ball pizza dough (see QUICK TIP 1)
Flour
¼ cup spaghetti or pizza sauce (see QUICK TIP 2)
1 8-ounce container of goat cheese
1 can sliced black olives
8-10 marinated artichoke hearts
3 tablespoons parmesan cheese
1 teaspoon oregano
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
Knead and roll out your pizza dough on a biscuit tray, using flour in case it gets too sticky. Pour and spread out spaghetti sauce on top.
Slice the goat cheese and disperse evenly on top of the dough. Top with olives. Drain and pat the artichoke dry of any excess oil and top the pizza. Sprinkle parmesan and oregano.
Bake for 20 minutes, until the artichokes and cheese begin to slightly brown. Slice and serve.
QUICK TIP 1: I use store-bought dough, as it really is a lot easier for me to do on a night where I need a quick meal. However, if you want to make your own dough, I really like this recipepizza.com site for the variety, but this recipe from Giada DeLaurentiis looks fabulous .
During the last two weeks, I was house sitting and dog sitting for little white Bichon by the name of Rusty (whose cute face is at left). He belongs to my cousins, and they asked us to take care of him while they were on vacation. I’m a dog lover, so I agreed.
What I forgot, since it has been a long time since I have actually owned a dog, is how each one is different. There are certain aspects of their personalities that are funny, charming and unusual. For example, Rusty thinks I’m a sucker, so he decides to hide under my cousin’s bed in the hopes that he’ll get a treat. When I don’t respond, he finds me and looks at me as if to say, “What gives?” That, and he loved stealing clothes from my suitcase and taking them into my cousin’s room. Oh, and a tissue that I blew my nose in as well.
One thing is for sure: Dogs aren’t called man’s best friend for no reason. They are the ones who make us laugh and smile, and sometimes shake our heads in confusion. They’re there to comfort us when we cry. And they are the ones who hold a special place in our hearts, even as the years go by and they leave us.
Ari didn’t have dogs when he was growing up, but I sure did. When I was born, I had a protector by the name of Spirit. He was a mutt born on Halloween, and was six years old when I came into the world. He kept track of me like I was one of his puppies, and made sure to stand guard at my crib.
My sister had a protector, too – Spirit’s sister, Gobbie, or Goblin. They were mischievous and fun, and we were one of them. They enjoyed us and took care of us in their own special canine way for as long as they could. Goblin died when I was three, but Spirit lasted a long time, and died six years later. He was my first best friend – gentle, sweet and incredibly patient when I was putting different hats on him for fun.
I loved having dogs growing up. They had free spirits filled with complexity. They’re soulful, playful and sometimes rambunctious. Even Radar, my sister’s dog who came after Gobbie, had her own thing going on – right down to eating my chemistry homework in 10th grade. But all they really want to do is be there for you. That, and in Radar’s case, eat anything that came in her general direction.
It even shows in years later, as my mother cares for the dog that I picked out, Lucy. This German Shepherd is a very funny dog indeed, whether she’s following mom like a shadow, running around after a ball (or a squirrel, if she can find one) or sticking her cold wet nose right where that tiny little bit of skin is showing between your shirt and your jeans so she can be pet. At one point, dad found her waiting for mom in a pile of clothes in the closet. Unusual beasts, indeed.
But the truth is that, no matter how much they get on our nerves or drive us crazy with their antics, a cute dog is a pretty hard thing to get over. One day on my walk, I was coming back to my car past the Belmont Shore dog beach, and then I saw it: A dog whose face was identical to my Spirit’s face. This dog happened to be a puppy, and was ready to give its owners a lifetime of fun and joy. It was a young couple, and I wondered if they would eventually have children who would enjoy having a dog, running around the backyard and the dog covering that child’s face with kisses.
Either way, when we came back to Long Beach from our little adventure with Rusty, I kept looking down towards the doorway to our bedroom. I could almost see him there, looking at me funny, waiting to run down the hall with me and pose himself conveniently next to the garage door, waiting for a treat. Or running around like a puppy waiting to go on his walk. For a dog who loved stealing my clothing, it turns out that he warmed my heart.
So, in honor of Rusty the clothes-stealer, I have a recipe. If there was one thing that Rusty really enjoyed, it was the smell of chopped garlic. When I was mincing it, it seemed to be Rusty’s cue to come visit me in the kitchen. I made this dish when I was house sitting, and it was too good not to share. This is a very basic recipe, and it’s good for when you’re starting out making curries. Serve with brown rice.
TOFU COCONUT CURRY
1 block extra-firm tofu
¼ cup hoisin sauce
8 shiitake mushrooms
3 small heads bok choy
2-3 large carrots
4 green onions
4 garlic cloves
2 tablespoons sesame oil
2 cans light coconut milk
2-3 tablespoons curry powder
Other curry spices (see QUICK TIP 2)
Drain the tofu and chop into cubes (see QUICK TIP 1). Marinate in hoisin sauce. Meanwhile, slice the shiitake mushrooms and chop the bok choy (discarding roots and ends) and carrots. Slice the green onions and mince the garlic.
In a soup pan, heat the oil and add the shiitakes and carrots. Season with salt and pepper. Add the garlic. Saute for three to four minutes, then add the tofu. Cook for another two minutes, constantly turning the pan.
Add the bok choy and green onions. Add the coconut milk, curry powder and other spices. Allow to simmer until the coconut milk begins to reduce and the mixture begins to thicken. Serve hot over rice.
QUICK TIP 1: Tofu, if not drained properly, will fall apart during cooking. If your tofu is packed in water, remove it from the package and wrap it in paper towels. Put it on a plate and place another one on top with a heavy object to weigh it down. You may have to replace the paper towels several times. However, if you can find your tofu vacuum-sealed instead of packed in water, it will take you a lot less time to drain it.
QUICK TIP 2: I personally like my curry powder and coconut milk for the mixture because it doesn’t overpower the subtle sweetness of the mixture. However, there are certain components of the curry powder spice mix you like best – like ginger, tumeric, coriander and cumin, or even cinnamon, clove, nutmeg and mustard powder – that you may want to accentuate. If so, feel free to add them to your curry.
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.
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 19th century and early 20th 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 21st 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.
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.
