How do you say "Gobble, gobble" in Hebrew?

I was at the butcher counter at the supermarket today. My ears perked up when the man ahead of me asked the butcher for a whole turkey. That's something you don't see too often in these parts. I mean, sure, sometimes there's a whole turkey sitting there in the display case, waiting to be bought and roasted, but it's not something on too many Israelis' shopping lists. (Turkey parts are very popular, though.)

And it's not like this was an American who was buying a bird in advance of Thanksgiving. His wife joined him in line, and they were chatting in Hebrew.

The butcher checked in the back, and sure enough, brought out a whole turkey for the guy. He unceremoniously threw it into a plastic bag and handed it over.

Seeing that little exchange reminded me that Thanksgiving is coming up- I'd forgotten all about it. Every year it recedes further and further to the back of my mind. We haven't celebrated it in a very long time, but I still get a bit wistful, thinking of my family getting together without me, enjoying my mother's delicious meal. She makes the ultimate turkey. Mmmm.....

I do love turkey, maybe I should ask the butcher to throw one in a bag for me the next time I'm at the super. When I was a wee lass, the grown-ups had to tell me that it was chicken on my plate. Apparently, I turned up my little nose at turkey and would only eat it if I thought it was something I was already familiar with. How silly, eh? Well, I was a pretty picky eater as a kid. Not anymore, though!

How to embarrass your kid in one easy lesson

The scene: an escalator at a shopping mall somewhere in the center of the country. OK, OK, I don't mean to sound so cryptic- we were at the mall in Ramat Aviv (north Tel Aviv).

So we're going up, and I put my arms around my 8-year-old who's standing a step above me. I had a sudden urge to hug the kid, what can I tell ya.

"Mom, you're embarrassing me," he said, squirming out of my reach. Oh yeah. I'd forgotten that lately he doesn't always like it when I'm affectionate with him in public. *sniff!*

Since I couldn't hug him, I decided to tease him a little. We step off the escalator, and I tell him that from now on I will make sure to walk 5 paces behind him at all times so there will be no possibility of me touching him and embarrassing him in public. I then follow through on this.

He looked back at me (5 paces back!). "Now I'm even more embarrassed."

For posterity

I am finally getting around to typing up the recipe for my fantabulous honey cake. It was lost for a few years, but I found it a few months ago, just in time for Rosh Hashana. The original, hand-written on a Post-It, is getting harder and harder to read, so today I decided to get my act together and save it on my computer (and in my email account in case the computer ever explodes) and realized that I should share the wealth and post it here as well.

Growing up, I didn't like honey cake. It was always too dry. But several years ago, I tasted a neighbor's version (here in Israel) and it was delicious. She gladly gave me the recipe, scribbled in Hebrew. It's very moist, very yummy- and in no universe could it be considered healthy, but hey. Live a little.

Since this is an "Israeli" recipe, the cups are not American sized. I use one of those glass coffee cups that you see everywhere in this country. I really don't think it would matter too much if you used an American cup measure, though.

• 1 cup self-rising flour
• 1 cup regular flour
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 cup honey
• 3/4 cup oil
• 1/2 tsp. cinammon
• 1/2 tsp. baking soda
• 1/2 tsp. cloves
• 2 eggs
• 1 cup tea (prepared, of course! :-)
• 1 grated apple (or more, if you want. It really adds something to the cake.)
  

Mix it all up and pour into 2 loaf pans or 1 regular pan. Bake at 350F/180C for about an hour.

A rare purchase

I'm talking about chocolate spread. The "food" item that doesn't usually appear on my shopping list. But it keeps popping up lately:

Last week, a friend of my husband's dropped off his kids here for a few hours. I'd never met them before but thought it was pretty safe to serve pita and chummus for a snack. The little boy, about 5 years old, shook his head at my offering. And at every other thing I tried to give him to eat. His older sister finally said, "He only eats pita with chocolate spread."

"I don't have any chocolate spread," I said.

The girl looked at me in horror. Seriously, if was if I'd suddenly grown another head. "YOU DON'T?" Like I'm the only mother in this country who doesn't have a jar on hand at all times. Maybe I am. He finally settled for corn flakes. Plain, without milk.

And a few days ago, my son had a friend sleep over. When I talked to his mother on the phone she mentioned that he'd need a sandwich to take to school the next day. No problem, I'd already planned to ask him what he wanted.

"He only eats sandwiches with chocolate spread," she said.

Whoa. The kid is 13. Is chocolate between 2 slices of bread really enough to get him through the day? But I kept my mouth shut and ran to the store later to buy a jar.

Naturally, my own kids wanted the same filling in THEIR sandwiches. Of course I caved. They were ecstatic.

I've said this before- I don't have anything against chocolate spread as a dessert or treat (though I read the ingredients on that jar, and there ain't much chocolate there). But it should not be treated as an actual food item. Don't pretend that it's something like cheese or tuna that would make a nice, nutritional sandwich for a kid to eat at school.

Hmm, all this sandwich talk has put me in the mood for some peanut butter!

A few clues that winter is headed our way

• It was really cold and rainy this morning and I had to scramble to find sweatshirts, sweatpants, etc. for the kids.
• Driving the gang to school, I could barely see 2 feet in front of me even though the windshield wipers were going full blast.
• The streets were flooded, as usual during a hard rain. The country's roads and sewer system really aren't set up to handle the overflow. Happens every year.
• When I got back from the supermarket I was trapped in my car for a little while when the rain turned into hail. I didn't want to get pelted by little chunks of ice, so I waited it out.
• There was no power when I walked into the house. Never a good thing, but especially on Friday! Our whole neighborhood was without electricity. I used a match to light the gas stove so I could at least start on the soup (yes, now that the weather's cold I'm back to making soup for Shabbat every week). Luckily the power was back within a half hour.
  

It's still a bit early for winter to really start, though- it doesn't fully kick in until December. Until then, I fully expect to have a few more really hot days here and there. Even after December, we still get the occasional sharav (heatwave). Schizophrenic weather makes life so much fun.

But there's no denying the change of season, so let's celebrate with a song. Here's one by an obscure little band- I think they show real promise.

I heart YouTube

I was in the mood to hear one of my favorite Hebrew songs, Lamah Achshav (Why Now) so I checked on Youtube and there it was! I just love that song, it has a very Beatlesesque quality to it.

Have a listen:




I didn't even know who sang it til now. I've never heard of Kobi Recht (and neither has my sabra husband, surprisingly), but I've certainly heard of singer/songwriter Kobi Oshrat (he's the guy in the bottom picture in that video). He wrote Hallelujah, the song that won the Eurovision for Israel in 1979- he's conducting the orchestra at that performance.




Just might be my all-time favorite Israeli Eurovision entry (it's neck and neck with this one). Let's be honest, though- it wouldn't take much to make it to the top of that list (our successes notwithstanding).

Good Abba

My husband's a good father. Sometimes he has better parenting instincts than I do.

One of my kids was in a bad mood Friday night and was being a real beast. He's usually a good kid, and everyone's entitled to be a jerk sometimes-but his "jerkness" was affecting everyone else at the dinner table. So we finally told him to finish eating and go to his room.

He angrily got up and started stomping off. I wasn't going to say a word to him. But as he passed my husband's chair, my husband said to him, very softly and sweetly, "Laila tov, chamood." (good night, cutie.)

Oh, boy. That did it. My son started crying, hugged his father, and apologized for his behavior. Then he came around to me and did the same thing. He asked to stay with the rest of us and promised to behave. Of course we said yes.

"Impressive," I said to my husband. "What made you think to do that?"

He smiled. "Always give a kid a ladder."