A rabbi is coming our house for a visit tonight.
I hadn’t focused on the fact that she might be hungry at 7:30pm, until I got home at 7:15pm.
I have Kosher wine on hand as a general rule. One thing I learned is that if you have kosher liquor, even religious people’s dietary restriction loosen up some.
I scrounge up un-opened Kosher (and Pareve) hummus, kosher tortilla chips, carrots and grapes (what’s not to be kosher about carrots and grapes?).
Ok, now what to put them in? The RULE: Glass plates and bowls because one doesn’t have to worry about whether they are dairy or meat dishes because glass doesn’t absorb molecules of food.
And grapes are self contained fruits so we don’t have to worry about a kosher knife. Phew. Bonus (pronounced “bo-NUS” in a high pitched voice).
But we don’t really have glass plates handy (I do think my Dad gave us a set of 12 that he had lying around but we stored them) and I hate paper plates, so the kosher crackers are ruined by being put on a regular plate. I have bowls for most things, but POB (partner of blogger) already put crackers on an un-kosher (but lovely) plate. I look at her and she looks at me with a “Really?” expression. I say, “we can at least try.” I quickly become Zen about this (because what is done can’t be undone) . . . until . . . the rabbi rings the doorbell.
The minute the rabbi arrives, I offer the Kosher wine. She responds that she looks forward to having cocktails again once she stops breastfeeding her twins. Darn. I ask if she wants anything. “Water is just great, thanks.”
“Water is just great, thanks.”??????
Kill me with a thousand knife cuts. She must see the kosher crackers on the non-kosher plate.
Ok, if a rabbi came to my grandmother’s house and only had water, my grandmother would sit in sackcloth and ashes. There would be wailing and swooning of biblic proportion. If this happened to my mother, she would be too embarrassed to go to synagogue and make us promise not to tell her mother (the wailer and swooner) of this blemish on our good name.
I am not a wailer and swooner and we don’t go to synagogue all that often, so I am left without tribal guidance on the matter. And, of course, I can’t ask anyone how to atone and un-besmirch our good name, because then people would know and talk about it and it would be a SHONDAH (embarrassment) for us in our community.
Even Cyrano had a grape. One lousy grape.
Oh, WAIT!!! She is having a grape!!! The rabbi is eating in our house. Phew.
We averted a disgrace on generations by a margin of a grape.
Now, that’s stress.