When Isabelle (a fake French name) ordered ceviche I stared terrified at her plate. As one who grew up on cooked food, mainly stews, when I first saw raw fish I didn’t know how to eat it. To me, raw fish was the equivalent of a live fish swimming in the bathtub before becoming a Rosh Hashanah dish.
“Mom, how do you make stuffed vegetables?” “Stuffed vegetables? That’s really easy” mom answered. For mom, every dish was really easy. And indeed, when I looked at her cooking, it seemed very simple.
“Is there nothing else to eat?” I asked opening the pot on the stove. “No” said mom, “sit down and I’ll fix you a plate.” “No,I don’t like it, I’ll make something.” “What will you make?” Mom insisted, “salad” I answered opening the refrigerator. “But salad is not a meal”.
The first time I tasted quiche was in the first apartment I ever rented in Tel Aviv. We were 3 roommates in our early 20’s. To this day, I can’t explain why we chose a 30 something woman that just came back after living quite some time in Canada to take the place of the roommate that left. Back then, mid 30’s seemed to us as one leg in the coffin.
There are certain dishes that I relate to specific events or holidays. There are those with an obvious connection like Mufleta ( Moroccan pastry) with the day after Passover or Honey cake for Rosh Hashana. Others go with a few dates like burekas to both Shabbat and the Jewish festival of Shavuot, or sweet Moroccan cigars served at the end of Yom Kippur and on Hanukkah, and then there are the everyday dishes.
