Being such a fair-weather Jew of late, I sometimes even think about reintroducing pork and shellfish to my lexicon but I sort of like the artistic challenge that restrictions and limitations pose. Plus, avoiding treyf forces me, usually daily, to have at least the spiritual notion of avoiding treyf. I pissed off my vegetarians by calling them sanctimonious and I revel in the power I wield and the fear I inspire lest I happen upon a Cup 'o Noodles in a friend’s pantry. I snoop around in your bathrooms too. Some of you should conceal your Viagra more discreetly, bearing in mind the collapsing real estate market and the cost per pill (FROM WHAT I HEAR.) I admit my abuse of my vegetarian friends comes from my own spiritual deficiency. I am too selfish and arrogant enough to feel qualified enough as an artist to rationalize excluding only that which is treyf from my palette. I am sorry.
Even though brisket was part of the main course, I think on the whole. Mollie Goldberg's Bat Mitzvah completely conformed to the Manifeasto credo of eating mindfully. The whole thing has been filmed by Mrs. Kravitz and Paul in gorgeous high definition, although they were going pretty heavily at the wine and I have yet to see the final footage. Likewise, Hayden, Phil, and Robert from Square One (assisted by the lovely Lydia and a gorgeous Snow White beauty whose name I forget) made extra sure that the wines provided by the folks at Colorado Wine conformed to the vintages we tasted there at the store. In fact, the test of John and Jenn the wine merchants’ integrity was a great personal sacrifice on the part of the Square One trio, as breakfast prep at the restaurant begins several hours before dawn.
On the night of the acrobatic gefilte fish grind (video coming to this blog mighty soon) Hayden was totally personally relating to Himself's legendary misanthropy, something like, “Oh. I hate people too.” But, by the end the party, I got wonderful drunken blather footage about how much she LOVES people and COOKING FOR THEM (eyes brimming with fucking tears!). Not to mention the footage in which she admits that my (FALSE!) allegation that her knife cut croutons came from a box, broke her heart and how pastry people have particular and sensitive issues with criticism of this nature. I will note I made a huge and very public retraction and will aver here publicly AGAIN and for the record, Hayden Ramsey, when sober, has such wonderful knife skills that I wish I'd known her before I shelled out for the boob job.
Jayne's prayers for NO RAIN were heard. The rentals arrived. I dropped off a carload of stuff early Saturday morning in the bracing cold to be met by Jayne and Mollie (in shorts!) and cousin Audrey from some place in Canada where it's 30 below, who came down the 50 or so steps (ALL OF THEM BAREFOOT!!!) from the house that would only be owned by a cardiac rehab nurse, WHO APPARENTLY HAS WITNESSED A NUMBER OF PEOPLE SUFFERING EXCRUTIATING DEATH FROM FAT UNEXERCISED HEARTS. They offloaded my car in seconds. Like fucking Sherpas. I came home and watched t.v. with Leo. The Goldbergs schlepped and decorated. Rena packed gorgeous party bags with our custom scallion and lemon zest bagels from the Brooklyn Bakery (footage coming of this too). The folks at Square One spent a busy day running a restaurant, after having put up with me calling their customers assholes on my birthday and interfering with them trying to accomplish anything in their kitchen for the entire week. The ceremony went off gorgeously although I snuck off a little early, ostensibly to help the Square One folks prepare for the onslaught, but truly to snag a good parking place as the valets had fallen through.
I arrived, knowing the crowds would be ascending (those fucking steps) in mere moments to see Phil still unloading unheated food up the cardio rehab stairmaster. I decided to stay out of the way and set up the coffee. I filled the percolator with water and then realized Mrs. Kravitz was chasing me with the camera so, of course, I had to drop everything and go make sure I had no lipstick on my teeth (because I can't trust my own cinematographer to warn me) plugged in the water without adding the coffee and went to preen. Guests were beginning to arrive by then and by some magic, the appetizer stations appeared nearly instantly. I returned to the kitchen and discovered that some nervous nelly had unplugged the percolator, not thinking it could survive a moment without the coffee insert. I plugged it back in and did some real cute mugging for the camera, which then I sheepishly sent off to cover the party while I SUPERVISED the clean up of the kitchen after the explosion of boiling coffee. I was wearing my party clothes!
I chatted merrily in front of the camera again, while the Square One folks discovered that the Goldberg oven was too tiny to accommodate the half hotel pans after I assured them that ANY OVEN IN THE FUCKING UNIVERSE would hold a half hotel pan. I schmoozed and held forth while the Square One folks ingeniously improvised using aluminum foil, the backyard grill and some sort of magic because I can't figure out how all that food got warmed and served. I will add, for the record, I made only the chopped liver by myself. Everything else was perfect and delicious and I think will stand legendary as one of the best party meals ever. And that ain't chopped liver.
Jayne stayed up all night chaperoning the co-ed slumber party the evening dissolved into. Hayden, Robert and Phil had to open for a busy breakfast trade, starting their day at about 4. I cuddled with Himself under the covers, listening to the rain and read a few chapters of The Gospel of Food. Fraudulent and relaxed.
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