Good Morning, Literati!
Not to be bested by her husband, Brian, Miryam Meier-Howard has entered our contest, apparently thinking Brian’s sci-fi story was half-baked. In this entry, Miryam uses her noodle to egg us on with our contest You Didn’t Write That. “Nothin’ says lovin’, like somethin’ from the oven, and Pilsbury (no longer) says it best!” Miryam does. Here is her charming story.
The Old Tin Box
By Miryam Meier-Howard
It is a common dish to be found on our table most Sabbaths. Plump egg noodles, soaked in fresh cream and eggs, sprinkled with brown sugar and scattered with bite-sized chunks of apples and white raisins. Slow baked until the noodles lose their wiggle and a light buttery crunch decorates the top. Such is my Kugel, — or not really my Kugel, but my mothers before me, and grandmothers before her… you get the picture.
On this day, my grand daughter, Gingeet was visiting, and at fourteen, I thought it was due time she try her hand at this matriarchal delicacy.
I hadn’t needed it in years, but on this occasion, it was fitting to bring out the old tin box, which held our ancestral recipes, written on mostly small sections of discarded box tops. I handed the box to my red headed assistant and instructed,
“Look for the Kugel one, — it should be towards the back.”
She pulled out the crumpled piece of paper, and a look of bewilderment came across her freckled face. Her fingers ran slowly along the faded script. As she held it up to the light she said, “You didn’t write that Bubbie, I know your handwriting!”
“Oh… such a bright one you are my dear! Your great grandmother, Hannah, knew you would hold this in your hand one day, and when you did, it would be like she was holding your hand too. When you cook on Sabbath, my Gingeet, always remember, you are holding the hands of your ancestors, — still alive within our hearts.”