An aardvark appeared in the Israeli Kitchen last night.  Robin (Around the Island) summoned him, at the Israeli Blogger’s Evening. These things happen when people of a certain ilk get together. People with wild imaginations, who like to write, that is. Like me, and Robin, and Hannah (A Mother in Israel) and Baroness Tapuzina and, actually, the eleven or so other bloggers who came to meet, network, nosh, and exchange URLs. (See Hannah’s post on everyone who came, which contains links to everyone’s blogs, which describe the evening.)

But how did this aardvark show up in my living room, speaking good English and swinging his long, hairless snout?

The bloggers were sitting around discussing how if one’s blog starts with the letter A, it’s going to be among the first on any blogroll. And more likely to get hits from the reading public. What could be better than naming a blog Aardvark something, then? We all laughed merrily.

I had just put my drink down and was heading towards the potato chips when we all heard a clacking sound, like nails tapping the tiled floor. Strange. And then, a moist, sniffing, snuffling sound, like a vacuum cleaner with a head cold. The hair on our arms stood up as a round, pinkish, piglike apparition lumbered in and said,

“Got any termites?”

We stared, speechless. Risa, who’s a warm, motherly person, was the first to say, “Oh! An aardvark! How cute!”

Actually he was kind of cute. In a strange, alien-like way. I was so sorry to disappoint him – I don’t keep termites. Nor ants.

The aardvark sighed. “Well. If you’ll just put together a couple of crackers with egg-and-olive dip, I guess I could make do with that. ”

No problem! About five ladies jumped up and started pasting crackers together.  We kept warming up to the little guy; he looked kind of lost and hungry.  Sarah Peguin of OhSoArty already had her sketch pad out and was rapidly pencilling a  drawing in.

David and Jonathan, being guys and a little more cynical, stood a bit aloof. “Is this some new and obscure terror technique?” mused David.

“Don’t know about that, but an aardvark would sure make an expensive pet,” replied Jonathan.

“Oh, please,” said Chasida, “obviously the poor little guy just made aliyah and needs friends.”

“Yeah, have a heart, ” chimed in Kate. “He needs a friend. Just like every new immigrant.”

“You like choumous, er, Aardvark?” Abbi asked, dipping the spoon into the chickpea spread.

“I have a name,” came the dignified answer, “and actually, I’d like to snuff some of that coffee liqueur up my snout if you’d pour it into a bowl.”

I smiled. No one else had touched the coffee liqueur. Now there was an animal with taste.

“Your name…?” I asked delicately. “Arthur? Stuart? Bruce? Wellington?”

The answer took us by surprise .

“I am a lady,” sniffed our new pink friend. “An aardvarkess. My name is Alice.”

Baila, who had almost jumped out of her skin when she first perceived the creature, said, “Awesome! My kids will never believe this!”

DevoK, who doesn’t mince words, said, “Are you kidding, I don’t believe this!”

Alice looked around. “I didn’t come here to be a pet,” she said with a certain trembly defiance. “You bloggers called me forth. It was a long, strange trip, materializing out of the ether to join you here in the Israeli Kitchen – but here I am. So let’s network.”

I recovered myself.  “Welcome to the Israeli Kitchen, Alice.”

Sarah Melamed leaned over and scratched her behind the ears. “C’mon,” she said, “tell us what they’re cooking back where you come from. I’ll bet it’s exotic and fun.”

Alice smiled around her snout. “Thanks,” she said, “but I really like to talk about politics and the economy.”

Oy, I thought to myself. A know-it-all. Do I really need this aardvark in my Israeli Kitchen?

Stay tuned….

We’re meeting on October 17, Motze’i Shabbat, at 8:00 PM,  in Petach Tikvah. Nosh provided by…me!

Please email djarred613@gmail.com with:

* Your name

* Blog URL

* Email and phone number

Type BLOGGER’S EVENING on the subject line.

Or  fill out this contact form.

We’ll get back to you with directions.

I’m so tempted to find some organic etrogim for cooking.

Bloggers,  join me,  Mother in Israel, and other English-speaking bloggers for an evening of networking and discussion.
We’re meeting on October 17, Motze’i Shabbat, at 8:00 PM,  in Petach Tikvah. Nosh provided!

Please email diarred613@gmail.com with:

* Your name

* Blog URL

* Email and phone number

Type BLOGGER’S EVENING on the subject line.

Or  fill out this contact form.

We’ll get back to you with directions. Bloggers on all topics welcome!

It’s been the most challenging move ever. A massive amount of books and tchatchkes hade accumulated over the years and many had to be weeded out, given away, sold, divested of  somehow, because the new apartment is smaller and there’s much less storage space. I’ve had to take a long, meditative look at the objects that have followed my life. Mostly books.

I see that I don’t have to confess anything or talk about myself for someone to get to know me – my passions, hobbies, loved ones, past and present occupations are out here in plain sight. I’ve never traveled lightly; never liked going back to old places, but have always carried stuff around with me. But I don’t have to keep everything, drag my past around and set it up again each time I move. It was liberating to realize that.We fill bags full of books I’ll never read again and take them out to the recycling dumpster.

And then there’s learning the mores of the neighborhood. I may throw household garbage in the “garbage can room” at the side of the building, but the empty moving boxes have to be dumped in an empty lot across the street where every morning a small bulldozer scoops up all the other old lumber people leave there.  I cruise the new supermarket doubtfully: do they have the particular brand of flour I favor? They don’t, but here’s one I haven’t tried yet. And what are the rules about packing your purchases – do you do it yourself, or do they keep someone around to do it?

We’ve been eating one-pot meals: soups and stews with potatoes or bread. What, oh what am I going to cook for Rosh HaShannah? I guess I’ll be showing you soon – as soon as I can locate my good knife and vegetable peeler. Last time I saw them, they were in the old house.

It’s the first anniversary of Israeli Kitchen. I’ve been thinking about the past year, in a way that’s supposed to be reserved for my own birthday, but I was too busy cooking and enjoying my home celebration to meditate much then. Let me think it over now.

It’s been a pleasure, and a challenge, writing every few days about my passion for cooking; about places and events in Israel that compel me to write. Blogging is a commitment to the readers, so many of whom read silently and click away with no comment, but whose presence I feel around me as I type, all the same.

Reviewing the year’s posts, I see myself traipsing through the holidays… talking to taxi drivers… interviewing shop owners… walking through the shuk… re-living family memories. Cooking and developing recipes has been a great part of this blog, but everyday life and reflections weave in and out too. I’ve never been faithful to a diary, but the blog has taken the place of one.

I owe thanks to some people for support and friendship. Especially to Baroness Tapuzina and to Mother in Israel, my thanks for the encouragement and help in maneuvering through the intricacies of the blogosphere. To my husband, love and thanks for his forbearance when I insist on taking photographs of the food on the table. To the Little One, love and thanks for letting me sit here sometimes. I’ve made new friends and consolidated older friendships in this past year – have read widely, traveled, tasted, cooked and learned. Most of all, I’ve have concluded that there’s nothing else I really want to do but write.

For that, reader, I thank you.

Well, what was my very first post last year? I had just discovered that some raspberry wine I’d made had gone sour. Great vinegar, though. From it I made Raspberry Shrub.

See you around!

That’s interesting, I mused. What do people eat on Shabbat, here in Petach Tikvah, June 2009? It sounded like the couple was expecting to host family or friends, and from what I heard of the menu, the food was going to be traditional. I should have stopped and just shamelessly interviewed them, but they looked to be in a hurry and even I have my limits. Still, I was headed towards the town’s biggest food supplier – the shuk. People who deal with food all week should have some great Shabbat menus, I thought. I’ll ask the vendors.

But first I popped in to ask Meiron, who deals in second-hand objects and clothing from India. His little store has always intrigued me. On the sidewalk, there are racks of thin cotton blouses; in the shop the shelves display a mix of old Judiaca, toys, tea sets, mass-produced paintings, strings of worry beads and fine crystal. Meiron is a thoughtful reader and a gourmet. We’ve sometimes talked about the cooking classes he attends with his wife. I figured he’d have something interesting to tell me about dinner, and he did.

“We made a ragoût of beef,” he said seriously. “Then I diced eggplant, deep-fried the cubes, and scattered them over the dish. A dusting of finely-chopped parsley. That’s dinner tonight – probably with pasta.”

I swallowed my saliva. “Sounds wonderful,” I said, and sallied forth again. What would the vendors in the shuk have waiting at home?

There’s a group of elderly folk who sit at the edge of the shuk and sell garden produce and home-made food. This Yemenite gentleman was selling hilbeh and zhug (fenugreek relish and hot sauce). He allowed me to take his photo but out of modesty, closed his eyes. When I asked him what’s on for dinner, he laughed and said, “Chicken soup.”

Yemenite chicken soup is deep yellow and fragrant with hawaij, a spice blend where turmeric marries black pepper and a few other spices. I could almost taste that soup as I stood talking with him..

Some vendors were cagey and wouldn’t talk about their Friday night menus. I’m sure they thought I was nuts. This lady said,

“When I get home tonight, I won’t want anything except some Nescafé (instant coffee) and some cake.”

Moshe, the fish vendor, didn’t mind my asking.

“What’s my wife cooking for tonight? Fish.”

I laughed and he said, “No, really. Denise (sea bream) baked in sauce. All kinds of fresh salads. And three kinds of rice. Plain white rice, lentils and rice, and red rice. What makes it red? I don’t know. I get home, I sit down, and I eat. My wife cooks. She’s a marvelous cook; makes everything by herself.”

For those who would like an English/Hebrew chart of the names of fish, here is one.

But the man who runs the well-known Maadaniyat HaGissim (The Brothers-in-Law Deli) gave me the most fulsome description of his Friday night meal.

“All my children come, and bring the grandchildren,” he said. “We usually seat about 15 people on a Friday night. We’re Turkish and my wife cooks all the traditional dishes from scratch. Bouri fish (grey mullet) in tomato sauce. Moussaka – but beef, not lamb. All the salads – chopped Israeli salad, choumous, stuffed vine leaves, pickled eggplant, eggplant with techinah, coleslaw, salad of marinated bell peppers, potato salad…Then she makes bourekas filled with ground beef, shnitzels, and rice. And of course the challah. Everything she makes by herself, from scratch. She is a fabulous cook.”

I looked at him with awe. “Can I meet your wife and take some lessons from her?”

As a friend of mine remarked, I think I’d have a nervous wreck if I had to cook like that every week.

By now my shopping wagon was full and heavy. Apricots, plums, string beans, fish, white cheese, choumous, big laffah pittot. Time for me to stop interfering with people’s private lives and go home to finish cooking my own Shabbat meals. So I did.

Oh, and we had chicken soup, roast chicken glazed with mandarin preserves, curried rice, string beans and almonds, beet salad, and for dessert, peach cobbler.