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Posts Tagged ‘bagel’

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I spent part of Christmas morning volunteering at the Salvation Army’s holiday party for the needy. Every square foot of the giant rec room was occupied with food, face painting, Santa, a live band, a walk-around magician, and a toy and winter clothing giveaway, all sponsored by a local Italian restaurant and many, many donors. Yes, we totally tripped over each other, but it was a gas.

I was manning the dish and takeout station when the little girl above came over just to show us her new teddy bear. She glowed like the sun and wiggled a lot, which is why the picture came out somewhat blurry. The woman serving salad beside me said, ‘Wouldn’t it be great if all it took for us to be that happy was a teddy bear?’

Below, our coats thrown into a heap in the kitchen by a box of aluminum serving pans. That’s mine above left, with the fuchsia scarf.

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The chef seasoning the next massive pan of macaroni and cheese.

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Mr. Cutie below isn’t afraid. And his mom has no qualms about joining him.

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The little boy on the right was very resourceful in thinking to use the box from his new truck as a tray for his two desserts. But he was so amped up that they slid off. I’m actually surprised he made it to his table. This was shot just before both desserts took a splat.

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Face painting, patience, and another pink slip owner.

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A gentleman who came through the buffet had this around his neck, and I said, ‘I love your plane! Did you make that? It’s from an Arizona can!’ He looked amazed and said, ‘Yeah! And you’re the first person I’ve met who knew it was a plane!’

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*A woman came through the buffet line with two children, and I asked her if she wanted plates as well as takeaway boxes. (Both would have been fine.) She said, ‘Oh, no, just the plates; I want to be respectful.’

*Another woman had her eye on some winter gloves being offered free of charge, but didn’t feel comfortable going to the table to get them, so she asked me to be her scout. She was quite earnest; had the color all picked out because she could see them at a distance. I got some for her pal, too. When I brought them over she grinned and high-fived me.

*As I handed out bags of apples and oranges, a man snagged my sleeve and said, ‘Thanks, honey. Merry Christmas.’

*A man in a purple jacket came through the line with a cane featuring a beautifully carved eagle head. I said, ‘That’s gorgeous! Did you make that?’ He tipped up his chin and smirked and said, ‘I designed it!’

Speaking of birds, here are two outside the building with a Christmas bagel. Sounds counter-intuitive, but there it is.

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The deliciousness continued that afternoon, hiking in the Currier-and-Ives-like rolling hills and pastures of Navesink, and shooting as much of the dramatic light as I could…

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..and eating a great deal of the sour cream coffee cake I bake myself every year.

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My Raggedy Ann (circa 1970) always sits under my tree, which is in my room so I can look at the lights as I fall asleep. Sometimes when I refill the water in the base I accidentally bump into her and she flops flat backwards, which kills me every time. She’s old and stained, but she’s still got comic mojo.

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Peace and blessings.

 

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Last week I was driving through Lakewood, NJ when a sudden flash of inspiration hit, and in blinking lights it read Gelbstein’s Bakery. It’s not the first time this inspiration has hit me, but it was the first time in a long time that I could do anything about it. For last week, I was wearing pants instead of shorts.

Crickets, right?

A little explanation: Gelbstein’s is located in the heart of a city made up largely of Hasidic citizens. These folks are strict when it comes to clothing, and when it comes to women, the less skin showing, the better. So when I realized I had on pants, it was a green light to visit Gelbstein’s. I didn’t want to go while wearing shorts because it would be disrespectful, first off. And as it was, I had on my usual summer uniform of t shirt, flip flops and surfer bracelets. Any more and it would have looked like I was filming an episode of The Little Lost Shiksa.

Another reason why I went: I was in the mood for an adventure. Not sure about you, but every now and again, usually when life is going really well or when I need a life shake-up of sorts, I get a craving to do something loopy. This time was a life-is-going-really-well adventure craving. But whatever the motivation, I make myself follow it, and I’ve never regretted it. The bakery, its clientele and its products are unlike anything I am used to. Perfect.

Gelbstein’s has been in business for nearly 30 years. My dad used to rave about them, curling his arms out in front from the waist, and saying, ‘Rye breads like this!’ They still offer incredible ryes (although not as gigantic as hyped) but all of their breads are unique and fresh. You can taste it, honestly.

Something else that’s unique about Gelbstein’s: It’s a small place, yet most of their goods are right out on the floor in bins or packed on full sheet pans, accessible to our greedy little hands. I asked a shop girl who was refilling the bins where I could get a bag, and she pushed a bunch of huge plastic sleeves into my hands. It was Friday—Shabbos—which is punctuated by an evening meal at which two loaves of eggy, braided, pully breads are the stars, so she figured I was planning to load all of the bags to capacity. That Shabbos bread, challah, was featured in easily half a dozen ways, but I chose a few little loaf about the size of three stacked bagels and shaped almost like a brioche, with a lumpy knot on top. I’ve never seen loaves that size or shape. They were sprinkled with sesame and poppy seeds and yummy little bits of onion. I also took a couple of whole wheat buns topped with oats and a little whole wheat baguette.

The service made me smile because it felt as if I was in the city*; it was all business. They’re the type of place that is so busy that there’s not much time to discuss what grade your youngest is in now or whether the rain is supposed to stop on Wednesday or Thursday.

‘How many?’ barked the petite lady behind the counter. She picked up my bag, counted its contents, and dropped it back on the counter. Not placed—dropped.

When I got home, I took the shot above and then pulled off that challah’s fat knot and gobbled it up. Then I sliced the roll in half, loaded it with wild salmon that I mixed a little mayo and some capers into, and ate that, too.

A loopy excursion that ends with a great lunch is my idea of the perfect adventure.

*I know everyone means something different when they say ‘the city’. In north and central New Jersey, we means New York. When South Jersey says it, they mean Philly.

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