The Friday lunchtime special at the small diner (known as “The Luncheonette”) in my neighborhood was called The Junior. It consisted of a smaller than usual hamburger, a handful of crinkle-cut French fries, a small Coca-Cola (in a real glass), and a dill pickle spear (my favorite part). All this could be had for fifty cents, and it was what I ate every Friday during the fourth…
PASSOVER BREAKFAST
My dad was not a cook. He built skyscrapers in New York City, and his strong hands were more comfortable wielding the heavy steel of a hammer or a saw, than the gentle curves of a metal whisk. He was more adept at hoisting large wooden planks than swirling a wooden mixing spoon inside a soup pot. I’d never seen him bake a cake or make a goulash like my mom, but for many years during my childhood, he rose even earlier than usual--which was at the crack of dawn--during Passover and prepared…See More
