Are You Kosher? (26 page)

Chapter 45

Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?

Well, I can honestly say that Bubbe gets weirder every year. That was definitely a dinner party to remember. I can still hear all of those alter kockers and the shvartze talking downstairs, about what? Only G-d knows.

I’m willing to bet that you want all of the sordid details, am I right? Well, you have to know that since we have already been through so much together, there is no way that I am not going to share this with you. My only regret is that I did not have a camera rolling.

I got home about three o’clock this morning from feasting on that little Latina girl I told you about earlier. I was just careful not to drink too long so that I could keep the cultural side effects to a minimum. Actually, I think that I feasted more on the roasted pork that she prepared than on her. My main concern was that with company coming over, I did not want to be carrying on like some loose-in-the-hips
boricua
.

Anyway, I walked home. I always enjoy walking the streets of Brooklyn late at night. Everything is so quiet, it gives you time to think, especially when you are in the Marine Park section. These late-night strolls give me time to think about the important matters in my life, such as:
Did I clean Yankel’s litter box? Did I remember to put the toilet seat down? Did I lock my bedroom door?
These are all very valid questions to contemplate. Especially when living with Bubbe.

I walked into the house and it was uncharacteristically quiet. Usually Bubbe is sitting up waiting for me with that glare of hers, wondering where I was and why I didn’t call. Last night, she was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she forgot that I was out, or maybe she was just tired. I wasn’t about to complain. I actually had some alone time for the first time in years; it was like I had the house to myself.

I went into the kitchen to make myself a late-night snack of a bagel with a schmear and a cream soda. I took off my shoes and headed upstairs, careful to step on the steps that did not creak. My bedroom door was actually locked and I let out a small sigh of relief. I was worried that Bubbe might have gotten in. Can you imagine what would have happened if she’d found this book?

Yankel was nowhere to be found, which was a little off-putting at first, but the smell of the bagel brought him out of his hiding place. He has always had a thing for cream cheese. The two of us sat on my bed and watched the late-night re-runs of
SportsCenter
. The Mets lost again; what a shock. I’m still hoping that one day Bubbe will lend me the money to buy that team. She has it.

The next morning, I awoke at around eleven and made my way down to the kitchen. Bubbe was busy grating potatoes for her world-famous latkes.

“Good morning, Bubbe.” I said.

“Humph,” she said gruffly. She is usually in a bad mood when she has a crowd coming over for dinner, so I didn’t put much into her response.

“You went to bed early last night,” I said innocently.

“It’s my house. I’ll do whatever I want,” she snapped. Okay, she was in a really bad mood today. “I want you to get dressed and head over to Waldbaum’s and do some shopping for me,” she continued. “Also, when the guests arrive tonight, I want you to be here to greet them at the door.” She turned and pointed a finger at me. “Unless you have some other pressing engagements, like going to Spanish Harlem or something.” Spanish Harlem? Was the old gal hitting the Manischewitz already?

“Can I have my coffee first before I go out?” I asked. She threw her box grater into the sink and yelled, “Forget it! I’ll go! I have to do everything around here. I didn’t realize you were so busy. Why don’t you just go back to your room and lounge around some more? Maybe listen to Carmen Miranda records.” Carmen Miranda? What the hell was she even talking about? I was not about to argue a battle that I had no chance of winning.

“Forget the coffee Bubbe; I’ll go now,” I said. “Can I get dressed first or do you want me to go in my robe?”

She turned to me and shot daggers at me with that look of hers. “Good,” she snapped. “Go get dressed and hurry back. I have a lot of things for you to do today.”

The old gal was in rare form this morning even by her standards. My mission today was going to have to be to just stay out of her way and try not to piss her off. Can you imagine if she knew that I was writing all day yesterday?

I went up to my room and quickly got dressed. She usually had these issues when company was coming over, but tonight was a dinner that apparently was affecting her more than expected. It was going to be very interesting. For starters, my mother was bringing her boyfriend Dwayne over, and for the life of me, I cannot understand a word that comes out of his mouth. Nobody can except for my mother, and that is only because she feasts on him. I’m sure that Bubbe was not looking forward to this. From what I understand, the Markowitzes, Frank and Lizzie, were also coming but Cousin Josh would not be joining them. He was busy on some kind of goyem hunt in Indonesia for the JVDL.

Jerry and Shlomo would also be joining us, but I think that she only invited them so that she could bust my balls about their terrible behavior later on in the evening. She also hinted that Goldie Hawn might be showing up, but that is probably a pipe dream. She has canceled on Bubbe countless times in the past, and I did not see why tonight would be any different.

Back to the guest list. The Markowitzes, as I said before, are directly related to Bubbe. They are definitely a paradox. For one thing, they are one of the few vampire couples who have stood the test of time. Usually, the thought of spending an eternity with someone would be enough to drive anyone mad. For a Jewish couple, that time is cut down to a period of ten or maybe twenty years before they can’t stand the sight of each other. Frank and Lizzie have somehow figured out the secret to marital bliss and will be celebrating their 6,150th wedding anniversary this June. I don’t even know what precious metal that one is.

The good thing about the two of them coming over is that Lizzie is famous for bringing a chocolate
babka
whenever she is invited over to anyone’s home and I’m sure that I do not have to tell you how delightful a chocolate babka is. You just have to be careful that if you bring one to Bubbe’s house, you do not bring one from a German bakery. Now I know for a fact that Lizzie always shops at Krautz’s Bakery and lies about it. I can hear the conversation in my head, Bubbe saying, “Oh, Lizzie, you shouldn’t have. You didn’t buy that from Krautz’s, did you?” She calls the bakery Krautz’s; at least she is consistent. Lizzie invariably denies it. “No, not at all. I went to Adelman’s.”

I told Jerry and Shlomo to bring a nice Jewish wine like Manischewitz, last June’s vintage. At least Bubbe will not be able to complain about them being cheap. I have no idea what Dwayne may be bringing, except for confusing dialogue and a gold-capped grin. If Goldie shows up, she will most likely be drunk and ready to flirt with me. I doubt that she will be bringing her Mountain Man.

I made it home and immediately went to the kitchen to unpack the groceries. Bubbe was nowhere to be found. I was hoping that she’d gone for a lie-down, but that wish was soon squashed. She appeared in front of me as soon as I removed the butter from the bag. She looked at the package disapprovingly and said, “What is this?”

I was slightly confused about the question, so I answered it as clearly as I could, “It looks like butter.”

“Don’t get smart with me, you little pisher!” she snapped. “Why does it say ‘salted’? I told you unsalted!” she seemed to be getting very excited about butter.

“Do you want me to bring it back?” I asked. “It was a mistake; I don’t mind.”

She turned away from me and said, “Don’t bother.”

“It’s not that big a deal, Bubbe,” I tried to reason. “I can be back in a couple of minutes.”

“Forget it,” she replied. “Maybe I’ll write a book someday and remember this moment.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? You don’t think? No, Yankel would have warned me.

She continued to bark at me. “I want you to go vacuum, dust, and clean the windows right now.”

I quickly snuck upstairs first to have a look around my room to make sure that nothing was out of place. Something was obviously wrong with Bubbe today, and I had to make sure that I was covering my steps. If she had any idea what I was busy doing during the Sabbath, we were all in a lot of trouble. Aside from Yankel being a little jumpy, everything was just how I had left it.

I went back downstairs to take care of the chores that were assigned to me to keep her off of my back and to avoid being caught in the line of fire again. I called her into the living room to get her approval on a job well done and the only response I got was, “I guess this will have to do.”

“Do you need anything else?” I asked, hopeful that she would not need me for anything.

“No, that’s fine,” she said as she headed back to the kitchen. “I wouldn’t want to give you anything to complain about,” she said under her breath.

I was not sure what was bothering her today, but I was just praying that it was something that my mother did and I was just unfortunate to be the one who was home. I took a shower and got dressed for the arrival of our guests. She had me so worked up and paranoid, I wasn’t even able to take a nap, and I am a man who values a good power nap. I fed Yankel, who was still acting funny. Something was bothering him; while he was eating, he kept staring at the door our of the corner of his eye. The smells from downstairs were absolutely intoxicating. I’ll say this for the crazy alter kocker, when she gets pissed, the food is even better.

Around six, I heard the front door open and the sound of my mother’s voice, I knew that I had better head down right away so to avoid any further repercussions and to say hello to Dwayne. My mother was sober, at least for now, and Dwayne, for his part, brought flowers and was dressed like a package of Skittles. To say that it was colorful was an understatement.

I walked up to Dwayne with my hand extended and received a dizzying handshake of twists, fist-pumps and wrist turns. “Whaddup Izzai?” he asked, “Deuces.”

“Yes, well sometimes,” I responded awkwardly. “Would you like something to drink?” I asked.

“A forty of the mano would cool the fire,” he responded. I looked at my mother, confused.

She smiled and said, “He would like a glass of Manischewitz.”
Well then why the hell didn’t he say that?
I thought.

He took a seat on the sofa and immediately turned on the television to BET while I went to get his drink. My mother went into the kitchen and I heard Bubbe start to berate her. This was promising for me, maybe she really was angry at Mom for something and I was just unlucky enough to be the only available target. I gave Dwayne his drink, he said something about me being his “nigga,” and the doorbell rang.

“Izzy, get the door. It’s probably Frank and Lizzy,” Bubbe screamed from the kitchen. “She better not have brought a babka from that Krautz place!”

“Yes, Bubbe, I know!” I answered. “Jesus,” I whispered to myself.

“Why would he be here? I didn’t invite him!” I heard her yell. How the hell can she hear me whisper from another room? I don’t think that if I live for a million years I will ever be able to figure that one out.

I answered the door, and sure enough, it was Frank and Lizzy, dressed like a couple of gypsies from a Mel Brooks film. Lizzy was holding a pastry box.

“Hello, Izzy,” Frank exclaimed, excited. “What? No feasting tonight? You must be getting old.” He started to laugh at his own joke.

“I brought a babka,” Lizzy announced proudly. “Frank, look at how handsome Izzy is. I wish that Joshy would spend more time with you than with those shmendriks in the JVDL.”

“Why are you always so hard on the poor kid? He’s doing important work,” Frank replied.

“It’s your fault that he has no time for his mother!” she snapped back. “Are you going to ruin this evening, too?” What did I tell you? Marital bliss.

I had to interrupt this debacle before Bubbe heard it and it took on a life of its own. “Can I take your coats?” I asked.

“You can get me a drink.” Frank laughed as he playfully punched me. They handed me their coats and Bubbe entered the room, my mother in tow.

“Hello Zena,” Lizzy said, excited. “I brought a babka.”

“Not from Krautz’s?” Bubbe asked, more like an accusation.

“Oh no,” Lizzy replied. “I got it from Adelman’s.” Her gaze shifted to Dwayne, who was sitting comfortably oblivious on the sofa, sipping his Manischewitz. She turned to Bubbe.

Bubbe dismissively said, “This is Dwayne. He’s Itsa’s boyfriend.” Lizzy looked back at him, confused, and asked Bubbe, “Is he black?”

“No, Lizzy, he’s a knish,” she replied.

Dwayne finally realized that he was the center of attention and got up to shake Frank’s hand. “Howdy do dah day, Homey?”

Frank looked at him confused. “I think at seven.”

“No, he said, ‘Hello, how are you?’” my mother added.

“What kind of language is he talking?” Frank asked Lizzy quietly.

“I don’t know, but try not to insult him. He might have a knife,” she answered.

“Izzy, get the chopped liver and challah,” Bubbe said to me from behind snake eyes.