Shelley Civkin – Jewish Independent

Kugel comforts during COVID

Yerushalmi kugel by Jamie Geller. (photo from jamiegeller.com)

If I’d known the world was going to be locked down because of the COVID-19 pandemic, I would have stocked up on toilet paper, disinfecting wipes and pasta much sooner. Of course, only one of those is edible.

Desperate measures call for desperate times and, when so many restaurants have closed, cooking has become mandatory. As has self-isolation. Sure, we could order takeout, but I’m still slightly paranoid about who cooks my food. After all, you’re only as healthy as the last person you were in contact with. I rest my case.

I’ve tried to be creative in the kitchen, but, when you’re used to eating sushi at least once a week and shopping for fresh food every day, it gets challenging during a lockdown. Now we eat more pasta. Way more pasta. My husband Harvey loves it. Me, not so much.

Harvey does a Costco run every so often to stock up, but I’m loathe to send him out into the dangerous spittle-filled world of COVID coughs right now. And the regular stores are often out of the basics, at least until recently. To be completely frank, I’m sick of cooking. So, what’s an accidental balabusta to do?

I’ll tell you what I did. I handed Harvey my mother’s tattered Jewish Council Cookbook the other day and pronounced: “Make something!” So, what does he choose from all those geshmak recipes? Tuna noodle casserole. You know the one – it’s composed of Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup, Kraft Dinner and a can or two of tuna. If you want to get really fancy shmancy, you can grate some aged cheddar cheese on top. It’s the quintessential comfort food. Minus the sushi. Or, in Harvey’s case, minus the tuna.

My first dip of the fork into the ooey-gooey goodness of the tuna noodle casserole elicited a squeal of surprise. It was actually delicious. Processed deliciousness, but nonetheless yummy in the extreme. The tummy wants what the tummy wants. After a few bites, I expressed my perplexity that I didn’t taste the tuna. Harvey said it had probably sunk to the bottom, so I did a deep dive to the base of the casserole dish, and … bupkis. Harvey had a go at it and, likewise, nada. He humbly walked over to the fridge, opened it, and sheepishly admitted that he’d forgotten to put in the tuna. So, we were eating KD with mushroom soup and a crusty topping of melted cheddar. It was still superb, in a plebian sort of way. Does this count as accidental balabatishness? I didn’t think so. Even if it did, I wasn’t the balabusta who made it.

I’m not proud of what we ate. But I’m sure other people have eaten worse. Much worse. Think fried Spam. Or headcheese (whatever that is). Nobody is going to raise their hand and cop to either of those atrocities, but, trust me, I know where the bodies are buried.

In the end, a casserole that I thought was going to feed us for two nights lasted three. Kind of like a tuna-based Chanukah miracle – the “excess” tuna gave its life for a couple of sandwiches, to boot. The real victory was that I didn’t have to cook for three whole nights.

Don’t think I can’t hear you yelling, “What’s the matter with you people? Haven’t you ever heard of salads?!” Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I have. And, as much as I love salads, it’s not a mutual admiration alliance. Harvey buys pre-bagged salads for himself as a side dish, but rarely do we eat a jacked-up salad for the main course. It could very well land me in the hospital, and I choose not to take that chance. Digestion issues.

By rights, I should probably have scurvy by now, but I have thankfully dodged that bullet. To get some colour in my food, I put steamed or roasted carrots in everything. Sometimes, I even eat broccoli. Is my diet restrictive? Sure. Am I relatively healthy, nonetheless? Yes – the operative word being relatively. My body happens to do well on protein. Lots and lots of protein. Animal protein. I’ll own it: I’m a card-carrying carnivore. Don’t judge me. In case you care, I used to switch things up with more varied restaurant food before COVID-19 came calling. But now that I’m relegated to my own culinary wits, things have gotten kind of serious. And not in a good way.

I am jonesing pretty bad for some agedashi tofu and salmon sashimi, but I don’t dare eat that now. I heard that, if you get takeout food, the first thing you should do is transfer it to your own dishes and reheat it in the microwave to kill off any viruses or bacteria. That’s fine for cooked food, but I believe that eating sashimi during a COVID-19 pandemic is like sticking a hand grenade in your mouth and hoping to have a pleasant day.

Desperate for some variety, I dug through my recipes and came across one for Jerusalem kugel. It still counts as pasta, but I view it as a more cultured, genteel pasta. Usually a side dish, I knew I could convince Harvey that it’s a main (especially if I served him enough of it). I figure I’ll follow it up with a roasted carrot/yam chaser. This particular kugel is satisfyingly savoury and sweet, and the recipe is by Jamie Geller.

SWEET AND PEPPERY JERUSALEM KUGEL

1 (12 ounce) package thin egg noodles
1 cup sugar
1/3 cup oil
4 eggs
1 tsp salt
1/4 tsp to 1 tsp ground pepper

Preheat oven to 350˚F.
Bring a pot of water to a boil. Cook noodles according to package instructions. Strain and set aside.
Add the sugar and oil to a large pot on low heat. Stir until sugar is dissolved and a deep golden caramel colour, but not burnt. This can take 20 minutes or more.
Turn off the heat and add the noodles into the pot of sugar. Immediately stir with a big spoon until the noodles are coated in the caramel. Don’t worry if the sugar hardens into blobs – it will melt in the oven.
Allow the mixture to cool for about 10 minutes. Mix in the eggs, salt and pepper. (Make sure it’s cool so the eggs don’t cook.)
Pour the mixture into a greased springform pan or baking dish. Bake for one hour.

May this COVID-19 pandemic be over with soon. In the meantime, as Dr. Bonnie Henry says: “Be kind. Be Calm. Stay safe.” As for the Accidental Balabusta, figuring out what to cook every night should be my worst problem. Ever.

Shelley Civkin, aka the Accidental Balabusta, is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review. She’s currently a freelance writer and volunteer.

Blessings during COVID-19

It’s far too easy to think of all the hardships and sacrifices that have come with COVID-19. They’re ubiquitous and abundant. They’re in our face the second we step outside our front door, turn on the TV or go online. A barrage of bad news. A surfeit of sadness. A plethora of pathogens. A deluge of disease. Stop me anytime.

It’s getting to be too much. But that’s beside the point. As Prime Minister Justin Trudeau keeps telling us, “moistly,” and with practised gravitas, “We are all in this together.” Sadly, that is no consolation. There is one thing that does help though: making a habit of feeling grateful. While some of you will shut me down right now as being a cliché, that’s where I’m coming from.

Every day or two, when I go for a short walk in my neighbourhood, I look around and wonder when spring happened. How is it that I missed seeing the nascent buds on the magnolia trees, which are now strutting their huge pink flowers like botanical catcher’s mitts? When did the hydrangeas arrive at the party? And when did everyone start walking around the local park in facemasks and latex gloves?

Nothing I have experienced in my 64 years comes close to this COVID-19 pandemic. Same goes for most of us, I’m sure. There is nothing to compare it to, thank G-d. I am at a loss for synonyms. Only antonyms hit the mark: normal, regular, run-of-the-mill. We will likely never return to what we knew as normal ever again. At least not the same variety. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Perhaps we will come to redefine normal in an even better light. I know one thing: most people have become kinder, more thoughtful, more aware. This is huge.

In the face of the overwhelming upheaval, illness and sadness we’ve been witness to, I choose to feel grateful. Because there are always gems among the dross, moments of pure beauty and holiness. I assure you, I’m not some Pollyanna who views life through rose-coloured glasses all the time. However, challenged by what’s going on around us, I need to believe that there is still much to be thankful for in this COVID-19 world. For my part, that includes my health, my husband, my family. As well as these sunny days. The last remnants of snow on our pristine mountains. Less traffic. Clear skies. A shocking dearth of commerce. My pension. Food in the freezer and enough pasta to last until I’m 90. I feel luckier than most.

I can’t begin to comprehend the suffering that’s going on around me. Not only the illness and death that’s affecting families and communities all over the world, but the sheer panic and anxiety from loss of jobs, loss of homes, not enough to eat, wondering what’s next. But I’m shored up knowing that there are still people out there who are putting themselves at risk to help others, by delivering food, picking up medications and, of course, all those frontline workers who turn up every day.

For now, I take comfort in the little things, which, I’m realizing have become the big things. Like a walk in fresh air, and hearing good news of any sort. It doesn’t take much. The drugstore has facemasks and latex gloves in stock – woo hoo! I can finally buy Lysol wipes again – victory! Oh, how perception has shifted. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that this pandemic has taught us to reevaluate our priorities.

Time and a sense of accomplishment are a whole other story. At the beginning of the pandemic, the pattern of my days rotated around things instead of ideas and concepts. Back then, I thought a productive day was accomplishing this:

Buying a box of disposable facemasks at Canadian Tire.
Spending two hours and successfully finding a store that sells alcohol swabs.
Making fried matzah with cinnamon and honey bananas for my husband.
Ironing our laundry.
Dusting (two rooms).
Successfully (or not?) diagnosing myself with eczema from constant and somewhat obsessive handwashing.

Not much, but at least I did things instead of sitting around binge-watching Netflix all day. As the weeks passed, I began to tip the scales by attending online seminars throughout the day; some from the Rohr Jewish Learning Institute, some from Chabad, and others.

Between running around doing, and sitting and learning, I struggle to distinguish between wasted time and purpose. It seems almost counterintuitive, even ridiculous, to call anything purposeful right now. I mean, how much purpose can we have during a pandemic? Who can we influence for the good? What kind of mitzvot can we do?

Believe me – or don’t – but the answers to those questions are: lots, many, and endless. It takes scant energy to say hello to a stranger on your daily walk and ask how they’re doing. People just need to experience or see one good deed to carry it forward. There are countless ways to do a mitzvah – phone an elderly relative or friend; buy a few extra groceries and give them to someone in need; make a meal for your neighbour and deliver it to their doorstep. Simple. Simple. And simple. Just get outside yourself.

The world, and we humans, are not that complicated. It doesn’t take Herculean effort or huge sums of money to pull someone out of an emotional hole. It simply takes an open heart. We spend countless hours building our bodies so they can withstand the weight of the world. Now it’s time to build our hearts. In fact, there is no better time than right now. So go forth and be your best self – for yourself, and for others.

Shelley Civkin is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review. She’s currently a freelance writer and volunteer.

Choose to be and to do good

As Jews, we’re acutely aware of our core Jewish values: help others, perform mitzvot, respect human dignity and life, love your neighbour as yourself, act morally, save lives, repair the world. But do we actually do those things? As we’ve heard before, it’s the duty of every single person to leave the world better than he or she found it.

During this unprecedented time, when the world is reeling from the COVID-19 pandemic, now, more than ever we need to remind ourselves of Jewish morals and ethics. And be better Jews.

Exceptional times typically bring out both the worst and the best in people. I’m choosing to focus on the best, though. For instance, folks around the world going outside at a set time every day to make noise and show their gratitude for frontline workers – and not just the doctors, nurses and caregivers, but also grocery store cashiers, letter carriers, pharmacists, delivery people, tradespeople, chefs and taxi drivers. Anyone and everyone who puts themselves in harm’s way each day, to keep us safe, fed and healthy.

If we don’t, as a society, learn the value of showing gratitude and generosity in desperate times, we become a society without a soul. If we think only of ourselves, we become lacking in conscience and void of morality.

What I know for certain is this: if a Jew needs something, another Jew should always step up and help out. It’s what we are supposed do. It’s what we’ve always done, most of the time. It might even be embedded in our DNA. In fact, we’re commanded to do it. Here are some tips for being a better Jew during COVID-19 (and always):

Take care of yourself so that you can take care of others. This may sound trite and over-used, but it’s true: your health is everything. I have suffered a long and serious illness and it’s shown me that nothing is more important than having your health. Unless it’s faith.
Be an active participant in life – this is not just a long lunch break. There is more to life than Netflix and reading (says the retired librarian). There are meaningful things you can be doing with all your spare time now. Think about where you can be of service, and whom you can help.
Practise random acts of kindness, compassion and loving care for your fellow human being – remember the Golden Rule. It can be something as simple as thanking a healthcare worker or letter carrier you see walking on the street. It doesn’t take much to show someone that they’re needed and appreciated.
Practise generosity – share, don’t hoard. Surprise a family member or friend with a meal or small gift that might just make their day. It can be something as simple as an extra few rolls of toilet paper or a container of disinfectant wipes (COVID-19 gold). Something that lets them know you’re willing and happy to share. Just remember physical distancing! A friend of mine recently brought me some extra face masks she had on hand (again, coronavirus gold).
Offer to do errands (grocery shopping, picking up a prescription, walking a dog, etc.) for family, friends or acquaintances in need. Be someone’s hero. People won’t always be comfortable asking for help, so be proactive and offer, if you can.
Cultivate faith (emunah) and trust (bitachon) in G-d, that everything will be OK. Life is easier when you have a higher power on your side and understand that there are many things you can’t control.
Check in regularly with single friends and seniors, in particular. Isolation can be devastating, especially when it’s ongoing. Even if you can just wave to a friend or family member through a window, that might just be their only human connection all day (or all week). It costs nothing and it’s priceless. Small gestures can have big impacts. Help people feel part of their community.
Show gratitude every day, because there is always something for which to be grateful. Whether it’s big (your good health) or small (cherry blossoms on the trees), appreciate the abundance in your life. It’s everywhere you look. Just keep your eyes open. And get out there at 7 p.m. every day and clap your hands or bang your pots and pans, to show your thanks to all the frontline workers who turn up for us every single day to make our lives easier. We are one big family – show the love!
Keep in mind the social and economic impacts the COVID-19 pandemic is having on everyone. Be sensitive to the situations of those less fortunate than yours. If you can, offer financial help, food or any other kind of assistance when you see the need.
Volunteer your time delivering food or supplies to others if you’re healthy and able. Contact and get involved with your local synagogue, Jewish Family Services, the Kehila Society or any other organization, Jewish or non-Jewish, working to alleviate the many needs right now.
Stay positive – for yourself and others. Positivity is the best medicine during this stressful time.
Be your best self. Let your innate goodness shine through. Remember we each have a tiny piece of divine soul within us.
Do mitzvot – tip the scales for good.
Give tzedakah. You don’t have to be a millionaire to make a difference in someone’s life. Every little bit helps.
Study a bit of Torah or other spiritual texts, if you’re so inclined.
Recite Psalms, if you’re so inclined. (I have a copy that includes English commentary, and this makes it so much more meaningful when I read them. It started out slowly for me, but now I find huge comfort in reading Psalms. Why not give it a try?)
Participate in some online classes or listen to speakers via Zoom video presentations. There’s a lot of inspiration and new perspectives to be gleaned, and goodness knows we could all use some of that right now.
Keep busy by finding purpose in your life. This is so important, especially right now, when there is so little to distract us from the devastation of COVID-19. Try to look for the good in every situation – it will serve you well. I’ve been on both sides of that wall and believe me when I say that staying positive will make your life much easier.

Here are some simple rules to live by (unknown source): help others without being asked; help people who cannot help you; help without the expectation of return; help many people; do the right thing the right way.

Remember that, every second of every day, we make choices. Choose to be good and do good. You can’t go wrong with that.

Why not take olive me?

Tori Avey’s Mediterranean Olive Chicken is one of those guest-worthy dishes – impressive, yet easy to prepare and sure to please. (photo by Shelley Civkin)

It’s Thursday afternoon and I’m wondering what the maid is going to make for dinner. Or how I’m going to spend that $70 million Lotto Max I just won. Or when I’ll fly to Mars. See my quandary? I guess you could say I’m in a rut: fish, chicken, steak. Not being a big pasta fan, I seem to fall back on my old regulars every week. If I let him, my husband Harvey would eat pizza and pasta every night.

I remember the ’60s, when my mom had an unwritten weekly dinner schedule. Sundays were prime rib roast with Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes and salad. The salad was only ever iceberg lettuce (hadn’t farmers discovered romaine, butter lettuce or kale yet??), mixed with cucumbers, tomatoes and green onions. Bottled dressing. The rest of the week’s dinners consisted of chicken livers with onions, salmon, meatloaf or hamburgers, or chicken. Each main was accompanied by the same weekly side dishes. And I mean the same. There was little, if any, variation from week to week. There’s something to say for consistency. With the exception of salad, every other vegetable mom served was frozen and came pre-chopped in a plastic bag. It was the ’60s after all. Occasionally, we’d go to the White Spot on Granville and 67th for a treat, and eat in the car, with the long tray spread across the front seat, attached to the window edges. Exciting times!

It’s funny that the ’60s and ’70s were a time of instant everything – Carnation Instant Breakfast, Pop-Tarts, Shake ’n Bake, Swanson TV Dinners, Nestle’s instant chocolate milk. Even though lots of women were stay-at-home moms and had time on their hands. Not to diminish the hard work they did raising their kids and keeping the house spotless. But let’s face it, lots of women today work outside the home and still do the majority of the childrearing and house chores. There were those privileged few who also had live-in housekeepers (yes, my family was one of them), and still my mother used lots of instant, pre-made foods. She was a good cook, for sure, but had to have a recipe in front of her. I’m like her in that regard. But I digress.

When we got married 10-and-a-half years ago, Harvey and I used to eat out at restaurants three to four times a week. So cooking was easy. Now, not so much. Sure, retirement provides me with more time to explore recipes. But my heart’s just not in it. Actually, that’s not true. I’m usually so busy volunteering that I simply don’t have the time (or inclination) to sit in front of a computer looking for culinary inspiration. Harvey thinks of cooking like a chemistry experiment, so he enjoys it. But as we get older (and sleep way less), we’ve kind of lost the fire in our bellies for cooking.

My father, alav hashalom, used to describe me as a human garbage disposal, because I would pretty much eat anything. He used to say that I’d “eat out of a puddle.” I was the “Give-it-to-Mikey-he’ll-eat-it” daughter. Admittedly, as long as someone else cooks it, I’ll eat it. That was then.

I am still a very easy-to-please eater – as long as the food isn’t too spicy, doesn’t contain too much roughage and doesn’t have nuts, corn, celery or raw vegetables in it. Well-seasoned food is nice, but, at heart, I’m a purist. With a bad gut. Bland food doesn’t bother me; in fact, I’ve been known to enjoy hospital food. After my recent three-month stomach illness, during which I ate only bland food, and very little, I’ve been a bit apprehensive about trying anything different. But, lately, as I’ve been feeling better, I figure it’s time to branch out. Caution to the wind!

As I strolled the culinary landscape that is the internet, I came across a particular chicken recipe by Tori Avey, whose recipes I’ve enjoyed before. Best thing about this recipe is that it’s easy. And, turns out, it’s stunningly delicious. Feast your taste buds. Find it online at toriavey.com/toris-kitchen/mediterranean-olive-chicken.

TORI AVEY’S MEDITERRANEAN OLIVE CHICKEN
(tweaked by me slightly)

3/4 cup chopped green olives (I used queen Manzanilla)
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
2 tbsp fresh lime juice
1 tbsp crushed garlic
2 tsp honey
1/2 tsp lime zest
salt and pepper
4-5 lbs chicken pieces, bone in, skin on (I use 6 chicken thighs, as we’re dark meat fans, but white meat would be fine, too)

The recipe also called for red pepper flakes and dried oregano, which I omitted, plus wine to make a sauce afterwards, which I also omitted.

In a mixing bowl, whisk together the chopped olives, olive oil, lime juice, garlic, honey and lime zest. Season the marinade with salt and pepper to taste.
Sprinkle the chicken pieces lightly with salt and pepper. Place chicken pieces in a nine-by-13-inch baking dish. Brush the pieces evenly with olive marinade, using all of the marinade to coat.
Cover the baking dish with plastic wrap and place in the refrigerator for at least two hours (or up to overnight).
Preheat oven to 375˚F. Remove the plastic wrap and cover the baking dish with foil. Pierce a few vents with a sharp knife around the outer edges.
Place the covered dish in the oven. Let the chicken bake for 60 minutes, then remove the foil and bake for an additional 15 to 30 minutes, basting periodically, until well cooked and tender. At the end of cooking, you can broil it for a minute or two to brown the skin (I didn’t bother with this step).

After two bites, my husband pronounced this the best chicken I had ever made. Bar none. And we eat a lot of chicken. Since I usually bake chicken uncovered and it turns out dry, this was a surprising treat – extremely moist, über-flavourful and just as yummy the next day. I’ll probably double the recipe next time around, since it’s worth having enough left for a second dinner. This is one of those guest-worthy dishes – impressive, yet easy to prepare and sure to please. And it makes a nice Shabbat meal, too. I also realized the versatility of the marinade when I tried it on pasta. I’d place bets that it goes well with steak, too. One marinade, three uses. Now that’s a masterful marinade!

You’re welcome. Beteavon!

Shelley Civkin aka the Accidental Balabusta, is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review. She’s currently a freelance writer and volunteer.

A tribute to my father

Was it really 17 years ago that my sweet, beloved father, Sidney Civkin, passed away? The long row of empty Yahrzeit candles in my closet confirms it. The date was March 13, 2003. Dad was 86 years old. It was indisputably the saddest day of my life.

If you have a good one, you’ll know that there is something unique about a father-daughter relationship. There are secrets and bonds that no mother-daughter relationship can come close to. Don’t ask me why, I just know it’s true.

It’s no secret that my sister Linda and I spent more time with our father in the last three years of his life than we had up until that point – and he was always a very present, involved father. He’d been suffering with end-stage renal failure and was on dialysis for those last few years. And we were his primary caregivers, since our mother was not well by that point.

Our dad often said that, ironically, those were the best years of his life – precisely because he got to spend so much time with Linda and me. He loved to just hang out with us. Whether we were sharing a meal, having a coffee at Granville Island, or sitting in the den shmoozing, he was all in. Flattering to think that he loved our company above everything else.

There was no one who didn’t have an opinion about our father. Some knew him as argumentative, loud and assertive. Others remember him as compassionate, caring and erudite. I knew him as all of those things, and loved him more for it. He was my secret-keeper, my biggest fan, my adoring, supportive father. If anyone has ever loved me unconditionally, it was him.

Dad adored his work (he was an ear, nose and throat surgeon); devoured books; loved to golf; loved to cook; and took great enjoyment in playing bridge with his buddies. But, most of all, he loved his family. And he had a quirky, magnificent sense of humour. He was playful, outspoken and hardworking. And he adored off-colour jokes.

Dad was born in Winnipeg (“the Old Country”) in 1916, served in the Canadian Army as a medical officer, then moved to Vancouver in 1949, determined to escape the brutal prairie winters. He set up his medical practice in New Westminster and, even though we lived in Vancouver, he continued to make the commute for the next 37-odd years. He loved the small-town feel of New Westminster, his working-class patients and his colleagues. He’d found his place as a well-respected doctor who spent his life helping others.

I’ll never forget the night Dad passed on. My life shattered, not just momentarily, but for a few years. I was 47 years old, single, and I’d just lost my best friend. I know that sounds odd, but our relationship was everything to me. I grieved as though I’d invented the concept. I felt like no one’s heart could be broken quite like mine. It wasn’t just an emotional pain. It was intensely physical for me. In the blink of an eye (it wasn’t really, because he had been sick for three years, but death never seems inevitable, even in the very second before it happens), my world splintered into a billion pieces. I was inconsolable.

My grief consumed me, at home and at work. The mere thought of my father set me to tears. It was like a floodgate had not merely opened, but exploded. Seventeen years later, I still think of my father regularly, but the tears are no longer a daily occurrence. Yet, I still can’t believe he’s no longer here with us, physically. He certainly is in spirit. They say that, when the soul leaves the body, it can still connect with loved ones, except it’s in a spiritual way. And we have lots of that. Naturally, I miss the physicality of giving my dad a hug and kiss. I miss looking at his smiling face. But we still connect mightily and often. I can feel his presence in my dreams and, when I see or hear particular things, I just know it’s my dad sending me a message. I know he’s always checking in on me, looking out for how I’m doing.

Grief is a funny thing. It ebbs and flows. It intrudes at the most inopportune times, and announces its presence with a deafening blast. It creeps into your consciousness when you least expect it, and always takes its sweet time getting comfortable. Grief never gets an invitation – it always just crashes the party. Grief never gets easier; it just gets different. The edges blur, the points soften, but the tangible sense of loss never goes away. Seventeen years later, at age 64, I still feel like an orphan.

There is much truth to the adage by Maya Angelou: “People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” My father always made me feel loved and supported. His pride in me was a source of great comfort. Naturally, there were times when he said or did things that angered or upset me, but they never eclipsed his unconditional love for me. I have always been sure of that.

If I had to distil my dad’s legacy into a nutshell, it would be this: be kind to people and help them when you can. Give graciously of your heart, and always try to do the right thing. It’s a tall order. But I’m up for the challenge. Thank you, Dad, for everything.

Balabusta does nothing

(photo from pexels.com)

Lest you think this Accidental Balabusta has been slacking off, let me set the record straight. I’ve been sick since the middle of November and haven’t had the koach to do anything, including writing or cooking. No need for the gory details; suffice it to say that it’s worn me down to a nub.

It’s been a struggle to find the silver lining in all this, and months of illness has taken its toll both physically and emotionally. There were days I couldn’t see the end in sight, and felt like my life had no purpose – a soul-destroying way to feel. There was no energy to do what I love: volunteering, attending Torah classes, meeting with friends.

In the absence of meaningful activities, my mind became a slave to anxiety and rumination, and the negativity spilled over into my various relationships. Let’s face it, no one likes a chronic complainer. Desperate to snap out of that funk, I didn’t have the mental or physical energy to attempt it.

Fast forward. I’m almost fully recovered. So, which came first – recovery or a sense of optimism?

Since regaining the bulk of my energy and well-being, I can now look at that period of suffering and negativity with a more balanced perspective. Which answers the aforementioned question – recovery came first. Which stands to reason, as it’s nearly impossible to feel positive in the midst of ongoing poor health. At least for regular folk.

A short video I watched while I was sick, by Goldie Plotkin, called Inner Strength – Courage and Faith for Life’s Challenges, was pretty inspirational, albeit vague. It emphasized the importance of “seeing the blessings in the challenges,” and learning how to use these challenges as “springboards for good.” Having overcome and embraced her own personal life challenges, Plotkin views adversity and struggle as “impetuses to grow and learn” from, and resiliency as an integral character trait. What puzzles me is this: How exactly do people “access” these blessings while they’re in the throes of illness? Or can we? Maybe it’s only after the fact that we can perceive the blessings.

The question remains: Is there a way to cope more effectively while we’re in the eye of the storm?

It got me thinking. What do Jews of great faith do when faced with illness and suffering? They think positively. Since they trust that G-d does everything for the good, they have faith that something positive will come from every experience. “Tracht gut vet zein gut” – “Think good and it will be good.” A life-affirming attitude, for sure. And one that probably takes a lifetime to cultivate. Unless you happen to be a Chassid. And still.

As my health improves, and the negativity lifts, I’m reminded of a joke from a book called There Must be a Pony, where a boy wakes up on Christmas morning and finds a pile of horse manure under the tree, instead of gifts. Possessing an extraordinarily optimistic outlook, the boy immediately starts shoveling the manure, exclaiming enthusiastically, “With all this manure, there must be a pony somewhere!”

If only faith and trust in G-d were that easy.

During the latter part of my recovery, when I actually had the energy to get dressed, I promised myself that I would do something every day to get out of my head: go for a walk, listen to a Jewish-themed podcast, read something inspiring. Anything to distract my mind from its endless loop of pessimistic storylines.

I started reading a book called Positivity Bias: Practical Wisdom for Positive Living. It gave me some practical tools to help stop my cycle of negativity. One such tool is the concept of “cognitive restructuring” or “reframing,” which was integral to me turning the corner. It’s a technique that helps people view situations from a different perspective and, when a person’s perspective changes, their thinking and behaviour often change as well. It helps one challenge the veracity of negative, often inaccurate, perspectives, and reframe their thinking. Based on cognitive behavioural therapy, the long and short of it is this – if you want to feel better, change your mind.

The essence of the book is simple yet profound. Since our thoughts and words influence how we feel and behave, each of us has the power to reshape our lives. Mindfulness and consciousness are huge parts of this process. If our thoughts are not helping us or moving us forward, then we need to change how we think. The catch is that it’s difficult to do and it’s an ongoing challenge.

An article I read recently – “Ten Hacks for Mental Control that Every Human Being Should Know” by Tzvi Freeman – was also helpful. It talks about negative thoughts and how to counteract them in a healthy way. (Read: from a Chassidic perspective.) Naturally, most of the references are to religious thought and practice. According to Freeman, the challenge is not just stopping ourselves from having negative thoughts, but finding wholesome thoughts and actions to replace the negative ones.

Relaxation techniques, like breathing meditation, and distractions such as paying attention to external stimuli, work well, too. Basically, getting outside your own head. While both approaches work, I personally think replacing unhealthy thoughts with healthy ones is the better alternative, since it not only redirects your mind, but also retrains it in a significant, consequential way.

If I’ve learned anything from this experience, it’s that cultivating positivity requires superhuman vigilance and self-control. It demands that we learn to regulate, train and discipline ourselves in how we behave, how we speak and, most importantly, how we allow ourselves to think. And it’s key to living a more intentional, meaningful, happy life.

Am I walking the walk? All I can say is I’m trying. Day by day. Moment by moment. Every one of us is a flawed human being, but each of us has the potential to make our life better, more purposeful. My advice is to use whatever works for you. Just remember that there’s something to learn from everybody.

If all that fails … try prayer. I’m a huge fan. Surrendering to something greater than oneself isn’t a sign of weakness; it’s a sign of strength and faith. And it’s just a thought, but maybe don’t ask G-d to heal you. Maybe, instead, ask G-d to give you the emotional and physical strength and courage to heal yourself. Just saying.

Young learners, big mission

Left to right: Chana Rivka Bitton, Miriam Feigelstock, Baila Shapiro, Shira Oirechman and Ora Yeshayahu. The biggest event of the Tzivos Hashem year is a Shabbaton in New York, the highlight of which is an international competition called Chidon Sefer Hamitzvos, where kids from around the world compete in their knowledge and understanding of the 613 mitzvot of the Torah, as codified by Maimonides. (photo from Tzivos Hashem)

Walking into the Lubavitch Centre at 41st and Oak Street a couple of months ago, I witnessed a hub of activity so vibrant with excitement it was practically humming. Every available space was brimming with excited children, from little ones to newly minted teenagers. Engaged in drawing, listening intently, and engrossed in a whole variety of activities, I knew these kids had to be connected to Chayolei Tzivos Hashem.

Make no mistake – Chayolei Tzivos Hashem (CTH or Tzivos Hashem, for short) is serious business. According to Tzivos Hashem Vancouver coordinator Riki Oirechman, it’s an educational program for Jewish children ages 3-13, founded in 1980 in New York by the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Menachem Mendel Schneerson. Tzivos Hashem focuses on teaching about kindness, good deeds and refining our character to become better people and more effective influencers in our community. The program aims to increase Jewish identity and provide children with Chassidic Jewish learning through informal activities and songs.

Tzivos Hashem Vancouver was established several years ago by Rabbi Shmulik Yeshayahu, Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld and Rabbi Schneur Wineberg and, since then, it has grown in size. Today, they count 50 children registered in the local program, and have plans to expand its hours. Currently, it is being held every Sunday at the Lubavitch Centre, from 10:30 a.m. to noon, in groups divided by age.

“It’s incredible to see how much the kids learn every week, and how much they enjoy coming,” said Oirechman. Parents even relate that their kids consider it the “highlight of their week.”

The Vancouver chapter of Tzivos Hashem was able to run the first two years thanks to a grant from the Phyliss and Irving Snider Foundation. This helped lay the foundation for the program. Since then, it is partially self-funded and relies on tuition fees for each student.

“The program is designed to give young children a sense of pride and belonging, a feeling of connectedness to other Jews,” said the Lubavitch Centre’s Rosenfeld. “It’s meant to instil in them an appreciation for what they do and inspire them to do even more.”

When asked what they learn, Rosenfeld said the curriculum includes things like a deeper insight into the Jewish holidays and following examples of role models from our ancient and recent history. The older kids learn Mishnah and Talmud. All of the learning is illustrated according to Chassidic theory, as taught by the Lubavitcher Rebbe.

“We encourage the children to advance their knowledge, not just maintain it,” said Rosenfeld. “Constant review and reinforcement of the different concepts allows the kids to build on the knowledge they gain each week. Moreover, we try to channel the kids’ studies into the practical realm, having them translate their knowledge into action. Whether through class activities, such as visiting the Louis Brier Home with cards and hamantashen before Purim, or with doughnuts before Chanukah, the kids can keep track of their mitzvot (good deeds) through an online logging system.”

“The Sunday program,” added Oirechman, “teaches kids in a fun, highly interactive and hands-on way. Our lessons incorporate creative team challenges, unique arts and crafts, educational games, Tanya (the foundational work of the Chabad movement) and mishnayot (the oldest authoritative post-biblical collection and codification of Jewish oral laws), memorization, weekly missions, songs and much more. In the short time we have each Sunday, we instil and teach the kids important values.”

photo - A group of Tzivos Hashem learners — A group of Tzivos Hashem learners. *(photo from Tzivos Hashem)*

Tzivos Hashem is based on the Rebbe’s style of teaching, and offers children badges for missions based on things they accomplish in their daily Jewish lives – for instance, saying Modei Ani every morning, washing their hands before meals, giving tzedakah, saying Tehillim (Psalms), etc. Using the army and its ranks as a metaphor for how Tzivos Hashem is structured, the program enables children to learn at their own pace and get rewarded for it. Each student starts out as a private, but, as they do more good deeds and complete missions, they earn mitzvah badges. After collecting enough badges, they are awarded medals. When they get enough medals, they are promoted in rank. Think of it like a Chassidic Airmiles loyalty program; when the children complete missions every week and behave during the Sunday programs, they’re rewarded with mileage points.

A few times throughout the year, there is a prize store, where the students can use the points they earned to buy prizes online. The global headquarters of Chayolei Tzivos Hashem hosts monthly raffles, where children who have completed missions can have a chance to earn more prizes. There are monthly international webcast rallies, where recognition and honour are given to students who have gone up in rank. The physical prizes act as incentives to learn and do more but, in reality, the incentives are inherent, or self-generated: love of Hashem and commitment to Torah values and Yiddishkeit.

The biggest event of the year is a Shabbaton in New York, the highlight of which is an international competition called Chidon Sefer Hamitzvos, where kids from around the world compete, on stage, in their knowledge and understanding of the 613 mitzvot of the Torah, as codified by Maimonides. The competition motivates the children to review the mitzvot and commit them to memory.

Oirechman said the Tzivos Hashem program is adding to both to the quality and quantity of learning opportunities and resources available in Vancouver for Jewish children. For more information about the Vancouver Tzivos Hashem program, email [email protected] or visit their website, thvancouver.ca.

With the goal of living Torah-observant lives, kids in the program are steered to become “lamplighters” – igniting and spreading light wherever they go, through good deeds, acts of kindness and Torah study. Light is something that can be shared infinitely and it only takes a bit of light to extinguish darkness. And while, from my outsider’s point of view, the army metaphor sounds rather harsh, it actually reflects a message that couldn’t be gentler and more caring: to love and help your fellow Jew.

Scrumptious soup ’n’ cookies

Kermit Soup, ready to serve. (photo by Shelley Civkin)

Treat your friends to one little taste of my Kermit Soup (aka kale-and-potato soup) and I guarantee they’ll be green with envy. Granted, it’s an unholy colour, which could be off-putting to some, but don’t dismiss it out of spoon. Even those who vigorously eschew kale (and aren’t partial to green) will be begging for seconds.

During these seemingly endless, dark days of fall and winter, there’s nothing more comforting than a thick, hearty soup. (Unless of course it’s a healthy serving of 15-year-old Balvenie, but that’s just wasted calories.) To me, soups are the bait-and-switch of mealtimes. If you haven’t been shopping in awhile, and all you’re planning for dinner is tuna sandwiches, then a good, substantial soup can easily step up to the plate and take on the starring role. After all, soup has got so much going for it: it’s filling, scrumptious and everything else pales by comparison. Especially if it’s Kermit Soup (you’ll see what I’m talking about soon enough). Don’t feel you need to apologize for its aberrant tint. I mean, just take a look around at the freakish hair colours you see on the streets. Kermit Soup has absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. Nor do you.

It does help if you have a really good blender to make this soup. In fact, it’s rather essential. I’ve got a Breville at home and that sucker could crush rocks. (I’m pretty sure my blender has a bigger engine than my car.) Yams? No problem. Acorn squash? A joke. Carrots? In its sleep. Not that my recipe calls for any of those. Just saying. So, without further ado – meet the star of the dinner show.

KERMIT SOUP

2 cloves garlic
3 small/medium Yukon gold potatoes, diced
half a large yellow onion
6 cups baby kale, chopped and lightly packed (the store wouldn’t let me take it without parental permission, so I used adult kale instead)
4 tbsp unsalted butter
1 quart (4 cups) chicken (or mushroom) broth
Salt and pepper to taste

Mince the garlic.
Peel and chop the onion.
Peel and cube the potatoes.
Rinse kale and drain it well. Remove the thick stems then chop it up.
Melt butter over medium heat in a heavy soup pan.
Add garlic, onion, potatoes, and salt and pepper to taste.
Stir and cook for several minutes over medium heat.
Add the broth and bring it to a boil. Skim off fat from the top.
Gently simmer with the lid on for about 15 minutes or until potatoes are tender.
Add the kale and cook without the lid for about three to five minutes or until tender.
Transfer the soup to a blender a few cups at a time and puree. You might want to remove the little circle part of the blender lid to let some of the steam escape (but not while the blender is running). As each pureed batch is ready, pour it into another saucepan.
Ready to serve! It’s even better reheated the next day, and it’s good cold, too. If you’re not too hungry, have some bread with it and you’ve got yourself a light, yet filling fall meal. You’re welcome.

So, by now you’ve devoured your Kermit Soup and tuna sandwiches. To great acclaim. The soup, that is. An hour-and-a-half goes by and you’re jonesing for something sweet. Now what? You could get in your car and drive to some overpriced, hipster dessert restaurant that charges $12.95 for a two-inch purple yam, all-vegan crème brulée. Or, you could rock it old school. In the comfort of your own home. With Weetabix Chocolate Chip Cookies.

Yes, Virginia, Weetabix is more than just a breakfast cereal. Plus, it adds a nice crunchy texture to your cookies that you won’t soon forget (unless you overdo it with that 15-year-old Balvenie I referenced earlier. But that’s on you, not me). I always keep a box of Weetabix around, just in case of a cookie emergency. Which seems to happen with increasing frequency. And there are always chocolate chips hidden in my freezer (as if I don’t know where they are). So, go ahead, don your apron, pretend you’re Suzie Homemaker or Donna Reed and bake your family some irresistible cookies.

WEETABIX CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES

4 Weetabix, crushed
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
3/4 cup soft butter or margarine
1/2 cup firmly packed brown sugar
1/4 cup granulated white sugar
1 1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1 egg
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

Mix together crushed Weetabix, flour, baking soda and salt in medium bowl. Set aside.
In a large bowl, using a hand mixer, cream together butter/margarine and sugars. Beat in vanilla and egg.
Add dry ingredients and mix well. Stir in chocolate chips.
Drop dough by tablespoonsful onto an ungreased baking sheet (or line with parchment paper).
Bake at 350°F for 12 minutes (or slightly longer for a crispier cookie).
Eat and repeat. Or eat ’em and weep. I’ll leave that to your discretion. These are so popular that you might want to make two batches at once. Just to be on the safe side. One batch never lasts more than half a day in my home, and there are only two of us. Again, you’re welcome.

These aren’t exactly balabatish recipes. More like nouveau accidental balabusta. But I do stand behind them. You see, I’m channeling my inner balabusta while I make them, and that’s good enough for me. I’ll leave the rugelach, kichele and komish broit to some other ambitious balabusta. On some other day. It just goes to show that food doesn’t need some fancy Yiddish name to taste geshmak. One bite of these Weetabix cookies and one spoonful of this Kermit Soup and you’ll be kvelling all over the place. Just clean up after all that kvelling, OK? Bottom line: it’s all about the heart and soul of the cook.

So, stop kvetching and get thee into the kitchen. Those cookies and soup aren’t going to make themselves. Just promise me one thing – you won’t ask for a refund if you don’t love the Kermit Soup.

Inaugural study project

Chabad Richmond’s Rabbi Yechiel Baitelman, far left, was the only Canadian spiritual leader to participate in first-ever rabbinic seminar on Holocaust studies at Yad Vashem, the World Holocaust Remembrance Centre, this past July. (photo from Chabad Richmond)

For one week this past July, 15 pulpit rabbis gathered together to take part in the first-ever rabbinic seminar on Holocaust studies at Yad Vashem, the World Holocaust Remembrance Centre, in Jerusalem.

Yad Vashem is the foremost resource for Shoah educators, both Jewish and non-Jewish. Fourteen rabbis and rebbetzins from North America and one rabbi from Israel, all of whom are engaged in adult education, were invited to participate in the week-long pilot immersion program, which was sponsored by David and Ellie Werber and Martin and Bracha Werber. The diverse group of spiritual leaders spanned the religious spectrum.

Rabbi Yechiel Baitelman, director of Chabad Richmond, was the only Canadian rabbi to participate in the seminar, with the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver being a partial sponsor of his travels. He described the week of learning at Yad Vashem as “transformational, uncomfortable, overwhelming, extremely challenging, very enlightening and at times very inspiring. It’s going to take awhile to unpack all this information.”

Entitled Teaching the Shoah and Antisemitism: Opportunities, Challenges and Techniques, the seminar consisted of 65 hours of lectures by scholars and experts, plus testimonials from Holocaust survivors. Covering an array of topics, the point of the program was to help rabbis cultivate the skills necessary to create an educational curriculum and content for Holocaust studies in their schools, adult education classes and congregations at home. Yad Vashem’s challenge was to find unique approaches to teaching people about history, theology, antisemitism and Jewish values relating to the Holocaust, as well as to expand the breadth and scope of emissaries who will ensure the continuity of the stories and pass along the lessons learned from the Shoah.

The Yad Vashem seminar incorporated a multidisciplinary approach to Holocaust education and used various methodologies to help participants comprehend the complexity of the Shoah as a whole, never forgetting the personal stories of individuals. The curriculum included studying prewar Jewish life in Europe; the rise of Nazism; life in the ghettos; concentration camps and the attempted “Final Solution”; liberation from concentration camps; survivors returning to life in the “new world”; the ongoing pursuit of Nazi war criminals; the new antisemitism and anti-Israel rhetoric; physical and spiritual resistance; the role rabbis played during the Shoah; survivor testimony; and theological responses to the Holocaust.

Speakers included international researchers, professors and historians; a world expert on antisemitism; the head of Holocaust studies at Yad Vashem; a Nazi hunter; and several Holocaust survivors, including former chief rabbi of Israel, Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau, and Rabbi Judge David Frenkel.

As the survivor population gets smaller, others need to ensure that the lessons of the Holocaust are never forgotten. Yad Vashem understands that rabbis have a special role to play in teaching about the rabbinic, theological and spiritual meanings and implications of the Holocaust. For his part, Baitelman will be looking for ways to collaborate with the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre to create a curriculum for Jews and non-Jews alike.

“The challenge is how to talk to teens, 20-somethings, 30-somethings and 40-somethings about the Holocaust,” said Baitelman. “What should the message be?… We’re a people who have always told stories. Even though we are so many generations removed, in a sense, it is still my story, our story. The message is not only about where we come from, but also about where we are going.” He stressed that, with growing global antisemitism, we need to strengthen the Jewish people worldwide – Jewish education, Jewish values and Torah observance.

“Although we might struggle with faith,” said Baitelman, “we still need to look for G-d amidst the rubble and the hatred. It’s imperative that we find inspiration from those who survived the Holocaust, and find ways to teach tolerance, empathy and understanding.”

Baitelman believes it’s essential to address not only the theological question of “Where was G-d?” during the Holocaust, but also, “Where was man in all of this?”

“If, as a result of the Holocaust, one does not believe in G-d, then we have to believe in humanity,” he said. “The question is: ‘Where was the humanity of the people that perpetrated these crimes?’”

For the rabbi, a meaningful Jewish education involves people living Jewishly. “We need highly educated, well-informed Jewish kids living fully engaged Jewish lives,” he said. “We need children who are living proudly Jewish.”

Baitelman has taught several courses on the Holocaust through the Jewish Learning Institute, and has talked to teachers, school classes and new immigrants about antisemitism and the Holocaust. He said education needs also to address the important question of “Now what? What are we here for?”

Shelley Civkin is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review, and currently writes a bi-weekly column about retirement for the Richmond News. She is a volunteer with Chabad Richmond.

Pot roast for Rosh Hashanah

There’s no denying that food is an insanely large part of Jewish life. Whether we’re cooking it, eating it or writing about it, our lives inexorably orbit around it. It’s true that most religions celebrate their holidays, at least partially, through food. But we Jews have taken the concept to nosebleed-worthy stratospheric heights. If someone tells you their son is becoming bar mitzvah, our first question is not “Which shul?” but “What are you serving?” A bris? We don’t ask: “What time?” but rather, “What can I make?”

It’s not that modern-day Yiddishkeit revolves around food, but it kinda does. I’m fully aware that we’re supposed to focus on blessing and elevating the food we eat, since it is meaningless on its own. From a religious perspective, food is merely the vehicle to give us the strength to do mitzvahs and study Torah. I get it. But how can you ignore the deliciousness of a rock-star chicken soup or a melt-in-your-mouth brisket?

When you pair Rosh Hashanah and food, what do you get? Pure joy. And maybe a little indigestion, if there’s excess onion and garlic on the guest list. We all know that the High Holidays are a time to relax with family, eat lovingly prepared meals and go to shul. And, while shul is certainly important, for some, the highlight is the food.

From many years of observation, I’ve deduced that there are three main contenders at the Ashkenazi Rosh Hashanah table: matzah ball soup, brisket and gefilte fish. And maybe chicken. Or salmon, if you’re a true Vancouverite. Anything else is considered “alternative.” Seriously, when was the last time someone served tofu or sunomono at Rosh Hashanah dinner? Asked and answered.

Being firmly entrenched in the carnivore camp, I decided I’m going to make a pot roast for Rosh Hashanah this year. Being a pot roast virgin, until recently I knew next to nothing about this cut of meat or how to cook it. How did I get to be 63 years old without knowing these things? Rhetorical question. Anyway, I did what any self-respecting Accidental Balabusta would do – I Googled it. I found a recipe from the Food Network by Ree Drummond, called Perfect Pot Roast! I followed the recipe religiously (OK, minus the sheitel), except I made a mini-roast (one-and-three-quarter pounds) in case I screwed it up. And I used beef blade roast, which is the same as chuck roast, apparently. I cooked it at 275˚F for two-and-a-half hours. It turned out as scrumptious as something a bubbe would make. Only better. Modesty, wherefore art thou?

Over the years, I’ve heard gossip about pot roast: that it calls for a cheap, tough cut of meat (true); that it’s not really a Jewish cut of meat (see Snobbery 101); and that only goyim eat it (see Racism 101). I’m living proof that pot roast is a very Jewish thing. And, excuse me if I brag, but my newfound pot roast is beyond delicious. Or, to use the vernacular, a mechaye.

I feel compelled to mention something a little odd at this juncture. When I brought my first pot roast and took it out of the package, I noticed it had heavy twine wrapped around it. I wondered whether I’d purchased the B&D variety by mistake. Googling the twine part set my mind at ease. I mean, who wants to serve a kinky Rosh Hashanah pot roast?

Call me clairvoyant or, on second thought, don’t (that’s really not a Jewish thing), but I think you might be chomping at the bit for this recipe. Wait no longer. Allow me to introduce you to the Perfect Pot Roast by Ree Drummond. BTW, it calls for a Dutch oven, but any deep, covered roasting pan will do just fine. (Don’t feel bad, I had to Google Dutch oven, too.) Go ahead, cook it and tell me if this doesn’t taste Jewish.

PERFECT POT ROAST

Salt and ground black pepper
One 3-5 pound chuck roast (same as beef blade roast)
2-3 tbsp olive oil
2 whole onions, peeled and halved
6-8 whole carrots, peeled and cut into 2-inch pieces
1 cup red wine (doesn’t need to be anything fancy)
3 cups beef broth
2-3 sprigs fresh rosemary
2-3 sprigs fresh thyme
2-3 potatoes, peeled and cut into pieces

Preheat oven to 275˚F.
Generously salt and pepper the roast.
Heat the olive oil in a large fry pan or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add the halved onions to the pot, browning them on both sides. Remove the onions to a plate.
Throw the carrots into the same fry pan or Dutch oven and toss them around a bit until slightly browned. Set aside the carrots with the onions.
If needed, add a bit more olive oil to the fry pan or Dutch oven. Place the meat in the fry pan or Dutch oven and sear it for about a minute on all sides, until it is nice and brown all over. Remove the roast to a plate.
With the burner still on medium-high, use either red wine or beef broth (about one cup) to deglaze the fry pan or Dutch oven, scraping the bottom with a whisk. Put the roast back into the Dutch oven (or deep, covered roasting pan) and add enough beef broth to cover the meat halfway.
Add in the onions and the carrots, along with the fresh herbs. Add potatoes, too (optional).
Put the lid on, then roast it.
The original recipe says to roast a three-pound roast for three hours or a four-to-five-pound roast for four hours. I personally don’t think this is nearly time enough. When I cooked two two-pound roasts in a single roaster at once, it took six-and-a-half hours to cook. The roast is ready when it’s fall-apart tender. I think the longer you cook it, the more tender it gets. It’s hard to screw this up, unless you undercook it.

Important note: don’t get too close to your Dutch oven when you lift the lid during cooking or you’ll get what I call the “pot roast facial.” I’m not sure your pores will appreciate all that meaty steam. But who am I to say? Just don’t blame me if you get third-degree facial burns. Bon appetit! Or, eat it and weep. From joy, that is.

May you all have a happy, healthy, prosperous and peaceful New Year!

Shelley Civkin, aka the Accidental Balabusta, is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review, and currently writes a bi-weekly column about retirement for the Richmond News.