Shelley Civkin

A livelihood, not a hobby

So enthralled am I by the sheer volume and calibre of free online Jewish learning opportunities since the start of the pandemic, that I sometimes forget that the people who do the teaching do it as their livelihood, not as a hobby. Therein lies the problem.

We, the students, the partakers of all manner and sorts of online classes and lectures during COVID, gobble up the learning as though it’s candy, or fine wine. We sit in front of our laptops, tablets and smartphones and act for all the world as though we deserve this high level of education. It should rain down upon us. We’re Jews. We’re the People of the Book. We’re entitled. Teach us!

Make no mistake: we are blessed to be the recipients of this stratospheric level of dedication, and we should not and cannot take it for granted.

But, sometimes, we forget.

We forget that the rabbi or rebbetzin or Jewish scholar or educator who is teaching us needs to feed their family and pay their bills. We forget that we need to support them just like they support us. Too often, we blithely go on learning from week to week, month to month, blissfully ignoring this reality. Yet, we expect a paycheque. Or a pension check, if we’re lucky. Why shouldn’t they?

Zoom classes have become as common as dust since the beginning of the pandemic. Every Jewish religious and/or spiritual organization I can think of is offering Zoom classes weekly, if not daily. They have filled the gaping holes that once were our thriving, healthy, “normal” lives. These same Jewish organizations recognize the desperate need for some kind of normalization, some sort of lifesaver for people to hang onto. In the absence of our daily routines of work, socializing and gathering together as a community, there is little left to celebrate, never mind sustain us. Local synagogues have leaped into the abyss to lift us all up, or those of us who needed lifting, anyway. They have rallied together to create curricula, offer Torah classes, general Jewish study courses, podcasts, livestream videos and so much more. Not only because it’s the source of their livelihood, but because they feel our desperate need, the soul’s yearning for Jewish learning.

There is enormous comfort in seeing others – even if only virtually – and knowing that we are studying Jewish topics together, learning as a community. The overwhelming isolation felt by so many people right now is beyond description. The personal losses, the devastating repercussions from COVID-19 can’t be counted. Our lives have been turned upside down in every way imaginable. And then some. But learning offers hope.

Sure, everyone copes differently with the pandemic, but anybody who says they haven’t been affected by it is just plain lying. Being the adaptable creatures that we are, we take comfort (or relief) where we can find it. For some, it’s food, or alcohol, or Netflix. For others, it’s learning. And, for others still, it must be Jewish learning. Something draws us – something draws me – to our heritage, our history, our Judaism. And, suddenly, we are home.

Myriad times, sitting in front of my computer during or after a Zoom class, usually given by a rabbi, I find myself weeping. Partly as a release from all the stress and anxiety I’m feeling right now; but mostly from a deep sense of gratitude. Gratitude that we, as a community of Jews, haven’t been forgotten. That, amid the detritus of COVID, our faith leaders have intuitively known that we need help, that we can’t do this on our own. So they step up to the plate, full of enthusiasm and inspiration, and they fill us up. Not only do the classes inform us and expand our brains, but they benefit us by keeping us moving forward in a meaningful, purposeful way.

So, why am I writing all this? To remind each and every one of us, myself included, that we should be menschen and pay the favour forward. Pay it, literally, to every rabbi and rebbetzin and Jewish scholar or other educator who shares not only their time, but their wisdom, to help us get through this pandemic in the most meaningful way they know how. Make a donation. Show you care. Make as many donations as you’re able. Big or small, the act is a sign of appreciation. A sign that we value the learning. A sign that we know little, and yearn to know more. A sign that we appreciate their caring, knowing that they will do anything in their power to help. And G-d knows we need it right now. So, whatever we do, we shouldn’t forget to support those who support us.

It would be the century’s grossest understatement to say that I’ve learned a lot during the pandemic. Sure, I’ve learned immeasurable things about human nature and caring and compassion. But I’ve also expanded my Jewish learning a hundred-fold, maybe a thousand-fold. The pandemic has given me the time. But those doing the teaching have given me the inspiration, the foundation, the thirst for more. Instead of being overcome with hopelessness, I’m filled with hope. I see a pattern to life, a way out of this. That is no small thing. We need to pay it forward. Or pay it back. Either one will do.

If there’s a global sense of helplessness pervading much of what we do these days, we can counteract that by not only feeling grateful, but showing it. It could be construed as crass to say that we should pay for our Zoom classes and livestream lectures and podcasts. So be it. Call me crass. It wouldn’t be the first time. Just get out that credit card and do the right thing.

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.

What makes people happy?

Simon Fraser University Prof. Lara Aknin (photo from SFU Communications & Marketing)

There are several paths to finding happiness, according to Prof. Laura Aknin. “But a central theme that rises above the rest is that a lot of happiness comes from our relationships with other people, and how we help and give to others.”

Aknin will deliver the talk A Reality Check, for Good: A Talk on Happiness via Zoom on Feb. 22.

“Guest speaker Lara Aknin is a distinguished associate professor of psychology at Simon Fraser University, and director of the Helping and Happiness Social Psychology Lab at SFU,” said Rabbi Yechiel Baitelman, director of Chabad Richmond. Born and educated in Vancouver, Aknin became interested in social psychology and human emotions while studying as an undergrad and graduate student at the University of British Columbia. According to Aknin, “Human emotions colour our existence, and bring meaning to a lot of what we do.”

Among Aknin’s research interests are well-being, happiness, social relationships, prosocial behaviour and altruism. She established the Helping and Happiness Social Psychology Lab, which studies the predictors of happiness and what makes people happy, the emotional consequences of kind and generous behaviour, and the well-being outcomes of specific spending choices. The lab also looks at how people can increase their happiness.

“Happiness is broadly universal, yet religious people tend to report higher levels of happiness,” said Aknin, when asked how happiness relates to Judaism. “One of the major lessons emerging from our helping and happiness lab and our study of well-being is that it’s not just what we do for ourselves, it’s what we do for others. When we help others and give to others, that’s when we find happiness.”

While not overtly connected, it appears that happiness aligns with Judaism’s emphasis on giving tzedakah and doing mitzvot.

“Helping others is a pretty clear and reliable path to experiencing greater well-being,” confirmed Aknin.

While acknowledging that religion is not her specific area of research, Aknin said, “The notion, or central message that giving to others, whether it be G-d or other people in your community or beyond is a meaningful source of finding joy, reward, value and meaning in life, is certainly aligned with the evidence in the literature.”

A fundamental concept in Judaism is the importance of serving G-d with joy.

“The emotional rewards of giving are a psychological universal, not just particular to the Jewish faith, but it might align with many of the teachings of the Jewish faith and others,” said Aknin. “Researchers see this not just in North America, but in rich and poor countries around the globe. We see it in kids under the age of 2 … we see it in ex-offenders. People experience emotional rewards when they engage in kind behaviour. Many religious principles regularly espouse the value and virtue of giving to others … these ideas have been around for centuries, but the evidence is now documenting the importance of this.”

The topic of helping and happiness resonates with people.

“At some level,” said Aknin, “our intuition says that giving to others is emotionally rewarding but, in real life, people are spending more on themselves – out of necessity, for things like paying their bills, [but] we often overlook opportunities [to give] and would be better off spending the money in our pocket on someone else, rather than on an extra coffee.”

Is it always about our own sense of well-being or is happiness a byproduct of something more altruistic? Is it selfish, for example, to donate clothes to a homeless shelter because it makes us feel good? Is it wrong to have a sense of well-being when we give to others?

“Those questions are central to the work that I do,” Aknin said. “It’s important to distinguish what the motives are for giving in the first place, versus how do you feel afterwards. There’s no question that there are emotional benefits for the giver, and that donating one’s time or money to others promotes well-being and increases life satisfaction. Sometimes, people give to feel good but, by and large, people are giving because they think it’s the right thing to do, and they want to help the person in need. Feeling good about it afterwards isn’t a bad thing. On the contrary, I think that’s a beautiful feature of human behaviour. It serves a purpose to help inspire us to do it again. It’s indicative of a care for humanity. Feeling indifference after giving would be more surprising.”

Aknin said happy people tend to have strong social relationships, they tend to be individuals who donate. and they tend to be relatively comfortable with where they are in life, not only financially, but also proud of what they’ve accomplished. Happy people also tend to live in a safe environment, she said, so being able to trust your neighbours is important.

Aknin is working on a commission that’s studying the trends around happiness and physical/mental health. Findings show that, during the COVID-19 pandemic, most people’s physical and mental health has suffered.

“Negative emotions are up, mental distress is up, depression and anxiety are up. Yet, despite all that, there is still some resilience and stability,” she said. The pandemic has given people time to evaluate their lives, and there is still much stability to be seen.

Aknin said some behaviours that are “protective,” such as exercise, make us feel better. “But people still feel better when they’re helping others,” she said.

According to Aknin, most people are happy, because “we’re very adaptive”; even though we think we aren’t, we are.

When asked if she’s happy doing what she’s doing, Aknin replied: “Yes, there’s great meaning and purpose in what I do.”

To register for Aknin’s Feb. 22, 8 p.m., talk, go to chabadrichmond.com/happiness.

Cookin’ old school meatloaf

As if the pandemic weren’t enough, I’m supposed to think of something tantalizing and healthy to cook every night? Right. Roger that. My motto is: go with the tried and true. Or, given the times we’re in: go with the tired and true. Translation: something my mom used to make in the 1960s and ’70s. Something delicious but notoriously unhealthy.

Let’s face it, back then, the general public didn’t know bupkas about heart-healthy diets, Keto or low cholesterol. Not even doctors’ families. Nobody measured their BMI (body mass index) at the gym, because no one went to the gym. No one had their goal weight etched in their brain. It was a kinder, gentler time. Albeit with lots more spontaneous and fatal heart attacks and strokes. But still.

Back to the task at hand. It was a dark and stormy afternoon. I was tired. Really tired. Of cooking. But we have to eat. So, I did what any self-respecting accidental balabusta would do: I pulled out my mother’s old National Council of Jewish Women Cookbook. It’s a miracle that it isn’t falling apart after all these decades doing yeoman service. As I was searching for something simple and doable within 30 minutes, I happened upon a dog-eared page. One my mother had probably marked for good reason. Which is ironic, since the standing joke in my family was this – as soon as my mom cooked anything that my dad loved, she never made it again. We’ve speculated on the rationale for years. Was it intentional? Happenstance? Payback for something? Maybe it had to do with the electric can opener my dad gave mom for her birthday one year; or was it their anniversary?

The dog-eared recipe, thankfully, was – drum roll, please – Meatloaf. Yes, Virginia, you heard correctly, Meatloaf. I capitalize it because, well, it deserves the recognition. There is no problem in this world that can’t be solved by a good meatloaf. (Alright, maybe athlete’s foot and world wars, but, otherwise….)

In sync with the majority of the recipes in that cookbook, it called for an envelope of onion soup mix, undoubtedly a staple in those days. Chip dip – sour cream and onion soup mix. Spinach delight – onion soup mix. Apricot chicken – onion soup mix. Being a culinary rebel (ha!), I decided to go rogue and omit the onion soup mix. I had to draw my own line in the sand. And I swapped Panko for breadcrumbs. This recipe makes a moist, dream-of-a-1960s dinner. Once again, you’re welcome. You may be excused from the table.

MEATLOAF

2 lbs ground beef (extra lean)
1 1/2 cup soft breadcrumbs (or Panko)
2 eggs
1/2 to 3/4 cup water
1/3 cup ketchup (or, as they called it in the ’60s, catsup)

Preheat the oven to 350°F. In a large bowl, combine all the ingredients and place the mix into a greased loaf pan. (I covered the top with more ketchup – I know, very radical). Bake for approximately one hour.

It doesn’t get much easier than this. Seriously. Both Harvey and I kept cutting little pieces off, to even out the end. We were insatiable! We easily ate half of this two-pound loaf in one sitting, and polished off the rest the next day in sandwiches. What can I say? We’re dyed-in-the-wool carnivores.

To switch it up a little, and marry old school to multicultural, I also made Greek lemon potatoes. While I could eat meat and potatoes every night of the week, I don’t. And don’t go getting all judgy on me, either – there was broccoli in attendance.

The Greek lemon potatoes were a new thing for me (the making part), and I only made the Greek kind because I had a bunch of fresh rosemary leftover from baking focaccia the day before. (It was delicious!) Plus, we had a truckload of lemons in the fridge getting overripe from neglect (scurvy in our future?). I have to say, the potatoes were simple and simply delicious. Again, Harvey declared them “guest-worthy.”

GREEK LEMON POTATOES
(from recipetineats.com)

2.5 lbs potatoes (about 4 large russets)
1 1/2 cups chicken broth
1/2 cup olive oil
1/3 cup fresh lemon juice
5 cloves garlic, minced (I used 4)
2 tsp salt (I used 1 tsp)
dash of pepper
1 tbsp dried oregano (I used 2 tbsp fresh rosemary instead)

Preheat oven to 400°F. Peel the potatoes and cut into semi-thick wedges. Place in a roasting pan with all the other ingredients; toss well. Roast covered with foil for 40 minutes. Remove foil and turn the potatoes. Roast for another 25 to 30 minutes until the liquid is mostly absorbed by the potatoes. If you like your potatoes a bit crispy, leave them in for another five minutes or so.

They end up super-moist, soft, lemony and fabulous. Oh yeah, and garlicky. Harvey said they were even better than the ones at Apollonia, our favourite Greek restaurant. It was hard to refrain from eating the whole darn batch, but we showed the teensiest bit of restraint. After all, we wanted some left over for the next day. They’re like potato candy, if you will. Except better.

Sometimes, the most obvious recipes are the best. I often consult that Council cookbook. Who better to advise on such Jewish delicacies as honey-glazed cocktail franks, deviled tongue canapes and fruited rice salad? I rest my case.

There’s no question that the NCJW of Canada does many admirable things to enhance the community through education, social action, furthering human welfare and more. Far be it from me to make it sound like all they did was produce a cookbook. But, thank you, NCJWC for having done so – the meatloaf alone is worth the price of admission. And, of course, kol hakavod for all the great work you do.

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.

Daring to make tofu, quinoa

It started out as a culinary experiment. A desire to try something completely out of my wheelhouse. Something I knew my husband Harvey would not eat. It involved tofu. And peanut sauce. I was sure he’d like the second part. As for eating tofu, he’d rather have his wisdom teeth pulled out through his ears. But I like tofu, so the dish was for me. And, lest you think I’m a selfish cook, let me be clear: this was a lunch experiment. And I knew that Harvey was already taken care of for lunch.

Since I know that online cooks (and their reviewers) never lie (ha!) I took the word of someone who claimed to have the easiest, tastiest recipe for crispy baked tofu with peanut sauce. Optimum word being “easiest.” I have a rule: if a recipe has more than seven ingredients or more than 10 steps, fuggedaboudit. It’s not like I have a day job and a pack of children vying for my attention. But I’ve always questioned the sanity of preparing and cooking for several hours only to have the eating of the meal take 12 minutes. Just doesn’t seem right. So it’s easy or it’s takeout.

PEANUT SAUCE
(six servings)

1/2 cup creamy peanut butter
1 cup full fat coconut milk
2 tbsp low-sodium soy sauce
2 tbsp maple syrup
2 tsp fresh grated ginger
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tbsp fresh lime juice (about 1 large lime)
chopped cilantro and chopped peanuts (optional, for serving)

Add all the ingredients to a medium saucepan, turn the heat to medium and stir constantly until smooth and creamy, about five to 10 minutes.

It doesn’t get much simpler than that. You’ll notice I’m not giving you the recipe for the crispy baked tofu. Why? Because it sucked. The recipe I tried called for extra firm tofu and, according to reviews, it was supposed to come out “crispy on the outside and pillowy soft on the inside.” More like tough, rubbery and tasteless. It could have been my bad. I may have cubed it too small and overcooked it. But I’ll never know. Because tofu is not going to be making an appearance in my home again any time soon. Which is not a problem because, as it turns out, the peanut sauce is spectacular on steak, chicken, broccoli and pretty much every other foodstuff. One sauce fits all, so to speak. A sauce for all seasons. Stop me anytime.

On a happier note, I discovered a different Asian recipe that was a big hit with hubby – Asian Quinoa Meatballs. Like tofu, Harvey would rather stick a fork through his hand than eat quinoa, so I had to improvise and use rice instead. But the result was proclaimed “guest-worthy.” I did break my own rule of no more than seven ingredients, but it was worth it.

ASIAN QUINOA MEATBALLS

1 lb ground turkey (we like dark meat since white is too lean)
3/4 cup cooked quinoa (or rice)
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 green onions, thinly sliced
1 large egg
1 tbsp soy sauce
2 tsp sesame oil
1 tsp Sriracha, or more, to taste (optional)
kosher salt and freshly ground pepper
1/2 tsp sesame seeds

sauce
1/4 cup soy sauce
2 tbsp rice vinegar
1 tbsp freshly grated ginger
1 tbsp brown sugar, packed
1 tsp sesame oil
1 tsp Sriracha, or more, to taste (optional)
1/2 cup water, plus 1 tbsp
2 tsp cornstarch

Preheat oven to 400°F. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper.
In a large bowl, combine ground turkey, quinoa (or rice), garlic, onions, egg, soy sauce, sesame oil, Sriracha (optional), salt and pepper. Using a wooden spoon, stir until well combined. Roll the mixture into 1.25” to 1.5” meatballs, forming about 18-20 meatballs.
Place meatballs onto the lined cookie sheet and bake for 18-20 minutes, or until all sides are browned and meatballs are cooked through. Turn once during baking.
To make the sauce, whisk together soy sauce, rice vinegar, ginger, sugar, sesame oil, Sriracha (optional) and the half cup of water in a small saucepan over medium high heat.
In a small bowl, whisk together cornstarch and one tablespoon water. Stir into soy sauce mixture until thickened, about two minutes.
Serve meatballs immediately with sauce, garnished with green onion and sesame seeds.

The taste is very gingery, so consider yourself forewarned. And, if you have hypertension, know that this recipe probably contains your week’s allotment of sodium. That said, it makes a great dinner over rice. Or even rice vermicelli noodles. Actually, it would be perfect for appetizers – when we get to hold dinner parties again, post-COVID. Plus, it’s just as good the next day. Keep in mind ground turkey is very lean, so be careful not to overcook the meatballs. I always buy dark meat to ensure more moistness. The recipe is a bit more patchkerai (fiddly and complicated) than I normally go for, but when I get a reaction like I did from my husband, that tells me all I need to know.

If all this pandemic stuff is making you a little stir-crazy, put your spare energy to good use and try out some new recipes. Your loved ones will thank you. Or not. Depending on whether there’s tofu or quinoa involved. I once tried to sneak a little quinoa into a salad and Harvey sniffed it out like a bloodhound. That was the last time I tried to deceive him culinarily. Clearly, his “just-put-it-in-my-bowl-and-I’ll-eat-it” claim is a touch weak. But I can’t blame him. Quinoa is an acquired taste (and smell). Maybe if I put some peanut sauce on it?

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.

That which no one else can do

Listening to an online class by a Chassidic rabbi, I heard this: “We’re each put on this earth to do something unique, something which no one else can do. No one before you, and no one after you.”

A little pressure? No kidding.

He went on to say: “Fulfil your true and essential purpose. That’s where you will see and experience your ultimate blessings.”

High expectations? Heck, yeah.

I hear these words time and again. Why? Because they’re one of the countless mantras of Chassidim. What’s more, they’re encouraging, positive and impressive, so who wouldn’t be curious? Until you find yourself asking: “But what is my purpose in this world?”

I ask myself that regularly. There are days when maybe I do a good deed for someone and see that person benefit and I think, “There it is.” Maybe I call an elderly friend and wish them good Shabbos. Perhaps I bake a bunch of challah to give away and I think, “There it is. That’s my purpose. Or is it?”

The $64,000 questions are, How do we identify our purpose? And can we have more than one purpose in life? I think the answer to the second question is a resounding yes.

According to a wise rabbi I know, “Every element of our lives is an integral part of our purpose. It’s multi-faceted at every moment.” Sometimes, our purpose can be doing something that makes us happy. Sometimes, it’s the exact opposite – it’s something we struggle with that, in the end, serves a higher purpose and maybe even has a holy outcome. It’s certainly not random though.

As for identifying our purpose, that can be a bit trickier. My guess is that often we don’t even recognize it in the moment, but it’s there, nonetheless. If you have the privilege of recognizing G-d’s purpose for you, consider yourself lucky.

Some people are blessed to have one, humongous, overarching talent, like being an inspirational public speaker. Or a devoted caregiver. Or whatever. Most of us though – we fumble along searching for what resonates, not only with us, but with others. Because, in the end, we are a collective. What we do is never in isolation. Never. We always impact others. Even if it’s not immediately apparent.

We are not single humans floating around this world, alone, or islands unto ourselves. We’re an integral part of relationships – with G-d, with our loved ones, with our co-workers, with our friends. Even with strangers. What purpose we have in life only comes to life when it impacts others. We don’t exist in a vacuum, thank goodness, because those are filled with shmutz.

The thing is, the details of each individual’s purpose look different. Your purpose is something that no one else on earth can do. However, it all converges at the same point, which is to make the world a holier, more light-filled, compassionate place where G-d’s presence is revealed. Whoa, that’s some heaviosity! I dare you to unpack that.

Constantly dipping my amateur toes in the ocean of Judaism – Chassidism, to be specific – I am struck by how often I hear those words: revealing G-d’s presence in this world. Don’t ask me to explain it. I’m just a rookie, trying to understand it a tiny bit more every day. I have miles to go. But I’m certainly up for the challenge.

All I know is this: sometimes we seek out our purpose, sometimes it seeks us out; sometimes gently, sometimes it whacks us upside the head. It doesn’t matter how it happens. It only matters that it does happen. Sooner rather than later. Because sooner gives us an opportunity to do something great, even if it seems small or insignificant. Purpose is all relative. But to what? To the precise moment when that specific purpose finds its way into the world and affects another human being. That’s all it takes. Simple. Like neuroscience. Or astrophysics.

I don’t profess to have any answers or even suggestions, or insights. I just have my own experiences to share. For most of my life, it never crossed my mind that each of us has a purpose that we’re put on this earth to fulfil, except maybe for the obvious ones: teachers help kids learn, doctors heal people, mechanics fix cars. But what was my purpose?

I spent my working life as a librarian and communications officer at a public library. I mostly helped people find things and do research. For a short period, I was a children’s librarian, so I shared the love of literacy, reading stories, singing songs and teaching rhymes to little ones and their parents. Is that purpose? I’m not sure. Certainly it was fun. But it wasn’t what I would call meaningful, in the spiritual realm. Maybe I impacted a few people in some way, who knows. But did I change lives? It didn’t feel like it.

As a communications officer, I spent a good part of each day writing: annual reports, speeches, press releases, book reviews, brochures. Anything and everything. Was that my purpose in life? I doubt it. Maybe I touched a few people with the annual article I wrote in memory of my father’s yahrzeit. But did that give me purpose? Only momentarily.

Then I retired. And started volunteering.

First, I started baking challah buns, as part of the Light of Shabbat meals that Chabad Richmond delivers to homebound seniors on a regular basis, and delivering some of those meals. Now, I know it sounds kind of flimsy and trivial, but baking challah gave my life more meaning. I wasn’t just mixing ingredients, forming them into buns and baking them. As I learned from some rebbetzins, making challah is an auspicious time to give tzedakah and pray for what you want or need for yourself, for your family and for others. I knew that the people who’d be receiving my challah buns might not otherwise have challah for Shabbat. And, even if it wasn’t meaningful to them, it was to me. Oddly enough, that simple act of baking challah gave me a sense of purpose. Delivering it and shmoozing with the seniors was an extra bonus.

As my volunteer activities increased, so did my sense of purpose. When I began tutoring English to Israeli high school students via video chat through the Israel Connect program, I was terrified, but willing to try. After all, what did I know about teaching? Exactly bupkis. Little did I realize that the curriculum was only the supporting cast. The main actors were my student and me. While the goal of the program is for Israeli teens to become proficient in English vocabulary, comprehension and conversation – and they do – the meaningful stuff happens in our connection to one another. When you parse it, life is all about building relationships. About finding ways to connect. It’s about trust and compassion, learning and discovery. It’s about impact. Traveling both ways.

All that to say that having a sense of purpose in life doesn’t require monumental acts. It simply requires meaningful acts. Acts of giving.

So, go out and find your purpose. Or let it find you. Just get out of your own way.

COVID’s impact on new year

(photo by Shelley Civkin)

Not only did I never imagine that I wouldn’t be able to hug and kiss my family during Rosh Hashanah dinner; I didn’t even get to see them this year. Everyone is still hunkering down, keeping out of COVID’s way and staying close to home. At least most people are.

In case you’re one of those people waiting for things to “get back to normal,” I hate to be the one to deliver the bad news, but there is no going back. Normal is a setting on a dryer. Once the world claws its way out of this pandemic, we will be forever changed. Like grief and loss over time, we may not feel worse, but I guarantee we’ll feel different.

What will come out of this topsy-turvy pandemic is something much better. I’m hopeful that everything we’ve lost and sacrificed will be not only rectified, but made even more hopeful, soul-sustaining and life-affirming. I struggle to say these words, because it sounds downright arrogant, considering the losses people have suffered in the last many months, physically, financially and emotionally. But, if I choose to take the other fork in the road, it’s a dark and scary path, and I just don’t want to go there.

This Rosh Hashanah, like every Rosh Hashanah, we celebrated. Just differently. There was no fanfare. There was no cooking. There were no guests. Not even family. Being cautious by nature has stood me in good stead so far this year, and there was no way I was risking it all after such a long haul. So, we scaled down the physical celebration and revved up the spiritual one. We read more about the High Holiday rituals and their significance this year than ever before; we recited the blessings more powerfully than in the past; and, from our very core, my husband and I sincerely wished each other a healthy, sweet and good new year. And we meant it like never before.

In past years, I would fuss and bother and cook and bake. This year, I didn’t have the emotional or physical koach (strength) for it all. Preoccupied with health challenges, I decided to take the easy way out and have our meals catered from Chef Menajem. Not only was the food spectacular, but it made things (read: pandemic isolation) a bit easier to accept. I set an elegant (if empty) table, got out my silver candlesticks, draped the sweet challah with my homemade Yom Tov challah cover, and we proceeded to eat Rosh Hashanah dinner alone. Just the two of us. It was slightly eerie, but, at the same time, absolutely perfect. And, yes, that’s an acorn squash adorning the table. I didn’t even have the wherewithal to track down a pomegranate. And, while an acorn squash isn’t a first fruit, it was my first squash of the year. I’m sure G-d will understand.

A feeling of tremendous blessing came over me as I realized just how lucky we are to have each other, my husband Harvey and I. Thinking of our single, divorced and widowed friends, and the loneliness and isolation they’re feeling right now, my heart breaks. How I would have loved to invite those friends to our home to join our modest New Year’s celebration. A little wine, a lot of food, some brachot, some honey cake. But COVID-19 was having none of it.

Turns out, COVID-19 is a big, huge bully. It doesn’t care one iota about anyone’s feelings; it doesn’t want to know from suffering or depression or desperation. But, we know, and we’re fighting back. With joy. As many of you know, lots of local Jews took to the parks and beaches to hear the shofar on Rosh Hashanah this year and I, for one, infused much more meaning into the holiday than I can ever remember. Because I could. And it was a very conscious choice. Not only is Rosh Hashanah part of our heritage, it’s our right. And we sure as heck weren’t going to let COVID take that away from us, too. Everything just seemed to magnify this year – the holiness, the urgency, the depth of feeling. And, while it may have seemed a bit lonely from the long view, it was nothing short of superb close up.

Stepping in to fill the spiritual void so many of us are experiencing this year, there are dozens (if not hundreds) of rabbis and synagogues around the world offering online Jewish learning. I want to say a personal thank you to all of you. You are a lifeline, literally. Because of you, I am studying and learning more about my Judaism, and participating in its mitzvot to an extent that’s surprising even me. Never before has finding meaning and purpose taken on such enormous importance. Our mission isn’t just to stay alive; it’s to thrive, even in the face of this brutal pandemic. We, as a people, are stronger than that. Unfathomably stronger.

The pandemic has, for the most part, brought out the best in humanity, and certainly within our Jewish community. People are helping strangers, feeding strangers, doing errands for strangers and wanting to do more. And it’s not just Jews helping Jews. It’s Jews helping everybody. Truly, the world has become one people. When we climb out of our little hidey holes and show up for life in the most positive, compassionate ways we can, each of us makes the world a bit better. And the light grows.

Not a single one of us will come out of this pandemic the same person. We do have the choice to become a better version of ourselves though. Stretched beyond our comfort zone, tired from doing too little for too long, we do have the ability (and the desire) to puff ourselves up and accept the challenges facing us. Or even go beyond. If that’s all that’s within our control right now, that’s enough.

No one is asking us to perform miracles – that’s not in our job description anyway. All we’re being asked to do is help one another through this challenging time. Even just a kind word can get the job done. Do something. Do anything.

Foods that babas made

I’m here to boldly encourage you to try something entirely different at your Rosh Hashanah table this year. No, not a pony. A new food. Serve it, to non-vegetarians. And, if anybody asks what they’re eating, confidently tell them it’s a family secret. Don’t forget to mention that, if you tell them, you’ll have to kill them. That generally stops people in their nosy tracks. Let me be perfectly transparent: the food I’m about to suggest is on the meat spectrum. Alright, meat adjacent.

Isn’t it enough that everyone’s oohing and ahhing over the unparalleled tenderness of the dish? The specifics are strictly on a need-to-know basis. And no one needs to know. Except your butcher. OK, enough. It’s beef tongue. You heard correctly. I’m aware it’s not politically correct – after all, some farmer is clearly stifling free speech. Even if it only belongs to a cow. (And, technically, they can’t speak anyway. So moot point.)

Just so we’re clear, beef tongue is definitely not vegan. Or vegetarian-friendly. Not by a New York mile. I’m simply providing you with an alternative to screaming chicken, Coca-Cola brisket and mayo-slathered, onion soup-mix salmon.

I know that beef tongue screams old school (and Council cookbook). But so do I. And, if we’re going to be honest about it, people are still enthusiastically scarfing down ketchup-glazed meatloaf and baked salami filled with French’s mustard. They’re just not yelling it from the rooftops. So, loosen up and try thinking of beef tongue as a distant relative. Second cousin twice removed. Only maybe a little farther. But, still, meat mishpachah.

Before you pooh-pooh it, give it a shot. At least Google it and see what other Jews have to say about it. Most delis sell it pickled. But, believe me, pickled tongue has nothing on the sweet and sour version. Personally, I prefer to just boil it, cool it and eat it in a sandwich. With yellow mustard. On white bread. I can see the lynch mob in the distance.

The cooking part is where it gets tricky. If you’re a man, chances are you can’t relate to what I’m about to describe. You ladies, on the other hand, will understand perfectly. The cooking per se is easy (see recipe below). The next part is where it gets awkward. Once it’s cooked, you need to peel off the rubbery outside skin: think of taking off a pair of too-thick, too-tight pantyhose. That are wet. And it’s a hot, humid day. Not a particularly appealing visual, but it’s fairly accurate hyperbole.

Trust me when I tell you that your family/guests will be drooling all over themselves, demanding the recipe – if they can get past the sordid cooking details. Without further ado, here goes. And don’t be fooled by the simplicity of the recipe. You’re welcome.

SWEET AND SOUR BEEF TONGUE

1 beef tongue
2 onions, peeled and quartered
3 cloves garlic, peeled and halved
2 bay leaves
***
15 oz can of tomato sauce
15 oz water
3/4 cup brown sugar
juice of 1 lemon
1/2 cup sultana or dark raisins
dash of Worcestershire sauce (optional)
salt and pepper

Put the tongue and the rest of the ingredients into a deep pot with enough water to cover it well. Bring to a boil and simmer partly covered for about three-and-a-half hours, until tender when pierced with a fork. As it’s cooking, skim off the shmootz that forms on top. When tender, remove from the water. While it’s still warm, remove the skin (see detailed, gross description above), bones and stem. Slice and serve as is, or slice and serve with the sweet and sour sauce.

At the end of the day, a well-cooked beef tongue is all you need and nothing you don’t. But, I get that some of you are disgusted at the thought of eating tongue. So, for you finicky folks, I offer up another old school recipe – short ribs. This one is decades old and was handed down from my father’s cousin, Bertha Bloom. Nobody said it was diet food, so, if you’re not fussy about calories, go for it. Short ribs are notorious for being fatty, but therein lies most of their charm. Alright, all of their charm. You’ll diet tomorrow. And, hopefully, not die of clogged arteries tonight. But, have your cardiologist on speed dial, just in case.

BERT BLOOM’S BARBEQUE SHORT RIBS

Season two pounds of short ribs with salt, pepper and garlic salt then broil them until brown and half cooked. Transfer them to a covered Dutch oven (or similar deep roasting pan). For the sauce:

1 cup chili sauce
1/4 cup ketchup
4 tsp dry mustard
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 tbsp soy sauce
small tin of crushed pineapple

Mix the ingredients together – including the juice from the pineapple tin, but not the pineapple – put in a pot and bring to a boil. Pour the sauce over the ribs and cook covered at 300°F to 325°F for one-and-a-half to two hours, basting occasionally. Add the crushed pineapple 20 minutes before it’s finished cooking and leave uncovered. Prepare to be awed by the yumminess factor.

For your guests who prefer healthy food, you may want to direct them elsewhere for Rosh Hashanah dinner. Or, if you’re a really nice and accommodating host, make them a marinated tofu mock-roast. Or a Tofurkey. But, for those of you indulging in the short ribs, now might be a good time to loosen your belt or unzip your skirt, and prepare to stuff your belly. It’s Rosh Hashanah. Celebrate with some new arterial stents! Tell Dr. Saul I sent you.

More than a teaching position

Sara Barahan, a former Israel Connect student, continues to meet with her mentor from the program, and has started helping others improve their English, too. (photo from Chabad Richmond)

Israel Connect pairs a mentor with an Israeli teen student who is wanting to improve their English reading, vocabulary and language skills. Mentors dedicate time every week to a video meeting with their student, using Israel Connect’s “Tour of Israel” curriculum. The goal is that, by the end of the school year, students have the skills and confidence they need to succeed in Israel’s national university entrance exam.

I have been blessed with the opportunity of being part of the Israel Connect program as a volunteer tutor/mentor. Having done this for a few years, I’m keenly aware of the benefits for both students and tutors.

A year-and-a-half ago, I was matched up with Sara Barahan, 23, who is older than the average student we work with and is in college. When we were first matched up, she was in her first year, studying to be an English and special needs teacher. It was pure joy from the moment we met. Her enthusiasm, motivation and single-minded pursuit for learning English was palpable, and her commitment and memory extraordinary.

We were tutor and student for a full school year and, once it finished, Sara asked if we could continue to meet via WhatsApp video, independently, and, of course, I agreed. I think I enjoy our meetings even more than Sara does! Even though I have a new Israel Connect student I tutor once a week, Sara and I continue to talk weekly, often for an hour or more. I’ve met many of her family members, virtually, and we’ve shared a lot about our lives in our many conversations.

For one of her college assignments, Sara was asked to write about the people and things that have influenced her on her journey to learn English. This is what she wrote:

“The Israel Connect Program was sponsored by Chabad. This program involves senior volunteer tutors from all over North America, who are fluent English-speakers, connect online, one-on-one via Zoom, for 30 minutes once a week with Israeli high school students who want to improve their English conversation and reading skills. The organizers know that good English skills will give Israeli students an advantage in accessing post-secondary education, and getting better jobs.

“English proficiency is crucial to Israeli students, since it makes up a third of their entrance exam marks for university. Students and tutors make great connections and it often goes beyond simply tutoring the curriculum, and turns into friendship. The program is something concrete and meaningful that helps Israeli students improve their lives. Building relationships is a highly satisfying and core part of this program, for both the students and the tutors.

“I joined the Israel Connect Program when I was in my first year in college,” said Barahan. “The lecturer offered this program (although it was meant to be for teenagers) and I saw it as an opportunity to improve my English, so I decided to participate in it. And this is how I got to know my tutor, Shelley from Vancouver, Canada, who until today is still in touch with me.

“This program is very important and meaningful to me because it is through this program that I got to meet the person who has influenced me, and a person that I enjoy talking to about different topics. This relationship has become very close and it’s not just a virtual meeting about a set curriculum; our conversations are about topics far beyond the studies. Thanks to the Israel Connect program I have gotten the chance to practise my English speaking, reading, writing and listening skills and expand my vocabulary.”

What greater accolade could Israel Connect get than this firsthand testimonial from a graduate of the program? I use the word graduate because Sara participated as an older student and has continued with her English studies.

Sara and I are fast friends, despite our 41-year age difference. We talk about school, her social life, our families, her aspirations, her frustrations, and everything in between. She confides in me and we have become very close. I would say that Sara seems like a daughter to me, except for the fact that I’m old enough to be her safta (grandmother). The age disparity isn’t an issue though; in fact, I like to think that she sees me as a kind of hip grandmother.

Sara often asks for my help proofreading her essays for school, and I love helping her learn. I see remarkable progress in her English language fluency and conversation skills. She says that I’m the only person she can speak English with, and really appreciates practising with me. What better way to learn a language than to converse at length about all sorts of topics? And Sara has gone on to tutor English to her neighbour’s 9-year-old daughter. Now, if that’s not a success story, I don’t know what is!

Other Israel Connect mentors have also expressed how gratifying it is to help these young Israeli students, and most mentors say that they’re certain they enjoy the experience at least as much as their students. They’ve described the mentoring experience as refreshing, fun, fulfilling and, at times, challenging – but always rewarding. Their students all sincerely appreciate the chance to practise their English conversation, vocabulary and reading skills with someone who is friendly and nonjudgmental. Some kids said they are embarrassed to try speaking English in class, or in front of their family, so the Israel Connect program gives them the confidence to speak. More importantly, it gives them the incentive to continue learning English, which they know will help them as they enter university and seek out good jobs.

Israel Connect always welcomes new volunteer mentors. For more information about the program and how to volunteer, go to tinyurl.com/yd6y4jrq.

Summer salads for lazy days

A peach salad not only looks pretty, it’s like a cold culinary shower on a hot day. (photo from pickpik.com)

Recently, I was food-shamed. Not for binge eating. Or for eating too much junk food. But for not eating enough vegetables. Guilty as charged. But seriously? In my own defence, I have a gut (or at least part of one) that doesn’t play nicely in the sandbox with all vegetables. Truth to tell, it can be somewhat of a bully.

Just to set the record straight, I wasn’t always veggie averse. A few short years ago, I could wolf down Caesar salads, corn on the cob and sautéed kale like nobody’s business. It’s mostly a distant memory now, though. But I can still share the love, even if I can’t eat all the food.

Being a bit of a COVID weeny, I’m not entirely comfortable going out to restaurants yet, so I continue to make do at home. Until recently, when the beautiful fresh veggies and fruits started showing up at the party, my fallback positions were fish, chicken and beef; the occasional pasta dish. It was getting a tad dull. So I’m thrilled that I now can eat lighter and fresher.

Here are a few of my favourite lazy summer salads. Nobody likes easy recipes quite like I do. My rule of thumb is this: if a recipe calls for a foodstuff or piece of equipment that a) I’ve never heard of, or b) I don’t know how to pronounce, there’s no way on earth I’m trying it. Hence, lazy-girl recipes are my specialty. The following are not only super-healthy, but they’ll hit the spot on days when you just don’t feel like cooking for real. And what better time to take advantage of all the fresh seasonal fruits and veggies available everywhere in Vancouver? This first salad not only looks pretty, it’s like a cold culinary shower on a hot day.

PEACHY SUMMER SALAD

peaches, diced
Roma tomatoes, diced
can of corn niblets, drained
red or sweet onion, finely diced
fresh mint or basil, chopped or cut chiffonade
blueberries

Throw together a vinaigrette from olive oil and balsamic vinegar and, voilà, you’ve got yourself a refreshing, easy salad that’s a surefire crowd-pleaser. If, however, you’re a card-carrying carnivore like me, you might want to follow it up with an eight-ounce ribeye chaser.

Another summer fave is Sunomono salad. It’s a cold Japanese salad made of rice vermicelli noodles swimming in a rice wine vinegar dressing, if you will. You can add almost about anything to jazz it up, but, being a purist, I only like to throw in some thinly sliced English cucumber and maybe a bit of shredded carrot. If you crave protein, imitation crab will jack it up a notch. There are a variety of recipes for the dressing, but this is my no-fail go-to.

SUNOMONO SALAD

3/4 tsp salt
3/4 cup rice wine vinegar
1/2 cup sugar
small squeeze of lemon juice
few drops of soy sauce
rice vermicelli noodles

Shake the first five ingredients together in a jar, then pour it over cooked and rinsed, cold rice vermicelli noodles. Don’t add too much dressing to each bowl, as it’s quite concentrated – just add enough to cover the noodles. Leftovers can stay in the fridge for a day or two. Sunomono is obviously too flimsy to be a main dish, but it makes a great starter or side dish and goes with everything, particularly fish. Think of it as a Japanese palate cleanser.

For a heartier salad that can double as a main dish (depending on your appetite), I’m a big fan of cold orzo salad. Since this salad is pasta-based, it’s much more filling than just a bowl full of veggies or fruit. And, with the bold-flavoured ingredients, it’s got a depth to it that belies its simplicity.

COLD ORZO SALAD

8 oz orzo pasta
1/2 cup pitted Kalamata olives, roughly chopped (or more, to taste)
4 oz baby spinach (split in two bunches)
6 oz feta cheese, roughly crumbled
1/4 cup pine nuts, lightly toasted on the stove or in the toaster oven (optional)
1/4 cup red onion, finely chopped (optional)
3 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp balsamic vinegar (or less, to taste)
1 tbsp red wine vinegar (you can substitute lemon juice or regular vinegar)
salt and pepper to taste

Cook the orzo eight to 10 minutes for al dente, or a bit longer if you like it softer. Drain and rinse with cold water.
Puree half the spinach and one tablespoon of the olive oil in a blender. Put cooled orzo in a big bowl and stir in the pureed spinach/olive oil mixture until the orzo is well-coated with the spinach puree.
Roughly chop the other half of the spinach. Lighty mix the chopped spinach, feta cheese, pine nuts, Kalamata olives and red onion in with the orzo.
Make the dressing in a small jar by combining the remaining two tablespoons of olive oil with the balsamic vinegar and the red wine vinegar. Put the lid on the jar and shake it to mix well, or whisk it all together in a small bowl. Pour over orzo mixture and gently mix till it’s all incorporated.
Chill the salad for at least an hour before serving to let the flavours meld.

To round out your meal, buy or make a simple rosemary focaccia. I make one from scratch (in a cast-iron pan) that’s to live for. Sure, it’s easier to buy one, but, if you really want to dazzle your dining companion(s), I suggest putting in the extra effort. Believe me, the effort/reward ratio is huge.

I found my recipe online at flavorthemoments.com/one-hour-rosemary-focaccia-bread and the only things I leave out are the garlic and parmesan, but it’s up to you. You could also add chopped Kalamata or green olives to it, but keep in mind it calls for coarse kosher salt sprinkled on top, so it’s already high in sodium. The focaccia turns outs camera-ready gorgeous and tastes heavenly straight out of the oven, dipped in EVOO (extra virgin olive oil). I mean, who doesn’t love fresh bread? With the hot weather right around the corner (that’s the optimist in me), now might not be the best time to bake bread, but that’s your call. If you ask me, it’s totally worth it.

So, give yourself a break, throw together a salad for dinner and call it a day. If your spouse, partner or you are still hungry after all that, do what I do – order in pizza.

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.