So: we’re back in Los Angeles. Visiting with our girlses for Chol Ha Moed Succos was revitalizing and, um, fattening. When Offspring #2 and #3 get busy in the kitchen—watch out ye mortal Jews.
But between the joy of Succos and spending time with our granddaughter Ma’ayan Ariel, your faithful correspondent noticed that the girlses are, unbenownst to moi, stocking up on—you guessed it—footwear.
“Okay, Offspring #2, how about modeling the new shoes for posterity.”
“Do I have to?”
I shoot her my most vulnerable and pitiful look.
“Let’s go outside, the light’s great at this time of day.”
“Do I have to schlep outside, Daddy?”
“Okay, we’ll do some inside and a few in the hallway. I love the pre-war tile.”
These boots belong to Offspring #3, but as
you can see (?) Offspring #2 is modeling and lusting
for these Brian De Palma Dressed to Kill boots.
Beware, the girlses are each working out ruthless
Ho Chi Minh ownership strategies.
Behold, history in the making as Ma’ayan Ariel gingerly
steps into her first footwear. There’s something very Japonisme
going on here. Pretty in buttery power pink, with adorable
pleated bow tie caps. But Ma’ayan Ariel gnashes her teeth
and wails:“I want my Christian Louboutin,
it’s my birthright!” Patience, child, patience.
As our regular readers know, I like signs. Walking near
Offspring #2’s apartment I spotted this restaurant and gee, it looks
like it belongs on my home turf, somewhere on Melrose where LC
and her Jimmy Choo-clad crew will discuss how best to disembowel
the evil Spencer.
More than a great sign, Dougie’s is, for me, a shrine,
an ultimate destination. On the flight over I had visions of a
massive, juicy Dougie’s Deluxe Burger with Portabello Mushroom.
We landed in NY and I immediately asked Offspring #2, who picked us up:
“Is Dougie’s open?” OS #2 looked at me with a worried expression:
“Daddy, it’s 11 at night.” I’m like: “Does that mean it’s closed?” Patient as a
kindergarten teacher: “Yes, daddy.” Next morning: “What time does
Dougie’s open?” My wonderful son-in-law, a Dougie’s maven says,
“Eleven AM.” I sit and stare at the clock. I’m out the door at five to.
In Dougie’s I inhale the aroma and really I should be arrested for
imbibing a dangerous drug. I order my burger Deluxe and then peek
in the back to make sure there’s a Succah. Jewish law requires that
all meals be eaten in the Succah. My heart skips a beat. I run to the
front and in outrage shout: “Where’s the Succah?” The little wretch
behind the counter tells me they don’t have one. I sputter: “I just flew
all the way from Los Angeles!” Wretched Kid looks at me as if I might be the
craziest person he has ever encountered. Alas, he’s probably right. My molars
are aching. Plus, there’s a thick blue vein—like a worm—throbbing Alien-like
in my neck. Wretched Kid, I’m praying for restraint. “Fine,” I growl,
“I’ll take it to go, but you should give me a discount you know.”
Wretched Kid actually looks like he’s reaching for the phone
to dial 911. “Or, um, throw in a few pickles.”
I power walk back to the apartment complex, sit myself down
in the communal Succah and—oh joy—even at room temperature
my Deluxe Portabello Burger and crispy fries are perfect.
Just perfect. I love Teaneck. Seriously.
The Teaneck Gardens (not a garden in sight) Communal Succha
where I devoured my Dougie’s Burger and where we ate all our meals.
By the way, the Succah represents the Clouds of Glory that followed
the Children of Israel through the desert after the Exodus.
Thus each and every holiday meal has a mysterious, brain flipping taste.
Delicious food prepared by my girlses becomes even more delicious.
Yes, the simple but holy architecture of the Succah infuses every delicate
morsel with off-the-scale, savory, mouth-watering tastes,
and yours truly can often be heard emitting a series of
embarrassing and unnatural visceral moans.
Karen and I wish all our friends and relatives a restful and meaningful Shabbat.
And hey, just have to pass on this information about Obama and his buddy the Jew-hating Palestinian terrorist. Hmm, Obama has a lot of Jew-hating friends. But, hey Jews will vote for BO anyway because American Jews consider it a sin to vote in their self-interests.