Recipe Submitted by Martin Kohn- Member Congregation Shaarey Tikvah, Federation Volunteer. His grandchildren are 5th generation Clevelanders!
Recipe for a Good Memory
In a large bowl
sift seven decades
of experiences
with some humor and humility
then moisten with a schpritz of tears
In a separate bowl
mix one and one-half dollops of nostalgia
with a whiff of olfactory recollection
Braid the contents of both bowls
on a piece of paper
and fly on it
to the year 1962
We always knew when mom was cooking: the irresistible scent of the blintz crepes and kuchens and pecan rolls would inevitably find its way to our bedrooms upstairs. On our way down the stairs my brother and sister and I would shout out, “Which of these are for customers and which are for us?” Most of them were for customers, because during the especially difficult few years between my mother, Miriam Friedlander’s, two marriages, cooking at home was how she supported us. And by teaching nursery school. And by taking in John Carroll University students as boarders at our modest Silsby Road home.
Who were the customers? Friends, neighbors, and family. They’d place their orders and come by to pick them up—many of them on a weekly basis. As a young teenager this seemed normal to me. It wasn’t until some decades later that I realized how amazing and affirming this communal support was. With their help—and the help of Rabbi Lelyveld and the good people of Fairmount Temple we were able to keep our house. A few years later—and for 35 more years—many other greater Clevelanders got to taste my mother’s amazing blintzes at our downtown restaurant, Alvie’s on the Square. What a blessing to grow up Jewish in Cleveland!
Recipe for a Good Memory
In a large bowl
sift seven decades
of experiences
with some humor and humility
then moisten with a schpritz of tears
In a separate bowl
mix one and one-half dollops of nostalgia
with a whiff of olfactory recollection
Braid the contents of both bowls
on a piece of paper
and fly on it
to the year 1962
We always knew when mom was cooking: the irresistible scent of the blintz crepes and kuchens and pecan rolls would inevitably find its way to our bedrooms upstairs. On our way down the stairs my brother and sister and I would shout out, “Which of these are for customers and which are for us?” Most of them were for customers, because during the especially difficult few years between my mother, Miriam Friedlander’s, two marriages, cooking at home was how she supported us. And by teaching nursery school. And by taking in John Carroll University students as boarders at our modest Silsby Road home.
Who were the customers? Friends, neighbors, and family. They’d place their orders and come by to pick them up—many of them on a weekly basis. As a young teenager this seemed normal to me. It wasn’t until some decades later that I realized how amazing and affirming this communal support was. With their help—and the help of Rabbi Lelyveld and the good people of Fairmount Temple we were able to keep our house. A few years later—and for 35 more years—many other greater Clevelanders got to taste my mother’s amazing blintzes at our downtown restaurant, Alvie’s on the Square. What a blessing to grow up Jewish in Cleveland!