These days, I cannot tell the difference between a heat wave and a regular summer day in Israel. All I know is that when I arrived back in Jerusalem last night, my toes needed their own sweaters.
The house is open and running today, getting all the ingredients prepared for our Shuvout BBQ. We are all familiar with the traditional milk in a meal, but given that two of us in this household are Lactards, it’s only natural we would require meat for entertainment.
I like these holidays, where I can pleasantly walk with a grocery trolly into the hustle and bustle of the Jerusalem market, arguing with mean old men about wanting to purchase only a handful of Pistachios and telling him it’s ‘not nice’ behavior when he gets fed up and throws the bag at me. These people, they can be so.. mean.
It’s a relief when the fish monger has a more pleasant attitude and easily hands me my salmon. I stand there unknowingly as the drainage water from the fish trough splaches onto my toes. A women tried to cut in front of me in line. I repeat my mantra “I have 5 minutes, I will not get frustrated with impatience”.
The whole market experience is a ribbon to the joys of holiday celebration. There is so much personality in coming home, bouncing the trolly from step to step and unloading the colorful bags- the yellow ones with fresh basil inside, the black one filled with red onions and a piece of ginger, tiny clear ones with pine nuts and walnuts. It’s not the brand of the package that sells me in the market, it’s how the selection is lying there in front of you, fresh and almost begging to be cooked.
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