Longing

Last night my husband and I went to Emily’s Lebanese Deli on University Avenue. I had been thinking about a large plate of hummus for a while, and Emily’s came highly recommended. It turned out to be a disappointment, just as all other Middle Eastern restaurants have been.


So I am throwing in the towel. I just don’t think that as a native Israeli I can be pleased. I don’t mean to be snooty about it. It’s just that it feels like I have tried every hummus and falafel sandwich in the five state area and it’s just not the same. I suppose it makes sense. If we get scientific about it, the water is different, which would make the wheat different, which would make the pita bread different…you get the point. Back home, a plate of hummus is served on shallow dishes and dotted with olive oil and paprika. Sometimes, it’s even garnished with an olive. It is also never as garlicky as the hummus served here. It has a much stronger tahini taste, and is served with fat, piping hot pitas. Sigh. I have been to restaurants where there are actual photos of this dish on the walls, yet when it arrives, it is in little bowls and has a slight resemblance to chunky pudding. This makes me very sad.




Big sigh.

Whew!

So The Holidays* are finally over. It has taken me this long to recover from a long weekend at the in-laws. I love my in-laws. They are the kindest, most generous people on the planet (well, most of them are anyway) and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. But…

There are too darn many of them, frankly. In a four-bedroom house, there were 13 adults and 12 children for three days. Then, on the last night, two more adults were added. Friends of my sister-in-law’s had come for the big 50th anniversary party held in honor of my husband's parents. Now granted, they drove from Minneapolis and Chicago, and I certainly wouldn’t have expected them to turn around and drive home, but still. It would never have occurred to me to assume I could stay in a house already filled to the brink. I would have made reservations at a hotel or other arrangements. To my husband’s family, it’s the more the merrier. To me, it’s rude.

But that’s just me. I have one brother, and if you throw in his wife and in-laws, there are at the most six of us for any given holiday get-together. We all live here, so said get-togethers rarely last more than three hours. So to be thrown into the chaos of a large family for a long weekend takes a lot out of me. It would have been better if I could have had a drink, or three.

Yes, there are lovely moments. Watching the little kids open their gifts and downing several dozen cookies in one sitting, for example. But man, do I need a vacation.

*Also, why do we refer to these particular holidays as The Holidays? As a Valentine’s Day fan, I find that slightly offensive.

Ok. Thanks for listening.