At dinner parties where I provide food, my brother often makes the following announcement: “I’d like to direct your attention to the appetizers. Load up on cheese and crackers, folks, otherwise you’ll starve.”
Everyone laughs and I try to think happy thoughts. Funny kid. Other guests whisper, “I thought she only used her oven to hide liquor bottles.” Ha. Ha. Ha.
New best friend Jeff, Tampa Tribune’s most entertaining writer, wrote about the joys and challenges of cooking vegetarian meals during Passover. Since I am the area’s Token Vegetarian Jew, who else is he gonna ask? Let’s face it; I’m the only show in town. Jeff and I talked and laughed about healthy eating, being raised Catholic and the life of a converted Jew. My poor mother. If a piece isn’t about my breasts, it’s about how I turned my back on the Pope.
The kicker? Jeff sent a photographer over last night to take pictures of me. Cooking. After reading the story, I can just hear complaint calls coming in now.
“What’s with the hair?”
“Hello, yes, I’d like to comment about Katie Robinson. The b*tch can’t do toast.”
“A former shiksa explaining Kashrut hurts my head. Cancel my subscription.”
“Why does she look so angry? Not sexy at all.”
“Hundred of Jews in the Bay area. This is the best you could do?”
Adding insult to injury, Colorado Husband came home yesterday and I’m all, “Love you! Miss you! Please deal with the kids while I strike a pose.”
The pictures turned out good, considering what they had to work with…
I almost wore my favorite shirt (“Hey, Betty Crocker – Suck It!”) while smacking kids with a spatula, but my family’s been through enough. Besides, I wanna stay on Jeff’s good side. Eventually he’ll do a story on the seductive power of organic latkes during Chanukah.
I just hope he remembers my number.
***cross-posted at Out in Left Field***
