Purim, the festival of feasting.
While you are still anticipating filling up your `fridge'
with Purim leftovers and shalach monos freezables, and are
not yet contemplating the (unmentionable) task of cleaning
it, let your fancy wander with Malka and her
Reflections on Refrigerators - or -
The Iceman Cometh
The most trafficked area in the average home has to be the
kitchen, and the refrigerator seems to be a central
gravitation point. The `fridge' is actually a reliable
barometer of the family's lifestyle, members, activities and
sometimes it is a historian as well, by its very
contents...
Initially, shiny new and fingerprint-free, it contains the
first culinary efforts of the new bride: a decidedly
lopsided, heavily frosted cake, the burnt casserole, globs of
pasty spaghetti and fiascos that even the most well
intentioned husband would hesitate to sample, let alone eat.
Then come the baby food jars, bottles of formula, quickly
replaced by clownface cookies, brown-tinged peeled apples &
bananas, half nibbled eggs, a slice of bread minus one bite
and sticky lollipops and occasional - but necessary -
antibiotics.
The early chidlhood period will feature tuna, cheese or
peanut butter sandwiches (in Israel - chocolate spread) in
clear plastic bags with fruit, in readiness for tomorrow's
school lunch. And the inevitable slew of leftovers from picky
eaters with eyes bigger than their appetites. The teenage
years bring with them a combination of bingeing and a
tempting array of nosh - carbonated drinks and snack food to
be followed by dieters' celery and carrot sticks. When the
yeshiva boys are home for Shabbos, their favorite dishes are
prepared with much love and considerable labor. By now, their
adolescent sisters are often into creative cookery.
Then there are the youngsters who can only cool off by
opening the freezer door, leaning a hot brow against its cool
interior and inhaling deeply. And please - a steady supply of
ice cubes! Better yet, the freeze-it-yourself popsicles
called `igloos', here.
Filled to capacity might indicate a company-filled Shabbos, a
busy Yom Tov or a special simcha. The shelves are
overflowing with meat pans, kugels, cakes, side dishes,
attractively arranged trays and the freezer with same, plus
yummy desserts. Something has definitely been cooking!
Without dating myself, hopefully, I can still recall, as a
very small child, the excitement when the iceman arrived on a
hot summer's day. He would make a delivery to some of the
neighbors who still had wooden iceboxes. He would expertly
haul out a huge block of ice with his sharp ice pick, place
it, already dripping, on his back and proceed to climb the
steps. News spread quickly and all the children in the
immediate vicinity would follow. We were hoping to catch
slivers of ice as they fell. Cats would be drinking
enthusiastically from puddles; birds would cautiously take a
refreshing dip. Apparently, everyone benefitted at delivery
time. It was an era of inexpensive and uncomplicated
entertainment.
[I recall the iceman delivering ice to our fish store who had
an attractive glass showcase bordered with artificial greens.
No, this was not before the days of electricity, but ice was
apparently cheaper than a refrigeratored display case. He
would hack off a huge block of ice and feed it into his noisy
grinder, out of which emerged shaven ice. Enterprising kids
would beg for shaven ice to lick. My husband recalls a
different iceman - an Italian vendor who came with horse and
wagon (he predates me). He shaved off flakes from a big ice
cake with a knife, packed it into a dixie cup and filled it
with syrup of your choice. These delicacies were five cents
cheap, came with a wooden spoon and were called ice
balls.]
A more recent episode took place about thirty years ago when
we had just made aliya. All Israeli refrigerators were small
and white at the time, in fact, many actually half a
refrigerator whose top doubled as counter space at waist
level, while ours was huge by comparison and avocado green
with side-by-side doors.
At first, it was mistaken for a kitchen cabinet. "So where
are you hiding the refrigerator?" It was inconceivable that
an American family not have an item which was still
considered a luxury in some homes. These, and even neighbors
who did have their own, knew that we usually had some extra
space to spare for them.
On one particularly memorable occasion, a rather naive
neighbor (who was unaware of my addiction) came up with a
huge containor of ice cream, chocolate - no less, and asked
if she could store it in our freezer. She planned to send up
her children with empty cones and my assignment would be to
fill them as rewards. (A sense of honor is such a blessing!)
[So is a sense of humor!]
At this point, I had the initial strength of character to
inform her, that is, warn her, in my best Hebrew, that if
there was one thing I could not be entrusted with - it was
ice cream. Vast sums of money or the crown jewels would be no
problem, for me or my freezer. But with ice cream, I would be
compelled to take off maaser or generously more, each
time I was exposed to it. Now, how could anyone who was thin
to the point of looking ethereal understand a nosher's
constant battle, with few victories scored, against the
yetzer hora?
She looked a bit puzzled, smiled at what she thought was
typcial American humor, and said, by all means, I should feel
free to help myself. And so I obliged. Whenever her offspring
appeared, at least once daily, I cheerfully gave each a
modest scoop (an additional American wonder - a scoop spoon
that disengaged a lovely molded scoop with a pushbutton) and
was enticed to promptly and religiously claim my tithe. After
a few, fun filled fattening days, the supply had dwindled
down to almost nothing and my fingers were in danger of
turning blue from frostbite. How painful the scene when the
little ones appeared with their eagerly outstretched cones.
Racked with guilt and pink with embarrassment, I gently
explained, "Nigmar. Finitto." They looked pitifully
disappointed. In the safe haven of their freezer with THEIR
mother as custodian, it might have lasted weeks. Looking
devastated, down they tramped to tell their mother the sad
tidings.
Early the next morning, I knocked at their door and
apologetically handed the mother a bag full of ice cream pops
and cones. Not surprisingly, during the dozen or so years
that we continued living in the building, she never requested
freezer space again - except for raw chickens. This item she
correctly assumed would be safe within my greedy grasp. As
they say, "Experience keeps a dear school, but some people
can learn in no other."
And speaking of the `experienced', when most of the offspring
are either married or away at yeshiva or seminary, many
parents find themselves suddenly becoming more health
conscious. This becomes especially apparent upon opening the
refrigerator door: everything seems to have sprouted - bean
sprouts of various thicknesses, yogurts, mysterious salads,
cut raw vegetables, strange soups and enough mineral water to
float a rowboat. Visiting offspring tend to inquire: "Is
there anything Normal to eat around here?" But when the
grandchildren are expected - all kinds of fattening,
chocolaty treats seem to materialize again!
Nowadays, aside from what we can learn from the appliance's
contents, one can actually garner a "garden of information"
from the outside, too. Invitations to simchas are
prominently displayed in the hopes they will be remembered at
the appropriate times. Children's tests and/or
grandchildren's original artwork are proudly exhibited. Notes
of "Things to DO", Bills to Pay, are all firmly anchored by
colorful magnets with messages that range from: "Be nice -
it's contagious" or "Those who indulge - bulge" to "I never
met a calorie I didn't like."
It's all there at the meeting place that attracts both
residents and visitors. And to think there were times when
the rerigerator was only used for food storage!
May we always enjoy the appliance and its inner and outer
contents in good health and happiness.
Purim Somayach!
