Kosher Sutra

By Arlene Krasner

Don’t let the title fool you. This book does not contain steamy photos of the Ten Lost Tribes in strange sex positions. But it does include knishes, martinis, chimpanzees, road trips, marital woes, and probably the heaviest damn butcher block on either side of the Mississippi. It’s about the author’s search for a meaningful life, ill-equipped as she was at times to articulate what that truly meant. Yet when all else failed—her career, her marriage, her much-revered but silly-looking AMC Gremlin—she could always rely on her love of food, running the table from comfort food to nouvelle cuisine, or in the words of the musical Oliver: “Food, glorious food.” This memoir may not make you laugh or cry, but it will make you hungry. Kosher Sutra is a wonderful palate cleanser that fits sweetly between the courses of Oy vey and Mazel tov.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Knish Books
• Release date: Apr 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301599677

Arlene Krasner

Arlene Krasner taught sign language to chimpanzees, composition to college freshmen and writing to technical writers, English majors, and Engineering graduate students. She worked as a technical writer, documentation manager, and an engineering manager. She owned her own business communications company for several years. A life-long foodie, Arlene has been both a recipe tester and a recipe twister. She also worked as a cook for a fraternity house (don’t ask!). Through it all, Arlene has always been, from first course to last, a writer.Arlene lives with her husband, Mark Saunders, in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, along with a huge blonde standard poodle, who almost outweighs her, and a very opinionated cat, who scares her. Kosher Sutra is her first book.

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Advance Praise for Kosher Sutra

Following in the flip flops of Erma Bombeck, these delightful stories will make you laugh out loud, as well as giggle in private! Classic humor with ironic twists and turns and knishes.

Mary Norquist (a friend forced to write a blurb)

Krasner’s voice is compelling with its crystal clarity, and her sense of humor is both original and authentic. Taking on everything from religion to international travel to friendships founded on culinary adventures, her prose is saucy, sexy, and sabrosa! Enjoy this book that is part travelogue, part recipe book, and all memoir of a life intriguingly lived!

Robin Loving Rowland, Public Relations professional

Krasner has written a memoir of a life well spent. For readers of a certain age, it’s a nostalgic romp through the innocence of the 1950s, the confusion of the 1960s, and the growing, but always interesting, stability of the decades since. Armed with a few good recipes, an unflagging sense of humor and an eye for the absurd, Krasner has produced a whimsical look back at an enchanting world.

Ceil Tilney, Senior Consultant

I loved this memoir. A whimsical dance through one person’s life, filled with friends and food and recipes. Kosher Sutra is a winner! Krasner was a contributor to Sally’s Place.

Sally Bernstein. Editor-in-Chief, Sally’s Place

Kosher Sutra is the literary equivalent of comfort food: delicious, nostalgic, and at times delightfully sentimental. Like a satisfying meal, Krasner’s memoir stays with you long after the table has been cleared.

Mark Saunders, Nobody Knows the Spanish I Speak

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Kosher Sutra

a food memoir

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Arlene Krasner

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Portland, Oregon • San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

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Kosher Sutra Copyright © 2013 by Arlene Krasner. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Book design by Ray Rhamey

Print edition ISBN 978-0-615-76455-9

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013902130

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for Mark

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Acknowledgements

Writing a book is a solitary endeavor. Publishing a book is a group project. This book would never have been completed without the help and encouragement of a large group of people.

I’ve been writing this book for about seven years, picking at it every now and then. Many people have encouraged me to keep at it and complete it. Thanks to Jan Monaco who always asks me how the book is coming along. Now I can tell her that it is completed.

Thanks to Celia Grayson, who many years ago introduced us to Mexico, and changed our lives.

Many thanks to Sally Bernstein of Sally’s Place web site for being a wonderful mentor and for publishing many of my essays about Mexico and Portland’s Community Supported Agriculture (CSA).

I’d like to thank Julie and Cliff DuRand for providing a place for me to write. My two weeks on a writing sabbatical at their rental apartment gave me the time and space to finish my first draft.

Every May, the Literary Sala in San Miguel provides emerging writers an opportunity to read their works-in-progress. I want to thank the Sala and, especially, Susan Page for providing me with the opportunity to give a public reading of one of my chapters, Am I Catholic? The encouragement I got from the audience gave me the confidence to keep writing.

Karen Bartelt, who edited the book, was extraordinary in her praise, further bolstering my confidence to continue. Her ever-critical eye made the book better than I could ever have done without her.

I’d also like to thank my readers: Ceil Tilney, Robin Loving Rowland, Foster Church and Mary Norquist. And, of course, my husband, Mark Saunders, who read too many versions of this book to count.

Thanks also to Ray Rhamey for the beautiful cover and book design. This would not be a book without him.

Memoirs are difficult to write; they make us remember the good times and the bad. This memoir was no exception. I wish to extend a very belated thanks to my family—my mother, my father, and my sister—who always thought that I would do great things and loved me even when I didn’t. It is heartbreaking to me that none of you are here to read my book.

Thanks also to my niece, Andrea, and nephew, Michael, who were the love of my sister’s life and now mine.

A special thanks to my Aunt Dora, now deceased, who never failed to ask me when I was going to get my Ph.D. Our dinners together in New York will always be special to me. I miss you every day.

Somewhat quirky thanks to Alan, my first husband. If you hadn’t insisted that we move to California, I might never have divorced you and met Mark, the love of my life.

Memoirs are difficult to write, but food memoirs with recipes are especially difficult. I have many people to thank for reading and testing the recipes in this book. The Julia Child Supper Club (JCSC) in Portland, Oregon, had a special dinner to test the appetizer recipes. Big thanks to the members of the JCSC: Foster Church, Chris Pieratti, Mary Shuhert, Jim Agin, Pat Rau, David Kellerman, Herje Wikegard and Carolyn Wikegard. When I was at loose ends on our return to Portland, the JCSC came to my rescue by spending long, lovely afternoons making pancetta, cheese and sausage.

Thanks also to friends Arlene Van Note, Arlena Lawrence, Ceil Tilney, Frances Dinolfo and Diana Vavrek for testing recipes.

Cooks are nothing without eaters. Thanks to Mark Saunders, Rosalie Griffin, Mary Norquist, and countless others who have eaten my cooking and survived to talk about it. And, thanks to my dog, Duke, who is the biggest eater—and food critic—of all.

The biggest thanks and love to Mark Saunders, my husband, lover, friend, editor, who walked beside me during many of the adventures covered in this book. Without Mark’s support—and downright nagging at times—this book would never had happened. Mark has made my life what I always wanted it to be: A life of experiences. Thanks. I love you.

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Prologue(s)

I’m sure you don’t know what to expect from a book named Kosher Sutra.

Perhaps you were expecting to see photos of the Ten Lost Tribes in strange sex positions, something other than the missionary position. Naughty you! Surely you know the old joke: How do you stop a Jewish girl from screwing? Answer: Marry her.

This title embodies the things that I’ve been searching for in my life: a sense of being a somewhat quirky individual, accomplished at some things, enjoying what I’m doing at any given moment, and being part of a strong community. My life is also about food, running the table from comfort food to lavish food, or in the words of the musical Oliver: Food, glorious food.

I’ve been a foodie since before the term was coined. Food, of course, gives us sustenance, but it is also an expression of love. And nowhere is this expression more evident than in the sense of community. To me, community meals of all kinds—potlucks, family dinners, Thanksgiving—are all expressions of love and essential to a full, happy life.

I’ve been writing this book—as a memoir, then a work of fiction, now a memoir again—for over seven years. During those years, I’ve written a number of Prologues, which I’ve included here. This is the most recent prologue. After this, the prologues progress from the oldest to the most recent. As I write this prologue, I am sitting at my computer in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. We left Portland, Oregon, in December 2005 for an adventure in Mexico. And we found it, along with many other things. We returned to the USA—for reasons that escape us now—in August of 2007. Three months after returning to the States, we realized that we had made a mistake. We missed Mexico and returned here three years later.

Although I have somewhat inexact theories of why we left Mexico, I know exactly why I returned to San Miguel. I missed the unfolding of days, the feeling that each day brings something new into your life. I missed the people—both the expats and the Mexicans. I missed the opportunity of re-inventing myself. I missed the beauty and the serenity in that small historic city in the central highlands of Mexico, six thousand feet above sea level. If we are lucky, sometimes we find our soul mate. And if we’re very lucky, we also find a place that nourishes our soul. I’ve been very fortunate to have found both.

Although this book’s structure seems to follow a linear path, my life—like most lives—is not as much of a straightforward progression as I would like to think it is. So, for instance, some Portland events might find their way into my discussion of our lives in Mexico. People, also, are sprinkled throughout the book. My first husband, Alan, and my current husband, Mark, figure prominently in my life in many places.

As a young girl growing up in the 1950s, my life should have been pre-determined. I should have gone to college—perhaps finishing, perhaps not, married and had children followed by grandchildren. But my life didn’t really begin that way and certainly didn’t follow that path, from birth till now.

I think of myself as a linear person, very rational and logical. After all, I worked as an engineering manager for many years and appreciated the logic of that discipline. However, as I reflect and write about my life, I find that my connections are more like a software web than a hardware product. Basically, I am a great deal fuzzier than I thought. This is my life.

Prologue 2002

I’m trying to write a novel. It’s not that writing is totally outside my experience. I’ve been a technical writer—and some technical writers out there may agree that technical writing is fiction writing—and a writing teacher for many years. I’ve written short essays about food, none of which have been published, unless you count the condo newsletter as being published.

When I was young—in high school—I wanted to be a writer. Not your usual run-of-the mill writer, either: A famous writer. I wanted to live in Manhattan, in a high rise with a fantastic view, and host fabulous parties with smartly dressed people, sipping martinis.

My life didn’t turn out that way. Not bad, just different. You’ll have to read this book to find out just how differently my life did turn out.

I don’t seem to have much imagination—I suppose years of corporate life and technical writing drain it out of you—so my novel is pretty much based on events of my life. Of course, I’ve embellished it a bit. My life has not been all that exciting or unique. I did however come of age during a very exciting time—the 1960s. It was a time of social and cultural unrest when the Civil Rights Act became a reality, the Pill made sex without the threat of pregnancy a reality, we were at war half-way around the world, and the largest group of children became young adults. The Baby Boomers came of age and it was as if the entire world was asked to take notice. The 1960s and 1970s were the days of sex, drugs, and mind-blowing rock-n-roll.

What could be more fun than that?

Prologue 2004

Still I persist. Sort of. Like most writers, or would be writers, I have a storehouse of ways to procrastinate and avoid writing. Still I wonder if this storehouse is real. Do I really steal from Peter to pay Paul with my writing? And does Paul ever steal anything back?

First you have to know my life. I work full time, well, really a little more than full time. I leave for work at 7:00 a.m. or so and arrive back home around 5:30 on a typical day and around 6:30 or 7:00 on a long day.

On the weekends, I try to do everything that I should have done during the week. I straighten up the place so it is somewhat presentable. I clean a bit if it is an off-week for the cleaning person. I go food shopping (oh, joy of joys, the supermarket). I go to the dry cleaner. Take the dog to the vet. Socialize a bit. And, yes, try to write.

This weekend I was determined to work on my novel. Friday we—my husband and I—went to dinner with a neighbor. Saturday we slept in until 7:00 a.m. (yipeee!) and went out to breakfast, which is our Saturday morning treat. Then I dropped my husband off at Kinko’s so he could scan a place card in and get it printed.

I went home and straightened up a bit and got my shopping list done. We had a dinner party to go to and I had a rather complicated dish to make. My husband called and I picked him up, we went to the grocery store, and headed home.

I started cooking, making an incredible mess in the kitchen. It was going just okay. By lunchtime I was beat so we went out to lunch and stopped to pick up some stuff (what, I don’t remember). By the time we got back it was 2 p.m. and I had more cooking to do. I finished at about 4:30, left the kitchen a mess, and took a much needed shower. By 5:10, we were loading the car with stuff to bring to the party.

On Sunday, we slept until 7:00 again—this was a lazy weekend after all. The kitchen was a real pit by this time. We picked up croissants and brought them home to eat while we read the Sunday newspapers—a tradition we are loathe to relinquish. By this time, I had determined that I had to cut down on my for the week cooking if I was ever going to get my writing done. So I cut back on my New York Times reading and sat down to write, which I did for about an hour. Then I made some phone calls to people I promised to call this weekend. Luckily, nobody was home. I interspersed all this exciting activity with running laundry. Then I went shopping. Nordstrom was having a sale and I needed tights. We drove over together; my husband went to work (his office was across the street from the mall) and I shopped. An hour later we met and had lunch. We stopped at the grocery store on the way back to get doggie treats, among other things. It was now 2 p.m. and we were home. Oops, I forgot that the pharmacy called about a prescription for the dog. We all walked down to the pharmacy, accomplishing two things at once—an errand and a dog walk.

Now, I needed a short nap. Then I (finally) cleaned up the kitchen since the dog didn’t step up to it (neither did my husband, who spent the time I was cooking and cleaning up the kitchen working on his writing).

And so here I am: Writing about not writing and needing to go start dinner.

My life wasn’t always like this. There was a time when I had time—or at least I remember it so.

Prologue 2006

So, now I am fifty-nine and my novel is still not written. But I’m getting closer.

At the end of my fifty-eighth year, my husband and I, along with the dog and cat, left our home in Portland, Oregon, and moved to Mexico. We decided to take Joseph Campbell’s advice and follow our bliss. Our bliss, we decided, included sunny skies and time to write.

Basically, we dropped out.

I know we were kind of old to drop out. I’ve always been a late bloomer so you can say that this was totally keeping in character.

But it was unexpected to us and all our friends. My husband always says that my idea of camping is staying in a hotel without room service. He is almost right. My idea of camping is staying in a Motel 6. I truly believe that