Is Hell Enough?

Not the question that I was expecting.

She was smart. Her job paid well. And smiling with hospitality - what a cook she was!

The home she invited us into for Shabbat dinner was impeccably decorated. It was a modern Tel Aviv penthouse with sleek marble floors and boasted smooth white countertop surfaces. Under cabinet blue lighting finished off the jazzy atmosphere. It was stunning.

Mark and the man of the house (her delightful husband) went deep into all things coffee the moment we walked in. They talked coffee and agreeable politics all evening.

She and I bonded and obsessed like only foodies can. We rattled on around the ingredients in her amazing recipes and taste profiles specific to the region. She tried to explain that it was ‘thyme’ in the sauce that I had asked about. When I couldn’t place it and she couldn’t explain it, show-n-tell was the best option so he pulled out a white plastic food storage container from the fridge.

Peeling back the red bendable snap-on lid, it held the culinary answer. They were freshly harvested herbs from her work garden. Fat sprigs, all cozy and wrapped in damp paper towels, lay asleep. They were in neat night-night rows. Until she unrolled them, waking them up one by one.

“Do you have this one?” stretching out a hearty evergreen my direction. The needles immediately made me crave roasted chicken.

“Rosemary,” I responded. She repeated it in Hebrew. We smiled.

“Na,na” she said. It was our next herb-share. Pointing the dark green, toothed leaves under my nose I knew it at first sight. “Mint!” I answered.

The last mini leafed herb was the one she wanted to show me.

“Oh, it’s thyme.” I said and the game was up. “That’s the secret taste in your sauce!”

She was delightful. The table around which we sat for hours that night was a place of joy. There was laughter. Trust was present too. She and her husband had worked hard to nurture and provide for their lovely family. Her grown children adored her. It was obvious.

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