The Catskill Chronicle

By Jude Waterston

When I was six years old, I owned a bright pink rabbit’s foot on a little gold-colored chain. I held it in my hand and reverently rubbed my fingers along its length, stopping to feel the hard little nails imbedded in the tip. It never occurred to me that it was an actual rabbit’s foot or that it came from a rabbit at all. I adored fur and wanted to touch it at any and every opportunity I could. My nine-year-old sister, Janet, felt the same way.

One afternoon, a few days before my brother, Buzz’s, Bar Mitzvah, we had a great opportunity for fur fondling. My parents allowed my sister and me to accompany them to a department store where they were buying some extra wine glasses. “Now, you can walk around on your own if you promise to meet us back here in exactly fifteen minutes,” my father said. My mother touched Janet’s wristwatch and said, “It’s ten minutes after two now. When will you be back here?” she asked. Janet rolled her eyes. “Oh, Mommy, I’m not a baby. At twenty-five minutes after two.” “Okay, girls, have fun,” my father said as he strolled down an aisle lined with glassware. My sister took my hand in hers and led me off.

“Not so tight,” I said irritably. “I have to hold your hand. Pretend you’re my baby and I’m taking you shopping,” she instructed. “Okay, Mommy,” I cooed, brightening. Janet and I took the escalator up one floor and she scanned the area quickly, spotting the coveted fur coats. She pulled me toward them as I felt the excitement mounting. “Now, I’ll tell you which ones you can touch and which you can’t,” Janet said. We passed two uninteresting shorthaired coats. The first acceptable fur we paused at was a thick blue-black mink, and Janet ran her hand slowly down the length of one sleeve. “Now you can pet it,” she said, still holding my hand in hers and guiding it along the side of the coat. “I wanna do it myself,” I insisted, yanking my hand free. “If I let you do it on your own, you still have to wait until I tell you which ones you can touch, okay?” Janet instructed. “Okay,” I begrudgingly agreed.

We stopped at four or five furs and stroked them methodically and for a long time. Then Janet looked over the line of furs and walked purposefully toward a longhaired rabbit coat, all white and silky-looking. As I walked silently behind her, I let my hand trail along the sleeves of the coats we passed. I felt almost faint with pleasure. When Janet stopped in front of the rabbit fur, I jerked my hand away from the coat I was luxuriating against and dropped it to my side, so she wouldn’t see that I had taken the liberty of touching without her permission. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she murmured. “When can we touch it?” I asked. “I’m going to touch it once by myself,” she answered. I made a face as she stroked the front of the coat. “Then I’ll count to three and we’ll touch it together,” she added, her eyes half-closed in ecstasy. She slowly counted, “one, one and a half, two, two and half…” Impatiently, I pushed my face past her outstretched hand and buried my head deep in the coat.

Suddenly, I felt two hands clamping my shoulders and my head was pulled backward away from the warmth of the fur. Janet and I stared at each other, wide-eyed with shock. I narrowed my eyes and looked menacingly at my sister, my hands forming two little fists. I was surprised to see her angry face contort into a look of real terror and inwardly was congratulating myself when the reason for her fear suddenly became apparent. The heavy hand on my shoulder felt like a lead weight. Janet’s hands hung limply at her sides. “It is now almost three o’clock,” my father said in a frighteningly low voice that was being pushed through gritted teeth. I rolled my eyes upward and looked into his angry face. “Your mother and I have been looking for the two of you for the past half hour. Didn’t we agree you’d meet us at a certain time?” My sister and I nodded and were still bobbing our heads and apologizing when my mother said, “I should’ve known you’d be here. Come on, let’s go.” My parents turned and headed for the escalator. Janet took my hand and putting her mouth on my ear she whispered, “There’ll be a lot of fur at the Bar Mitzvah.” We looked at each other and smiled broadly.

After the service at the temple, we headed back to our house for the first of two parties. The early celebration was held for family members. The caterers put out an enticing spread. There were platters of smoked salmon, white fish, sable, and sturgeon. Shallow bowls were filled with herring in sour cream and onion sauce, baked salmon salad, and smoked trout. Little cucumber cups were filled with chopped smoked salmon topped with shiny little domes of salmon roe and salty capers. Wicker baskets held various kinds of bagels, salt sticks, and rolls, and there were fancy little bowls of whipped cream cheese studded with scallions. My favorite things were miniature knish and potato pancakes served with tangy applesauce.

Janet and I moved around the table of food, eating contentedly and collecting handfuls of the colorful, frilly-edged cocktail toothpicks that were stuck in chunks of cheese and fruit. In the late afternoon we took naps in the bedroom we shared, and I dreamt my rabbit’s foot had grown to be the same size as I was and was lying in the bed by my side. I awoke with a start as the evening guests began filtering into the house. “Let’s help with the coats,” Janet said, excitedly. We ran downstairs just as our pediatrician, Dr. Adler, and his wife Marilyn were opening the front door. Marilyn was wearing a beaver stole around her shoulders, and Janet was beside herself trying to take it from her before she’d even set foot through the door. “We’re in charge of the coats,” I explained as I went to retrieve a short mink from the dangling arm of another of my parent’s friends.

We piled the coats onto my parent’s bed and returned for more. Naturally, the cloth coats were conveniently stashed at the bottom of the pile. When we had eight or nine furs we quietly closed the door to my parent’s bedroom, took off our shoes, and threw ourselves head first into the soft stack of pelts, our butts waving in the air. We were in this compromising position when my father surprised us, entering the bedroom with two coats slung over his arm. “What do the two of you think you are doing?” he boomed. “Get off the guests’ coats, will you?” Then suddenly and unexpectedly he softened. Shaking his head he said, “I guess you can pet them if you want, but don’t lie on top of them, for God’s sake. And get something to eat first. There’s a whole cold poached salmon and sweet and sour meatballs out there.” And with that he gently closed the bedroom door. “Meatballs!” Janet shrieked. She took my hand and we ran from the room, leaving the glorious pile of furs momentarily behind.

Sweet and Sour Meatballs

Serves 6 as an appetizer

For meatballs:

1 package ground beef and pork mixture (or turkey) (approx. 1 – 1 ¼ pounds total)

1 egg, beaten

¼ teaspoon ground allspice

¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg

¼ teaspoon ground cumin

¼ teaspoon ground coriander

½ teaspoon salt

Pinch of cayenne pepper

½ cup plain bread crumbs, preferably homemade

2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped

 

For sauce:

1 large onion, (about 1 cup) finely chopped

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1 large garlic clove, minced

1-28 ounce can crushed tomatoes

2 tablespoons brown sugar

1/3 cup raisins

½ cup Madeira, cooking sherry, or white wine

¼ teaspoon ground ginger

Juice of one large lemon

Salt and freshly ground pepper

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. In a large bowl, combine all meatball ingredients and mix well with hands or a spoon, but do not overwork. Roll into tiny meatballs, the size of large marbles. You should get about 50 meatballs out of the mixture. Place them on a cookie sheet or baking pan and bake for 10 – 12 minutes. Remove from oven and set aside. Meanwhile, heat butter and oil together in a large saucepan or Dutch oven over medium-low heat. Add onions and garlic and sauté, stirring occasionally, for five minutes. Add tomatoes, sugar, raisins, Madeira, ginger, lemon juice, and salt and pepper. Raise heat until mixture comes just to a boil. Immediately lower heat and simmer sauce for 10 – 12 minutes. Add meatballs and simmer an additional 8 minutes. Serve hot or room temperature.

Cucumber Cups with Smoked Salmon

Serves 4

1 unpeeled hot house cucumber, cut into ½ – ¾” pieces (appox. 12)

½ cup (3 ounces) smoked salmon, finely chopped

1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

1 ½ tablespoons salmon roe

1 teaspoon tiny capers, rinsed well

2 tablespoons minced chives

With a melon baller, carefully scoop out the seeds and some of the flesh from each piece of cucumber, leaving a border on all sides and forming a shallow cup. In a small bowl, toss the smoked salmon with the lemon juice. With a small spoon, fill each cucumber cavity with at least 1 teaspoon of smoked salmon. As you finish each, place it on a serving platter. Top each cup with 5 or 6 balls of salmon roe and a few capers. Scatter the chives over all and serve immediately.

Variation: After you fill each cucumber cup with smoked salmon, top with a tiny dollop of sour cream or crème fraiche. Proceed with the salmon roe, capers and chives.