Two spoons of hummus and a teardrop.

Or how I ordered dinner from a Jewish restaurant

“What do you want from that fridge?”

“I want to eat, but I don’t know what. Maybe we should order. I’m thinking, kebab…” answered my oldest, standing before the open fridge.

“That fridge is full of food, there is soup, don’t waste money.” As a mother, you have to say that.

“Mmm… I don’t want soup. Are you planning to cook dinner?”

“No, there’s that soup.”

“Let’s order, I’ll pay. I’m thinking maybe Mac*.”

“I’m thinking maybe Paprika.”

“Have you ordered from them before?”

“Never had enough patience. I want to try their shakshuka, falafel, and hummus, but I don’t know what to choose. It’s too complicated.”

We scroll in silence for 10 minutes.

“Mama, I want Laffa Wrap, but then there are so many items and combinations I have to choose from…”

I click on Laffa Wrap and then scroll and scroll: “This list is longer than Torah.”

“Yeah…”

“And then each combination has additional items that cost differently for every dish. Look: if I want falafel with my shakshuka or hummus, I have to pay an extra +85kc, but if you add falafel to your wrap, it’s only +20kc. Look how specific they are about the amount of extra hummus: 2 spoons (70 grams) for +65 kc. I’m sure there’s a special person who sits and weights or levels those spoons of hummus.”

“Maaaai, mama, I’m ordering Mac*.”

“Now I want to go till the end. It’s like a test of Jewishness and qualification for the Mossad in one.”

“Mama, do you want anything from Mac?”

“… and look, they charge for a bag +15kc. But not like your Asian restaurant, which charges for sticks if you want them. Here, the bag is not a separate item from food. It goes automatically with the dish you choose. So if I order hummus and shakshuka, they will charge me for two bags. But I’m sure they will bring just one. And you see the option to choose three types of sauce for free? It will be the smallest amount of sauce you’ll ever see in your life. And they will put it in the smallest containers ever.”

By the time I read all the options, I was worried and nervous: “Now I have to sit and worry that I will pay more and will miss something in the calculations.”

“Mama, order from somewhere else. Don’t get nervous.”

“You don’t understand.”

Note. I can’t post this text without adding some of my favorite Jewish anecdotes. In Soviet times, Jewish anecdotes were a separate genre. Here are some of my favorites.

Sarah and Moishe at night in bed. Moishe can’t sleep, tosses and turns.

- What’s wrong, Moishe?

- I owe Abram a ruble.

Sara knocks on the wall:

- Abram!

- What

- Moishe owes you a ruble, but he won’t give it to you.

Sara turns to Moishe:

- Now go to sleep; it’s his turn to worry.

Well, the food was good. Ok, ok, very good. It was not better than my mama’s gefilte fish or chicken sheika, but that hummus is definitely the best in Prague. Shakshuka, I make better. And the pita — mmm, the best pita I ever had. Klobouk dol?, as Czech say.

And the whole experience wouldn’t be Jewish enough without suffering. When you see that hummus so whipped and airy, it’s light and tasty, but it also must look like it’s more.

When you eat, you enjoy the taste but worry if you chose the right combination and didn’t overpay.

You praise the pita and scold them for putting everything in one bag, of course.

It was only soothing to know that they were just as nervous while pipetting sauce into each container and measuring precisely 70 grams of hummus. I’m sure there must have been a couple of teardrops in that bag.

In Barcelona, half of the population hangs Catalan flags and burns Spanish ones, and the second half hangs Spanish ones and burns Catalan ones… And only two immigrants from Odessa — Monya and Fima, sew and sell these flags from night until morning…

“Mama, why are you so worried about those 15 kc? I will give you 20; just don’t be nervous.”

“Kid, you don’t understand. A bag here, a bag there, a spoon here, a spoon there. You think they sell food? They sell bags. How do you think the capital is made? Consider this order a business lesson. They won’t teach you this in your university. How do you think I learned business? From books?

My grandfather was making and selling wine. It was a whole system. There was wine in different barrels for different clients, separately for the family. Do you know the wine tastes different in the same barrel? You know nothing.

New clients were accepted only by recommendation. The most solvent were invited to the table to taste the wine, eat, and talk. While Dedushka went to the cellar for wine, Babushka, pretending to be deaf, listened to every word the clients said.

It was the time of the Soviet Union and prohibition laws; you could go to jail for alcohol.

They found a distiller for samogon and arrested Dedushka. They wanted to send him to Syberia, but Babushka went to Selsovet** with her baby and a blanket.

Straight to the collective farm chairman. She spread that blanket on the floor, put the baby down, then said it was her distiller, and she was ready to go to Syberia, but then the chairman must take care of the baby.

Smart woman. She knew they couldn’t arrest her with the baby. They let Dedushka go too.

You don’t even know what samogon is. It’s like Czech Slivovice but was made not only with plums. They made it from all they had, and they didn’t have much — fruit, grains, vegetables.

The worst was from sugar root — the strongest and the stinkiest samogon ever. You could exorcise the devil with it.

I was little when I saw that glass bottle on the windowsill. I thought it was lemonade. One sip and the soul flew out of the body.

They didn’t make it for drinking. It was currency. How do you think they built that second house?

After the arrest, they stopped with samogon. Wine was safer. But how many 20-liter bouteilles of that samogon are still buried under that house, oooy. If it weren’t for this stupid war, I’d take you there.”

Anyway.

@PAPRIKA Mediterranean Kitchen & Bar Paprika, thank you for the food and the experience. You owe me that bag. Or return the money.

Oy vey.

PS: @PAPRIKA Mediterranean Kitchen & Bar Paprika, I don’t think I have enough patience and nerves to order from you again, even that divine pita unless you simplify that menu. If you don’t know how, hire me.

I charge a lot. Everything is so expensive nowadays, you know.

And here’s my all-time favorite anecdote. I don’t know how you translate “nemnozhechko” in English, so here is my translation and the original in Russian.

- If I were rich like Rothschild, I would be a bit richer.

- How?

- At night I’d sew a little…

- Если я был бы богатый, как Ротшильд, я был бы богаче…

- Как?

- А я бы еще немножечко шил…

That kid of mine read it and started worrying:

“Mama, it wasn’t how and why we ordered it.”

“Who cares? Consider it a literary technique, a hook, whatever.”

“What do you mean, who cares? You post it, people read it, you become famous, and they will think I don’t eat your soup and talk like that to my mama.”

“When I become famous, we will publish a refutation, don’t worry.”

“Write it now.”

“Ok, ok. We ordered that food to celebrate your brother’s passing all exams with good marks, which you should do, too. Go study.”

Winter. A boy is playing on a playground.

- Izya! Go home!

- Am I cold, mama?

- No, you’re hungry!

* McDonalds

** Village council