Kim Porter Tries Manischewitz for the First Time, and Narrowly Avoids a Latke Fire

In the kitchen Estelle introduces us to her boyfriend, a silk-screened beach towel bearing the likeness of Tom Selleck. Lisa says, "Hi," but, Tom, being a towel, does not reply.
Before this evening is over Lisa and I will, at Estelle's insistence, put on toy gun belts and felt cowboy hats and accompany her to her local Kosher Deli for latkes. Only, because we are so late, they will already be out of latkes. We will put out two separate kitchen fires. We will pretend to eat still bloody chicken served on a bed of chopped hot dogs, grapes, and spoon-size shredded wheat. And around midnight, when I think I might become "eccentric" myself if we don't escape this place, we will spend over an hour being shown, over and over, the same 4 tchotchkes (one of which is a happy-meal toy) as Estelle clings to our elbows begging, "Don't go! I want to show you this beautiful thing."

We will never get around to lighting the candles, which are rumored to be integral to Hanukah. I will never eat a latke with applesauce or sour cream. And, sadly, my latent Judaism will not be revealed.

But, for now, in the kitchen, Estelle asks, "Manishewitz?" and Lisa nods.

"What's Manischewitz?" I whisper to Lisa. "Another one of her boyfriends?"

"I think it's something Jewish," she says.

Bring it on.

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