Taylor Pork Roll On Chalah Toast, Please, With Mayo - 8/12/2022

         Fried Taylor Pork Roll on challah toast with mayo, sauerkraut, tomato, thinly sliced,  sweet pickle - Good Eatin’? Not really. Not to mention, blasphemous. It’s what happens when you’re Jewish married to an Irish Catholic for forty two years, forty four if living in sin counts for anything these days. Blasphemy becomes compromise. After all these years the lines blur. Get this. I visit her family for the first time. Her grandparents were Madden, McFadden, Flaherty, and Donnelly. An Irish law firm look-a-like. Lovely folks. Long flight. Ham sandwich on WonderBread upon arrival with artificially flavored bar-b-q chips. Slight headache. Got any excedrin, tylenol, percodan, loose joints? Check the medicine chest. Empty except for two things: a bottle of aspirin and a bottle of holy water. The aspirin bottle was full, seal intact. Had not been broken. Contents untouched. The bottle of holy water was nearly empty, just a couple of teardrops left.

I gotta tell ya, it’s been a trip - 42 years married to an Irish-Catholic “person with a vagina” of a certain age (I know. Truly stupid). Deep down I am still Shlomochaim from the shtetl. Deep down, she is a nun from New Jersey, although, by the two of us, you couldn’t tell. She makes a great Passover brisket, and, while it did take some time, I’ve gotten used to a Xmas tree.  Creches are out. Menorahs, in.  We managed to work it out with little or no bloodshed. Of course, we've thrown a little leather on occasion - anybody out there who hasn't? - but 41 years of grace out of 42 ain't bad.

     And speaking of bloodshed, Enter Mother. Like a shark on a blood trail, Elizabeth Hermanson Foreman surged into play with the promise of serious carnage. But, the way Jamie diffused more than one potential bloodbath convinced me I'd found a true comrade in arms.

        

    Listen up: the tale of a very charming, very gentile woman, the apotheosis of shiksa, versus a mother-in-law to be who could juggle grenades.

    Elizabeth Hermanson Foreman, street name, Lizzie, was not an easy human to get along with. She was as affectionate as a hornet. Her favorite expression was, "I'm gonna take my fist and punch that son of a bitch right in his nose." You think I'm kidding? A Jew from West Virginia, delivered, so goes family legend, by Dr. Hatfield of the Hatfields and the McCoys. Perfect. Four foot, eleven. Ninety-six pounds. Never blinked. Tough as roofing nails. Not for nothing was she known as Der Shtetl Assassin.

   So, my mother comes to Los Angeles to visit me. It would be the first time she'd met Jamie. Long story short. Jamie and I hop in the car to pick my mother up. I open the passenger side door and help her in. Jamie has graciously gotten into the back seat. OK. By the time I got around the car and back behind the wheel, I hear my mother's voice in her Baltimore/West Virginia accent, "Out with the old. In with the new. He leaves 'em all sick. The only reason Jewish men like gentile girls is because of the sex." to which Jamie demurely, calmly and politely replies, "I know that's important to Stephen."

        My instinct told me to duck, but the look on Lizzie's face went from shock to the stare of a puma. Elizabeth Hermanson Foreman had met her match and was assessing the enemy.        

        We were living in Montana when it turned out I needed a gall bladder operation - a bigger deal back then than now. I still carry a six inch scar from that one. Jamie said the local hospital looked like a Thrifty Six, and, in fact, there were only two patients in the whole joint: me and a guy named, Hoppy. I swear. We became good friends. Me 'n' Hoppy. No kidding. So, the night before the operation I'm talking to my mother on the phone when she asks me to call her after the operation.

            "Mom, they're gonna cut me open. No phone. No way."

            "How will I know you're all right?"

            "You'll talk to Jamie."

            "I'm not talking to Jamie."

            "Swell. Then you won't know, will you?"

        So, we do the operation. When they wheel me back into my room I can barely talk but I manage to scratch out, "Call my mother, J, Call my mother." So, Jamie does and says, "Elizabeth, I want to tell you the two things you've been waiting to hear. The operation was a success, and Stephen's in a lot of pain." I wasn't there, but those who were reported that Lizzie went down for the count on that one. Like they say in boxing circles, it's the one you don't see. Right then and there, I knew dead certain I'd found my soul mate.

        Happy Anniversary, Juice!!!!!!!!