A Wedding & A Cinnamon Bun

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. . . Next time- find out beforehand that Sagi's wedding reception is being held in the middle of a field.
 

My feet are dead. Again. Sagi and Meital's wedding was really cool, nice weather for a change, awesome music and great food. But it would have been nice to have some advance knowledge of the venue.I mean, just cause its on a kibbutz does not mean you have to dress like a kibbutznik (no disrespect intended). In typical Israeli fashion, the fashion was widely varied. I was dressed to the T, in a little black dress & high heeled sandals, hubby looked pretty good in his staple black.  Yuval wore shorts and Crocs. I kid you not. Half the people wore jeans and the other half could have been on the catwalk. Only in this country. There are no rules. And no one ever ever wears ties.

As I stumbled over a million small rocks, twisted my ankle and watched my designer heels sink into the mud, I wondered if Crocs were possibly the answer. No one would even notice.
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. . . Next time- READ THE RECIPE- Goddammit.

I catered a Bris on Sunday Morning, Erev Yom Kippur. To those not in the know, everything here in Israel shuts down completely. There are NO cars on the roads, except emergency veHicles and bicycles. ALL the shops and supermarkets shut tight. No money exchanges hands on this solemn day. Now it's a tradition in our family that every year, P. makes Olivia's Melchika (sort of cinnamon/chocolate buns) to break the fast. Blackpetero made sure to tell me a million times that he needed flour, eggs, butter and chocolate chips. Of course I got him what he needed.

Back to the catering, which went without a hitch,food was delicious and the gig was lucrative for a change. I decided to cut costs by baking my own bread, giabetta's and a seriously sinful flour-less chocolate ganache cake. It was unbelievably good. But I had not realized that it used 10 eggs, 600 g of butter and a few kilos of good quality chocolate chips. It was just too late. By time it came to make the melchika, it somehow turned out,  that we were out of eggs, butter and good quality bittersweet chocolate. Jeez how the heck did that happen? The shops were all closed and Hubby was not a happy camper. He bitched and sulked for quite a while until I borrowed some eggs from the neighbors and found some dodgy butter at the back of the fridge.  I know, I know- I really do need to plan things a bit better. But the cake was awesome.

 

The main street of Ra'anana on Yom Kippur.

. . . be VERY specific about how short you want your haircut.

A typical day at the hairdresser.

The hair is getting a bit unmanageable, a few split ends here and there, so it's off to Avi for a trim. Maybe a few layers here and there, I tell him. A tad shorter would be good. Nothing drastic, you know.

"Smoch alai" (trust me) say's he. How long have we been together? 10 years? Right. Go for it.

Now you need to know, that I have serious self esteem issues concerning my ears (hate them). Seriously, with a passion. When I was 5, my mom decided it would be a good idea  for me to have a cute little bob for my first day of primary school. Blissfully unaware, I dressed in my little school uniform and started big school. It was a nightmare. Who knew? I had monstrosities instead of ears. I never forgave my mom for that haircut. She swears it was the fashion at the time, and I looked beautiful- tell that to those evil, cruel, horribly noxious brats on the playground.

Back to Avi. 

Heart sinks at the first cut. Oh crap. I know that this is a serious mistake. A breach of trust. The hair is now just above my shoulders, but mostly on the floor, for Godsake. Let me out of here, I'm gonna sue.

This past week has been traumatic but I am getting used to it. Apparently, I look 10 years younger. And except for Asaf, the gardener/fighter pilot, most people seem to like it. I can still sort of hide my ears, and I have to admit that its much easier to deal with. The big question is what's next? A Buzzcut is NOT a good look for me. 
A woman's relationship with her hairdresser is a very special one. Jeez Avi, I feel cheated and let down. We are going to have to do a lot of work to heal these wounds. How about some therapy?

Shivta

Archeology Saturday at Shivta. 
(Note misery on daughters face. She had only 2 hours sleep the night before.DMS)

. . . Don't Listen to Husband

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 1- Don't listen to Husband, when he says "You don't need sunscreen" while traipsing around Nabatean Ruins, in the middle of the Negev Desert.

2- Don't listen to Husband when he assures you the pasta salad in the boot won't go off, while exploring Nabatean Ruins for 3 hours in the middle of the desert.

Note to Self: Don't take pasta salad along with you to the desert. The chances of it going off are pretty high. Even if said Nabatean Ruins are pretty cool and the salad is awesome (home made pasta, sun dried tomatoes, kalamata olives, capers and parmesan cheese- may be served hot).

Saturday morning @ 5:30 am. It's Archeology Saturday.
Blackpetero has decided that today's destination is the  Nabatean city of Shivta. He insisted It was decided that the whole family, including the nephew, would go "archeologing" today (it's usually just him and the boy). We had been were invited to our friends Dasi and Shaul for lunch (near Shivta)- hence the taking of the above mentioned pasta salad along with us in the first place.
Our friends live on a kibbutz in the South, a stones throw away from Gaza. Literally. After finally arriving at the gates of the kibbutz (a mere 5 minutes from the Rafiah Border Crossing) it appeared that our hosts were still sleeping and we could not get though the gates.

Understandably, after exploring the wonderful and extremely educational ruins of Ancient Shivta for the past few hours we were all a tad, uhm tired. The kids wanted to go home. The moaning and groaning in the car was intense. The big question now was should we stay or should we go.

A snippet of the conversation:

Son-(waking up after the long drive from Shivta): "I've got a sinking feeling that we are not heading home."

Husband- (slightly irked by the delay at gate): "NO we are not".

Son: "I have suddenly gone blind, I'm really sick, I may have rectal bleeding and loss of height. These are symptoms we really should NOT ignore."

Sunburned Jo-(ignoring son): "I need to pee- BPO go straight, there may be a gas station along this road".

Husband: "Are you mad- There is less than nothing in that direction, Jo- just Gaza.

Daughter: "Oh  good, lets go shopping"

Nephew: "Ya, good idea- really cheap munitions in Gaza!"

Son: "But- who ignores sudden blindness?"

etc. etc.etc.

Turns out I did not have to worry- the pasta salad was ok, though I did not eat any of it.
For an educated account of Shivta and our day out see Husbands blog: http://blackpetero.blogspot.com/2009/09/shivta.html

. . . Do Not Cater In Heels

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My feet are buggered.

I catered a party last night for 100 people. Granted I only had to do all the appetizers, the salad, the pasta, crudites and desert. (On the original menu was just a variety of bruschetta and salad.) But next time, must remember to get paid for ALL the items.

You may not know this, but I am notorious for NOT making money on my catering. Really. Since my ex partner opened his microbrewery, Jem's Beer Factory, It's all gone downhill. On a sled.

I have never been good with money. (Jem used to take care of the ordering/shopping). But me? I suck at this. I once catered a picnic luncheon and ended up making about $13.(It was the wine that they didn't order- but it was so appropriate at the time!!!). I'm just terrible about estimating the amount of food to prep, and always have to add extra items- one more cake, one more salad, uh wine, etc. (And I use only the best ingredients) But I am a damn good cook.

So last night, my helper bailed on me at the last minute and I had to do the whole lot on my own. Not good. I managed it, somehow, and the food was great. But who in their right mind wears heels in the bloody kitchen? Truth is that I had brought flats, but forgot about them in all the excitement and balagan. Also, I had intended to just do my apps, and then leave. But me being me, had to stay the whole evening. Oh and not get paid for that either.

I am just a woosssss. So I made copious notes on how much to buy next time and what to charge (good move) but I will probably forget I made them and do exactly the same thing all over again. And so it goes. ugh.