who's in the kitchen

Plight of a Dashing Judy and her misplaced fob


I just celebrated a birthday last week, and while it wasn’t a big one, it’s getting close.  More than ever now,  I find myself a bit forgetful.  Family members and friends always tell me not to worry, and that it’s because I’m doing so many things at the same time which, in reality, I do tend to do. But I get nervous that it’s more than that. Take for example what happened last week.

I needed to make the 8:01 train to the city, no matter what!  Jerry was dropping me off, and then heading to an appointment in New Jersey. Jerry and I did everything humanly possible to get out on time (or in reality, I did everything). Of course we left late and panic set in. Worst of all, Jerry, the slowest of slowpokes, was driving — hence, we had no shot.

I screamed at him, that he used to be a great athlete, a real thoroughbred back in the day. I attempted to rally him to speed up. It was working. Jerry lurched the car speed way up to speed limit, and victory began to look possible (like in the movie Hoosiers). We made it to the light at Woodmere Blvd. and all we needed to do was stop at the red light and make a legal right turn, as it was all clear. There was a car in front of us, which had his blinker on, to make a right turn. We were saved!

But the car in front of us didn’t do a blasted thing. I said, “Jerry, honk him, he’s allowed to make a right turn and just needs a reminder that the coast is clear. He said, “I don’t honk other cars, except in emergencies as I believe it’s rude and inappropriate.” He said that he certainly would have made the right, but beeping crossed the line. I couldn’t contain myself, “Jerry, this is an emergency, I need to make the train.” We were caught on the horns of a dilemma. He didn’t honk, and I didn’t stop screaming.

We finally made it West Broadway, and made the light. Unfortunately, there were eight cars and buses in front of us and the LIRR gates came down (intensify dramatic music in the background).

Jerry told me to get out and run. I quickly grabbed the bags I was holding and sped out the door. As quick as I could, I sprinted down the block, almost slipping on the ice and stopping myself from sliding under a school bus.

I waited until the train stopped and then I ran through the closed gates and onto the train. Freezing and out of breath I slinked into a seat and let the feeling of victory wash over me — but not for long.

My cell phone rang and it was Jerry. Probably making sure I got on. I proudly let him know that I just made the train and all was good. He deadpanned five words in return. “You have the car key.” That feeling of victory turned to panic. I would have to get off at the Hewlett station and give Jerry the fob, and I’d be stuck having to drive in with Jerry, which would never get me to my granddaughter’s apartment in time for my babysitting gig. My first gig and I messed up already.

He thought that I should just put the key fob out of the doors and leave it right on the floor outside the train, and he would come get it. I realized that as soon as I did that, someone would pick it up and come running after me or, worse yet, hand it over to the conductor. Then it struck me: I would run out of the train throw the key fob over the railing and it would fall down at the row of parked cars. And, my friends, that is exactly what I did.

Thankfully, I didn’t know anybody coming onto or getting off the train, because I definitely looked like someone off their meds. As I sat back in my seat, I called Jerry to let him know exactly in front of which car the key landed.

I whispered in less than two sentences as I explained it to Jerry. Obviously the whisper it wasn’t quiet enough for the guy sitting two rows ahead of me, who turned around and shouted, “Hang up, you’re in the quiet car.”

I didn’t respond to him but I recaptured that sense of victory again, as I walked off the train at Penn Station and accidentally knocked over his bag on the floor, spilling his large coffee. As he was about to open his mouth, I put my finger to my lips and whispered, “Shh, quiet,” as I exited the train.

You can be sure that I will never forget to hand over the car key fob again, when I’m the one to open the door.

Talking about forgetting, there actually is a recipe called forgotten cookies; it’s also perfect for Pesach

Classic Forgotten Cookies

By The Spruce


2  large egg whites, room temperature

2/3 cup fine white sugar

Pinch of salt

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 cup finely chopped pecans

1 cup semisweet chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350 F

Cover a cookie sheet with foil and butter ( I use spray coating)

Beat the egg whites until foamy.

Gradually add the sugar and continue beating the egg white until they hold stiff peaks.

Add salt and vanilla. Blend well.

Stir in pecans and chocolate chips.

Drop dough by teaspoonfuls onto the prepared cookie sheet.

Put the cookies in the oven, and then turn the oven off.

Leave the cookies in the oven overnight (keep the door closed so the heat doesn’t escape too quickly) or about 10 hours.

If you like these Classic Forgotten Cookies, try out a chocolate variation: Beat 3 tablespoons of unsweetened cocoa into the egg whites along with the sugar.