Is It Kosher?

Joe wiped the beads of sweat forming on his hairline, smoothed his jacket, tugged on his sleeves, and answered the door. She was the most beautiful girl he ever saw, and now she was at his door. He smiled and led her into the living room.

His fingers toyed with the velvet box in his pocket. This was going to be the night she would never forget. He took her shawl and laid it on the back of the couch.

Miriam looked around the room. “Joe, I thought you were taking me out to dinner.” The glow of candles lit the room. Soft piano music filled the room. The glass doors to the porch were open. She stepped out onto the terrace and gasped.

Joe couldn’t keep from fiddling with the velvet box in his pocket. “I know I mislead you, but I am sure you will love this. I cooked everything myself.” Joe pulled out a chair for her.

She looked into his eyes as she sat at the table. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

Joe sat in his chair and gazed at her over the single rose in the middle of the table. “I don’t. I mean I never have. I mean, I had to ask my mom what to make and how to make it. But I wouldn’t let her help me.”

“You’re so sweet.”

Joe stood. “I thought we’d start with a glass of wine.” He headed toward the kitchen.

Miriam’s voice carried through to the kitchen. “Is it kosher?”

Joe came back with a bucket of ice and an opened bottle of Domaine Leroy Musigny Grand Cru. “It must be because it cost like $20,000. It should be perfect.” He filled her glass and then his. “There is a special way to drink wine, Miriam. My mother showed me the other day when she picked this out for us.”

Miriam took the bottle from Joe’s hand and examined it. “Joe, I can only drink kosher wine.”

Joe smiled. “For that price, it must be kosher.”

“I don’t see a hechsher (“seal of approval.”) She turned the bottle around and examined everything written. “No, it isn’t kosher, Joe. I can’t drink it.”

Joe lost his breath. His eyes widened and his face paled. “You mean, you’re not going to drink this wine?”

Miriam put one hand on his shoulder. Her eyes glassed up. “I appreciate all the trouble you and your mother went to in order to make this meal perfect—.”

“And expense,” Joe said under his breath.

Miriam continued, “but my religion just won’t allow me to consume non-kosher foods and drinks.”

Joe put the opened bottle of wine in the ice bucket and scratched his head. “I love you so much. I want to know everything about you, Miriam. What is a hechsher seal of approval? And why would having one make it kosher?”

Miriam blushed. “You’re not upset with me?”

Joe gazed into her eyes. “How could I ever be upset with you?” Joe exhaled. “Besides, when you see what I cooked you will love me as much as I love you.”

“A hechsher seal of approval guarantees that the winemaking process and all the utensils used to make the wine have been handled according to Jewish dietary laws.” Miriam shifted in her seat. “I could tell you more, but I don’t want to waste this evening.”

Joe stood, took the glass of wine from the table and swallowed it with one swallow, and did the same with his own. “I’ll be right back with the main course.”

In the kitchen, he pulled the velvet box out of his pocket and gazed at the diamond. His eyes glassed up. I love her so much. He took the lamb shank he prepared and made sure all the extras were just so. Sprigs of parsley and onions cooked in the lamb’s juices. He was proud of the presentation. His mother assured him half the meal’s beauty is the presentation. He worked hard to get his plate to look exactly like the photo his mother gave him.

He brought it to the table.

Miriam moved the single white rose, her favorite, to the side, and he put the entrée in the center of the table and smiled. “I’ll be right back.” He got the cutting instruments and finger bowls for dipping their fingers to clean them and set them all on the table. Just like in the picture his mother gave him. He sat and gazed into her eyes.

Miriam smiled. “I can see how hard you worked on this meal. It’s lovely. What is this dish called?”

Joe puffed his chest out and threw his shoulders back. “Port Braised Lamb Shanks. I made it myself. My mother even took me to the butcher to select the best they had.” He sat on the edge of his seat, waiting for her to shower him with appreciation.

“How was it made?”

Joe’s eyes beamed with pride. I slow cooked it in an expensive port sauce.” Joe’s smile was about to break his face, he was so proud.

Miriam stood and leaned over the dish. “What is port? And What are these vegetables?”

“I am so glad you asked. Port...” he rolled his eyes. “Port is wine.” He glossed over that fact, hoping she didn’t hear him. “I learned so much about cooking, making this meal for you.” He stood and pointed at the various ingredients. “This is spring greens, and this is baby leeks” He looked up at her and smiled hoping to see approval in her eyes. “These are oak-smoked bacon croutons and over here are roasted courgettes with lemon.” He beamed with pride as he spoke every word. “Over here are clementine carrots and that is butternut squash with garlic and parsley.” He sat down and looked at her. “Miriam, nothing has ever given me this much joy. I have loved every minute of making this meal for you. And for dessert, I have a big surprise.”

Miriam raised an eyebrow. “You said these are bacon croutons?”

Joe puffed his chest. “They are oak-smoked bacon croutons, yes.”

Miriam’s mouth turned into a sad pout. “I am not allowed to eat bacon. It’s not kosher.”

Joe jumped to his feet and took a fork and pulled every one of the bacon croutons off the plate. “There now it’s kosher. I’ll remember next time about the bacon.”

Miriam plunked into her chair and cradled her head in her hands. “Joe?”

Joe leaned closer to her. “Yes?”

“How was the lamb shank slaughtered?”

“Jeez, I don’t know, Miriam.” I suppose they herded the lamb into a butcher and chopped him up. I didn’t ask. Is it important?”

Miriam shook her head and tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “I can’t eat meat unless they have been slaughtered properly.”

“You actually think about how they kill the meat you eat?”

Miriam smiled and quietly chuckled. “It’s my religion.”

“What religion are you?”

“I am Jewish. We have dietary laws.”

Joe sat back, stuck his hand in his pocket, and clutched the velvet box. “So, for next time, how am I supposed to slaughter the lamb?”

Miriam gave a little laugh. “I don’t think you have to slaughter the lamb, but it must be done by a believing, pious Jew who is knowledgeable in the laws of slaughtering (shehitah) and proficient in its practice (shohet) in performance of the commandment.”

Joe’s cheeks filled with air and then he blew a raspberry. He stood and took the main course back to the kitchen. When he saw the side dish, it reminded him of how awesome the whole meal was. “I know you can eat this. There is no way this isn’t kosher.” He appeared on the terrace with a covered dish and set it in the middle of the table.

Miriam’s eyes lit up when he removed the cover. There was an egg the size of as many as 24 chicken eggs. “Wow. That is huge.”

“What kind of egg is it?”

“This is an ostrich egg. You won’t believe it. My mother picked it out and paid for it. Did you know this egg was $1,000!”

Miriam gasped. One thousand dollars for a big egg?”

Miriam searched the internet on her phone, set the phone on the table, her head tilted to the side,  her eyebrows raised with sympathy and tears made their way down her cheeks.

 “What’s the matter, Miriam? This isn’t kosher either.”

“No.” Miriam wiped her eyes with her napkin. “Joe, I love all of this, but Ostrich is considered an unclean bird.

Joe left the terrace.

She gazed at the magnificent egg in the center of the dish. Joe had painted it. It was beautiful. She picked it up and examined every side there was a question painted on it, will you marry me?

She looked at Joe through the glass doors. “Are you circumcised?”