Maybe it was the excessive profanity, or distancing from my family, or perhaps the entire butchering and consumption of a whole pig that piqued you, but I’m not necessarily the most observant Jewish person in the world. Specifically, I take an existentialist approach to the whole shebang, short of turning my tallis into an ascot- it’s what you make of it and it’s what it means to you. More specifically, I’m not great at yom kippur, but I always enjoy it, except for the one year that a young men’s rights activist threw out my birthday cake in the 4th grade because my birthday landed on the day of atonement and food fasting. Damn it, Max, I wasn’t even a real woman yet.
But as a holiday, I find it comforting to sit in bed and sip loose lapsang while The Bedfellow and I watxu the 2010 Vienna production of Carmen blast, or bond over a compilation of traffic accident-related public service announcements and contemplate my mortality and the many blunders over the past year that allowed me to avoid it, and overall, determine that it was indeed, a sweet year, and cap the day off with oysters and a rousing listen to kol nidre, brought to you by Neil Diamond in ‘The Jazz Singer’. And this year, we broke the fast with hipster yogurt and unlimited ahi tuna procured from TGI Friday’s offshore river banks. Chag same’ach indeed.
White Moustache, featured in Vogue, surprisingly compels you to pay an amount typically reserved for white noses or red eyes. Why is this night different from all other nights? Why does this yogurt cost more than my off-peak ticket to New Canaan? $6 buys you a glass jar with a plastic lid, filled with the creamy white stuff. This is a special winter variety, the Yalta, with walnuts, raisins, and herbs. While I appreciated the even distribution of ingredients, rather than a layered Dannon-like construction, the intensity of the dairy flavors were strongest and, at best, tasted like it had been placed in a grocery bag with herbs and nuts for about ten minutes.It is so cultured, so thick, and so creamy- there must be an udder’s worth of cream distilled into one small jar, like fine hand cream, but any ancillary flavors are swept to the wayside. It’s excellent for people who are flirting with pica, because halfway through I really did feel like I was gulping down a jar of Olay Age Renewal formula for dinner. Quantity is plentiful, quality is fine, but when the flavor and balance is ignored, it’s hard to feel like the product is worth purchasing again, if at all.