Comments on: Burgundy Memories: The Bottle in the Basement

By: Gary Lee Kraut

Gary Lee Kraut — Wed, 20 May 2020 21:24:33 +0000

In reply to Sharon Stahl. Thank you, Sharon. Wonderfully told! Cheers and santé to you as well. Gary

By: Sharon Stahl

Sharon Stahl — Wed, 20 May 2020 21:12:18 +0000

Dad didn’t drink. Nor did mom.
But there were tiny, albeit rare, exceptions, like when it was hot and steamy in the summer, right before a thunderstorm, and dad was in the back yard, trying to coax his small garden’s lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers to magically appear – he’d eventually give up, come into the house, tired, sweaty and frustrated, calling for mom to fetch him a cold beer. It was the ‘50s, after all.
Or during the Christmas holidays, when at a rare “special” dress-up dinner out (e.g. in a real restaurant that had tablecloths, vs. the local diner with its greasy plastic menus), mom would shyly order a Whiskey Sour — her only “real drink” of the year, which she’d sip, ever so slowly, throughout the meal. Aaaahh, was she thinking: is this how the movie stars do it? So glamorous!
As for me, after growing up in that, let’s just say, conservative environment, life expanded. But to this day I cannot explain my interest in, my still-curious palate, nor my ever-evolving desire to know more about wine – that glorious liquid that comes from grapes, such a simple little fruit, when you think about it. I remember watching, on an old black and white TV, Lucy and Ethel stomp them in a barrel in an attempt to make wine, hilarity ensuing. But the art, and intricacies, of actually doing so, however, going from vine to bottle – that’s something else entirely. It’s pure magic when done well.
One lifetime isn’t long enough to learn about wine, let alone sample, but you can bet I’ll keep on trying. With apologies to mom and dad, of course – or maybe thanks. Yes, many, many thanks.
Cheers!

By: Gary Lee Kraut

Gary Lee Kraut — Sun, 17 May 2020 13:48:08 +0000

In reply to Robin Zell. Thank you for sharing that beautiful bottle vignette. I could hear the off-key singing as I read it. Nine children! Kol ha'kavod!

By: Robin Zell

Robin Zell — Sun, 17 May 2020 13:13:00 +0000

Our father, of blessed memory, took the bottle of Maneschewitz down from the shelf every Friday night. The bottle was not special but it had a regal, sterling silver engraved chain hung around its neck which was inscribed with a Sabbath blessing. Our father looked priestly with a white kippah on his head, dressed in his Sabbath finest—a black suit, a starched white shirt and a royal red tie. The cotton table cloth was immaculately white and ironed and on it lay the two covered Challahs. The Sabbath candles flickered in the background. Carefully, he filled his silver wine goblet to the top. Then, he announced in a voice that brought us all to attention, “And the boys will say the kiddush! [the blessing over wine]” No one in my family could hold a tune except for me. Dad started us off, totally off key, and in total cacophony we sang in what was an agonizing experience to my ears but a soothing one to my soul.
Dad’s voice boomed over all of ours as we struggled to blend in. He stood straight and proud, glowing, with the goblet of Maneschewitz raised high. It was the best part of the week. All of us, who had gone our separate ways for the past six days, sat around that majestic table.
No wonder he was so proud surrounded by his wife and nine handsome children. Maneschewitz symbolized the coming together of family after a long, hard week. It spoke love and togetherness. Most of all, a bottle of Maneschewitz will always remind me of dear dad, his pride in his family, how he didn’t care about being off key and how it felt being enveloped in Sabbath light with the people dearest to me.