Your Turn: Easter memories – Ham, quiche and matzo brei
By Warren Strugatch
This past Easter Sunday was my first without my wife Cindy. On the little dining room table that she brought home from Europe, beneath the candy-colored mini-chandelier acquired on the same trip, I set a holiday table. I reheated crab cakes, stirred up some homemade hollandaise, and sat down to a tasty, albeit solitary, meal.
I celebrated Easter remembering how Cindy made it festive. She made every holiday festive, none more so than Christmas. She celebrated to the max: decorating, cooking, doling out family tales about her resourceful, hard-toiling immigrant ancestors from England, Holland, Germany, and Ireland.
I come from a Jewish family with roots in Poland and Belarus; Easter and Christmas were terra incognita. I offered immigrant stories too, plus treats like halvah and matzo brei. Of gefilte fish, the less said the better.
On Easter, Cindy baked ham, broiled asparagus, boiled potatoes, and prepared quiche. The ham she shared with her mother, Patricia, who had come to live with us in Stony Brook. The quiche, the designated vegetarian plate, was for me. The asparagus was for all. I made matzo brei, the traditional egg and matzo casserole.
The memories of those meals and other occasions warm my heart. My beautiful wife died of leukemia in February. Her mother passed away a year earlier from heart disease. I’ve inherited many of their rituals, including Easter brunch and Christmas celebrations. Now they’re my traditions, too.
My mother-in-law Patricia Slattery, who went by Pat, grew up in the fifties on a farm in Huntington. She got a job working for lawyers while still in high school, surprising her parents. She married Larry Smith, a Navy vet returning from the Korean war, and the couple settled in Smithtown. In a way it was a homecoming, as Larry claimed descent from Smithtown founder Richard “Bull” Smith.
He opened an auto repair shop. She stayed home to raise Cindy and her younger brother Lawrence, then went to work full-time in the 1980s. In the mid-2000s her car was hit from behind while she drove home from work. Pat suffered a stroke, never walked again, and spoke only with much effort.
Soon thereafter, Pat moved in. With nothing said out loud, Cindy became keeper of the Smith legacy. Her family’s approach to holiday celebrations was revelatory. As for me, I grew up in the Bronx and then Westchester, my home resembling a Larry David script co-written with Billy Crystal. You want a holiday? Come for Festivus. We’ll show you how to share grievances! Billy’s six Jewish relatives, hopping from photo album to photo album, alighted on ours. Hey, that’s Uncle Morty!
As Passover often coincides with Easter, Cindy took elements of one holiday and incorporated them into the other. Our first hybrid celebration almost didn’t happen. Cindy, an event planner par excellence, asked me to collect what was needed a week ahead of time. I dug into the boxes I brought from my previous life and found a menorah. What about the matzo? Well, the store was out.
Cindy: “Go find a store and buy matzo. What are you waiting for?”
I went, I shopped, I couldn’t find. The Passover shopping season was over. Returning to Stony Brook, I opened the front door to the scent of baked ham and cooked matzo. Cindy must have hidden a box and found a recipe online.
“Happy Passover,” she said.
