Latke Love

Our neighbors invited us to a latke party last night.  We were excited to get to know them a little better.  The Professor and I had met the couple before at other social and work events, but our kids were interested in the two boys they have seen out in their yard, from a distance over the past year.

Charming Baby walked in the house, saw a photo on the entry way table and shouted gleefully, “Ethan!”  A little boy magically appeared with a huge grin on his face, “Sam!” and the two scampered off.  Our hostess laughed and said, “So this is THE Sam.  We hear about him all the time.  We didn’t realize it was the same boy!”  I could see Sam felt the same way about Ethan. They attend the same elementary school and are in Hebrew school together.  Now that the two of them have figured out there is only one fence keeping them apart, we are in for it.

The Professor and First Born Prince sauntered around checking out the food and seeing if they knew anyone.  I filled my wine glass and was immediately swept away by the sight of our host—a rock star of an academic, highly regarded computer science professor at Cornell, outside in the snow manning two large fry pans of oil.  He was wearing a knit cap and was all smiles.  We ran out there to tease him.

“Wow, what a great open kitchen you have!”

He explained he was keeping the oil smoke and smell out of the house.  The man knew what he was doing, turning out dozens of perfectly cooked potato pancakes as fast as we could eat them.  It reminded me of our friends in La Jolla who host a latke party every year and Bill, who isn’t even Jewish, fries up those babies all night long. 

Something about watching a man cook when entertaining a houseful of guests really puts me in the holiday spirit.  It follows my favorite rule of helping out—cuts the work in half and doubles the fun.  Nothing says, “Let’s party” like a guy with a grin and a spatula.