Good Morning,
Not sure how many out there are of the Jewish faith or know a lot about it but without going into lengthy explanations some Jewish people keep Kosher and some do not. Kosher food is often slaughtered (if meat) a certain way, prepared a certain way, served on certain dishes and eaten on certain plates and with certain utensils. A whole bunch of rules apply about what foods are eaten or not eaten with others and when. It is also blessed by a Rabbi. (I believe a lot of restaurants and delis get a 'blanket' blessing/seal of approval so the guy doesn't have to show up every time something leaves the kitchen.)
Very complex, specific and detailed rules as it is and if you are not Jewish or completely ignorant of the faith an utter maze of confusion.
While in college my best friend and room mate had nothing to do on the 4th of July weekend. Rather than grab me and park our butts on bar stools he decided to drag me out to the suburbs to visit his sister Barb and brother in law Marty instead. Well Marty is Jewish and also keeps Kosher.
My best friend Scott was not ignorant of Judaism but was ignorant of what Kosher entailed specifically. I was ignorant on both accounts and this was my first encounter with anyone who was Jewish. Not a disinterest in others or a disrespect for the religion. With me it was just a simple lack of opportunity to have ever encountered a Jewish person before. So this was my first time.
Back yard picnic/BBQ type of thing going on with all kinds of family and friends. Most were not Jewish. Marty and a few others were. To make matters more confusing the Jewish people there were divided. Some keeping Kosher and others not. (Now this fact isn't important until it is time to eat.)
Prior to the food everyone was having good times and lots of fun and yes plenty of non Kosher booze floating around so Scott and I felt right at home despite the lack of personally monogrammed barstools to park our butts on.
Time to eat. Barb gets back with a car load of food. Just like any deli that caters to a crowd or party she got back from one with several trays fried chicken and other things. Scott and I helped her unload the food and noticed she carried ALL the chicken into a separate area/pantry type of room off the kitchen. Her request was that we put the chicken on the platters. No further instructions were issued.
Scott and I did what came naturally to both drunk and ignorant people. Not ask questions and dive right in. Grabbed a bunch of platters off the shelf, some tongs out of the drawer and opened ALL the chicken containers at once. ALL OF IT looked the same, smelled the same and tasted the same. Yes, we sampled. It was goood!
In our infinite wisdom and perpetual drunkenness we decided to start dividing the chicken into all white meat and all dark meat. So we start putting all the breasts on two platters and all the wings, thighs and legs on two other platters.
Very nice and not confusing.
While in the midst of doing this we hear the voice of God----or I should say Barb, coming from the kitchen, giving a friendly shout out, "Hey guys, don't mix up the Blessed chicken with the non and get the dishes right."
Our drunken happy chicken separating activity came to a screeching halt. Conversation between my friend and I went:
"What the *%^&@ is Blessed Chicken?"
"I dunno' do you?
"No! Do you?"
"No."
"Wanna' ask Barb?"
"GOD NO!!!"
"Uhh...you think its got something to do with the blue stars on some of the lids of the containers and not the others?"
"Uhh...yeeeeah. Uh...some of the plates got blue stars on them too and others don't."
Cricket....cricket...cricket....both of us standing there catatonic and staring at all the open container lids half with blue stars and the other half with none and the platters of mixed up chicken on the wrong dishes.
"What now?"
"Fix it."
"How???"
Cricket...cricket...cricket...Voice of God, rather Barb again, "You guys need help?"
'NOOOOOOO! We're fine!"
Immediately spring into action to keep Barb out of the room. Scott and I dump ALL the chicken went back into the containers together willy-nilly. Separation of chicken went : one thigh on Kosher plate and one on non, one wing on Kosher plate one on non, one breast on Kosher plate and one on non. Repeat until chicken is finished and evenly divided on the plates.
"Think they'll notice?"
"Nope."
"Sure?"
"Nope."
"O.k. but all the Blessed chicken is mixed up with the non Blessed and they've been on both sets of dishes and we don't know who is going to eat what piece and I can't tell the difference. Should we say something?"
"$%^@ NO! Are you stupid?"
"No. Drunk."
"Me too."
Barb finally comes into that back room. "Ohhh...good, you guys finished. Did a little look-see at the dishes and chicken. Got everything right! Let's go eat. And you two are so cute together! I'm so glad Scotty found you!" Nobody knew Scott was gay. They also didn't know their chances of getting a piece of Blessed chicken was like playing the slots at Vegas. Reach, pull and hope you get what you want.
I mean this is not funny but it is...you all know what I mean. Why does my entire life resemble one bad sitcom?
To this day I can't eat fried chicken without laughing and feeling a tinge of guilt. I always feel an overwhelming need to tell it that is "Blessed" .
AG
