How Can You Turn an Ordinary Biscuit into an Extraordinary Treat?

Hi Blog readers (or Bleaders..as my son Ben would say). After several weeks of serious and heartfelt posts, I thought it was time for some lighter fare. However, these delicious treats are not light (in the nutritional sense), but they are delicious!
Growing up, I always looked forward to the Oneg Shabbat after services where all were free to peruse a wide assortment of treats. I really had eyes for only one back then, the gooey pull-apart coffee cake still warm from the oven. I would happily bypass all other cookies and cakes in order to be the first in line for the cinnamony perfection of "Pull Apart Cake."
 Fast forward 30+ years, and I finally decided to try and recreate it. After many google searches, I surmised that what we had called "Pull-Apart Cake" was also called "Monkey Bread."
My dear friend, and keeper of all secrets culinary, Berne Black, has since informed me that there is a slight difference between the two. However, for our purposes today, we will ignore the slight variations. After some (almost tragic) trial and error--(suffice it to say I over-stuffed the pan and had a butter-sugar oven fire)--I think I have finally come up with the perfect proportions and instructions.

Monkey Bread begins with the oh-so-humble canned biscuit.

If a canned biscuit can be transformed into the extreme perfection of monkey bread, then certainly there is hope for all of us to become whatever we dream of being :)

Ingredients:
2 cans of Homestyle Buttermilk Biscuits
Butter/Flour Baking Spray
2 sticks of unsalted butter--melted
1 cup of granulated sugar
1/4 cup cinnamon
1/2 cup brown sugar

Directions:
Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees
Spray bundt pan with baking spray
Cut each biscuit into fourths and roll into balls (you should end up with 64 balls)
Reserve about 1/4 of melted butter and mix with brown sugar and set aside.
Combine granulated sugar and cinnamon in bowl
Dip biscuit balls into melted butter and then roll in sugar-cinnamon mixture
Start stacking the balls in the bundt pan forming layers.
Don't worry that the layers look like they don't take up enough of the pan: they
will expand a lot when baked.
Bake for 15 minutes and remove from oven. 
Pour brown sugar-butter mixture over dough and put back into oven for
another 25-30 minutes.
Best served warm!

Happy Eating!!!!

What do you wish for on your birthday?

I was born on my father's birthday and so my birthday celebrations were always joint affairs. When I was little, my mom would coach all the little girls at my parties to sing "Happy Birthday to Rachel and Rabbi Karff" as she brought in the cake aglow with candles. Some girls might have minded the divided attention; I felt honored as if sharing my birthday made me extra special. Of course, I wasn't sharing it with just anyone, I was sharing it with the most special man in the world. Lots of little girls think that their father is special, but I KNEW mine was. Everywhere I went, people would tell me what a wonderful man he was. He seemed larger than life. When we were at temple, he was the star of the show, and his three adoring daughters' were always happy to bask in the overflow glow.
When I was fifteen, we moved to Houston and the congregation rolled out the red carpet to welcome us as if we were visiting royalty. For a shy girl from Chicago, the attention was sometimes overwhelming. However, I knew that he deserved their praise and attention. I knew he was special. On the high holidays, when he would finish his sermon, the room would resound in a loud collective purr of awe, and I can still hear the loudly whispered praises now if I close my eyes.
"Amazing!"
"He did it again."
"Powerful"
"It felt like he was talking just to me."
My whole teen self would swell with pride. That's my dad! He wasn't just admired for his oratory skills though, he is also incredibly compassionate.

Last night, the temple held a service in honor of his 80th birthday and Rabbi Les Gutterman flew in from Rhode Island to give a sermon/tribute to him. One of many kind (and true) things Rabbi Gutterman talked about was my dad's spirit of genuine lovingkindness. My father has a pure heart and a wise mind. Sometimes, we mistakenly believe that true kindness can only exist with innocence. My dad has taught me that this is just not true. He is perceptive and wise and knows how the world really is; he sees its flaws and loves it anyway. He sees our flaws and loves us anyway.

Voltaire wrote that "God gave us the gift of life; it is up to us to give ourselves the gift of living well." My father has lived well, and he has always been my compass. I look to him and know that his is the kind of life I aspire to live, even if I fall short more often than I'd like. Dad finds beauty (and spirituality) in a perfect Michigan sunset, a ripe peach, a funny joke, a brilliant novel, a person who has survived something difficult without getting lost in bitterness. He has taught me that you can be analytical and intellectual and yet simply love life unconditionally as well. How many people do you know of whom you can say that?

My three wonderful kids flew in to celebrate this milestone birthday with our family and having them here with me made me understand how much I value the people I love. They are no longer little and in one nest under my wings...but they are still very much a part of me. I am a very proud and grateful mom.

So, Monday will come and go...another marker of another year. Another candle on the cake and more wishes. On September 19th 1960 the stars aligned in perfect order to seal my destiny. I was to be born to a loving couple, Joan Mag Karff and Samuel Egal Karff, a dancer and a Rabbi. On every birthday, I was meant to be reminded of this special gift as dad and I would celebrate together. You are not supposed to share the wishes you make right before you blow out the candles on your cake....so let me just say, Happy 80th Birthday Dad....I will be making wishes for you and for me and for our family and sending hope out into the world that more stars will align and more Sam Karffs will be born to teach us all "the gift of living well."
I love you!

Why do we have a love affair with Jane Austen?

Last night as I searched Netflix for something to watch, I stumbled upon a film entitled, "Lost in Austen."
It is a clever little comedy about a young British woman's obsession with Pride and Prejudice. The gal, Amanda Price, compares all suitors to Darcy and retreats to her dog-eared copy of P&P and a glass of wine when in need of comfort. As a quirky twist of fate/fantasy would have it, Elizabeth Bennet finds a portal to our world that opens up into Amanda's bathroom, and you can imagine how the rest of the film unfolds. I certainly won't spoil it for you here!

Watching "Lost in Austen" last night made me think about my own love of Austen and P&P (which I have taught each Spring for the last five years). I marvel at the book on so many levels, not the least of which is how on earth Jane managed to write such a cleverly plotted novel without the aid of a computer which would have allowed her to cut and paste. As a writer, I am awed by her  ability to create such lengthy and intricate works in longhand...not to mention by candlelight!!!

Mostly, I am amazed at how well she knew people and how clearly she could observe them and then render them on the page. She must have felt, in some ways, like an outsider as she was always watching and assessing in her brilliant mind. Perhaps, it was both a gift and a handicap because the love that she described in her stories was never hers to experience in life. Although, the 2007 film, "Becoming Jane" does try to suggest that Austen had an aborted romance with a young man named Tom Lefroy, there really isn't proof to substantiate that. We are left imagining that she knew what love should feel like, even if she was never lucky enough to feel it herself.

 I wonder sometimes about my own introspective nature which can cause me to review my life rather than merely living it. While it is a trait that allows me to think deeply and empathize with others, it can also hold me back from being a fully engaged participant in my own life. My interest in yoga is in part due to the fact that it forces me to be fully present in the moment, and in my body,...breath by breath.

To me, the thing that most captivates us about P&P is the exploration of love. All humans crave companionship; we are seeking our other halves. Austen describes the process so cleverly that we feel lucky to have her as our guide. Darcy and Elizabeth don't love each other immediately; rather, they grow to love each other in spite of their flaws (his pride/her prejudice). While other couples (like Jane and Bingley) seem to fall in love more easily, we feel that they are somehow less complex creatures and that those of us who are intricate individuals have lots of murky water to navigate as we find our way towards each other. When love between Darcy and Elizabeth is finally realized, the reader feels relief and jubilation: we trust that they will be together forever. Luckily for us, there was no sequel where Elizabeth ran off with the stable boy or Darcy got one of the young chambermaids pregnant. No, Darcy and Elizabeth will be in love for all time....and we are all the better for it!

One of the funny elements that the film explored was this idea that Darcy, in all his sulky, brooding arrogance, is attractive to women. Honestly, last night's Darcy and Colin Firth (in my favorite film adaptation of P&P) both scowl and glare for the majority of the movie. Are we women really drawn to angry, humorless men? I don't think so. But Darcy's seriousness is appealing; he is a man not a boy, and that is immediately apparent. Also, I think, there is a female fantasy that we will bring joy to this sad, serious man. We want to be the one that makes him laugh, that puts a smile on his face, that loosens him up. He is mysterious...like a package  wrapped  in plain paper that we know hides a treasure. Of course, it didn't hurt that Darcy was also tall, dark and handsome as are most heroes  in literature and lore. In fact, I'll admit that I wouldn't mind a TDH hero of my own at the moment...even if his dark hair is now grey or completely gone :)

I can't end this exploration of Austen's appeal without mentioning one of my very favorite feel-good films: the 2004 Bollywood adaptation of P&P, "Bride and Prejudice." Complete with kitschy costumes, exotic locales, and full-blown musical numbers, "Bride and Prejudice" is a hilarious take on P&P and shows how totally universal Austen's stories are. Warning: You cannot watch this movie and still be in a bad mood!

One final thought: Though Jane Bennet is described as beautiful and good, most women readers identify with Elizabeth who is clever and headstrong. While Lizzy can make mistakes and misjudge people, she can also face the truth even when it is unpleasant. She has an inner strength which is laudable and a confidence that most women envy. When Darcy first insults her at the ball by saying that "she is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt {him}," Lizzy doesn't burst into tears or run screaming from the room. Instead, she walks over to her friends and tells "the story with great spirit... for she had a lively, playful disposition, which delighted in anything ridiculous."

Bravo, Lizzy!!  Let us all learn to channel our inner Elizabeth Bennet, to be confident in our own skin, to
be wise and witty women who never settle for mediocrity when true love is possible!

How Do We Remember People We Have Lost?

Tomorrow, I will attend Esther's wedding. I will be there, and her mother, Naomi, will not.
Esther is Naomi's oldest child, her only daughter, and I know that Naomi would have given anything to be with Esther on this important day. Naomi lost her brave battle against breast cancer about  9 or 10 years ago, but it doesn't feel as if she has been gone for that long.
I remember when I first met Naomi. She and her husband Jay were hosting a young couple's group at their home and Esther and Craig were toddlers running around and Naomi looked so glamorous and comfortable as a hostess; I was mesmerized. Later, when her son Craig and my oldest son, Josh, became best friends, she and I became incredibly close. Our families would gather for dinner at one of our homes at least once a week. Naomi was a unique soul; she was a talented singer and there was always something a bit theatrical about her. She was incredibly stylish and loved the world of fashion and glamour. Yet, she was also incredibly down to earth and amazingly real. She was an intensely loyal friend and those moments are some of the ones that stand out the most to me.
I remember one summer, I came down with a terrible stomach virus and I started feeling faint. All three kids were home and Emily was probably under two. My parents were out of town, my husband was at work and planned on attending a work-related party that evening which he said he wouldn't be able to miss. I felt so frightened that I would pass out and the kids would be unattended. As soon as Naomi answered her phone, as soon as I heard her chipper voice, I felt safe. She said she'd be right over, and she took all three kids plus her three kids to the pool for the day. That night, she brought them back and ordered pizza and got everyone fed. She certainly didn't feel that she had done anything extraordinary; but the truth was, I felt loved and safe that day in the way that only those who really know and love us can make us feel.
Each year on my birthday, Naomi would set a date to take me to Neiman Marcus. Honestly, it was probably the only time all year that I would go there. Naomi knew the women who worked the makeup counters, and she would have them treat me like I was a visiting queen. Naomi loved makeup and knew everything about the fancy brands. She would have them give me a makeover, and then she would treat me to a few of the products as my birthday gift. Then, we would go upstairs to the cafe and have a very grown up ladies' lunch. I cherished those annual outings and looked so forward to them each year. Naomi knew how to make a person feel special.
Something happened to our friendship though as the years went on. As my marriage darkened, I found her unwilling or unable to explore the sad bold truth about my life. Naomi always wanted to see life's glitter; she never wanted to look too closely at the dust underneath. Maybe this was a survival mechanism for her. She had difficult, narcissistic parents who had not completely protected their three daughters. As the oldest sister, Naomi felt the brunt of much of that I think.
Then, when she was diagnosed with cancer, she fought like crazy to shield her own three young children from the terrible reality. I completely understood that fierce maternal desire, but it extended beyond her kids to other relationships as well, and I found it hard to have real talks with her. Sometimes, she seemed secretive; other times, she seemed in denial. I blame her for neither; she was just trying to survive. The problem was, my marriage was filled with secrets and denial, and I was trying desperately to brave my way into a new more honest place. Naomi couldn't go there with me, so we drifted apart.
She had been in remission for several years, and I had not heard that she had taken a turn for the worse. We had spent most of that summer in Cape Cod, and when we returned, Josh and Craig were leaving to go to a Maccabi youth group event out of town. Jay came over to pick something up that Craig had left at our house, and when I answered the door, he looked terrible. "She's in the hospital," he said "and you need to go see her tomorrow." I was shocked at his insistency and knew that things were so much worse than I could've imagined.
The next morning on my way to the hospital, I stopped at the drugstore and bought every fashion magazine they had. Clutching the Vogue, Harper's Bazaar and other periodicals in my hands, I got off the elevator on Naomi's floor. The nurse directed me to a room, but when I peeked in the door,  I was sure that they had made a mistake. The woman sleeping in the bed must have weighed 80 pounds and looked so frail and so unlike my vibrant friend that I would never have recognized her. The nurse saw me hesitate at the door and gently pushed me into the room. "Go on in," she said. "She'll wake up."
Naomi opened her eyes and smiled at me."You're back," she said. To this day, I get teary-eyed when I remember that moment. I guess she meant that I was back from the Cape, but what I heard was: Now you're back with me, you're back in my life.
I put the magazines on the window sill feeling silly for having brought them. This was not a woman who was going to leisurely page through a copy of Vogue turning down the corners to mark things to buy.
We talked about our kids. I tried very hard to be strong; I tried not to cry. "They say things are getting better," she said. "I'll be out of here soon." She died that night.

Josh and Craig (about 20 years ago)!!

Tomorrow, I will feel Naomi's presence as I watch her beautiful daughter walk down the aisle. I will sense her as I see her handsome, happy sons take part in the wedding. I will celebrate the moment as she would want us all to--filled with an overwhelming sense of joy and gratitude.