Veggie wars

The temperatures finally climbed into the 80s and 90s. As I breathed a sigh of relief, the Chicago natives around me, and my husband along with them, began to whine about the heat and mugginess. We completely skipped spring, and went directly from the most miserable, bitter winter on record to Houston-like humidity.

But I'm not complaining.

If I were to complain, it would be about not having enough time to enjoy actual sunlight and balminess. The end of the school year isn't winding down to a gentle finish but careening out of control at breakneck speed. It's unbelievably stressful, and the thirty-year nail biting habit I broke almost a decade ago has returned as I try to juggle social obligations, work obligations, and self-imposed obligations in a short span of time.

But I'm not complaining.

I'm actually enjoying the insanity for once. Part of it is the nature of the commitments. Twice this week I was wined and dined at my husband's law firm's expense. First came the Adviser's Dinner for all of the summer associates and their advisers. Neither of my husband's advisers could make it but we went anyway. The event was a catered affair at the River East Art Center in downtown Chicago. The venue was a long, industrial low rise a few blocks from the lake filled with many art galleries and a large space for social gatherings.

In order to make it to this event, I had to carefully orchestrate a complex dance that day. As soon as I finished teaching, I had to pick up my children and my babysitter. En route, I phoned in a dinner order for all four, which I picked up on the way home. I left the babysitter to feed my kids while I quickly dressed myself and drove to meet my husband downtown. I parked by the law school and waited for my husband to arrive by taxi. We walked together to the event a few blocks away, arriving just on time.

The event was a meet and greet affair for the summer associates and their advisers, with an open bar and dinner. The dinner featured non-kosher cuisine high on presentation, and as one colleague of my husband put it, "low on volume". A salad consisting of stacked slices of cucumber, watermelon and feta cheese preceded the candelabras of gazpacho, summer carrot soup, and squash soups served in votive candle holders. The main course was a beautiful presentation of sea bass wrapped in banana leaves, a terrine of lamb and portobello mushrooms, and a vegetable pave of some sort. I say "of some sort" because I have no clue what a pave is.

My husband and I got a dish of roast, potatoes, and, much to my surprise as will become abundantly clear later, rapini wrapped in plastic wrap. Along side our hearty, but simple fare was a stack of silverware wrapped so enthusiastically in plastic, we were forced to wrestle with it for five minutes before we could eat. Due to my status as a nutritionally challenged individual, I ate my and my husband's rapini and potatoes, my husband ate our roast. We both more or less enjoyed the anemic strawberry shortcake that hardly rivaled the trays of fancy, whimsical desserts that delighted our non-kosher counterparts.

The following day I went through a similar routine, leaving work, picking up kids, the babysitter, and a phoned-in pizza, and dashing off to meet my husband, but not before overwhelming the poor 13 year-old with instructions to bathe the kids, supervise their clean-up, and do my neglected laundry (for additional payment, of course). This time we went to the JUF lawyer's division dinner. My husband's firm sponsored a table to hear the annual fundraising appeal, and a humorous, anecdotal speech by Bob Costas. This time, the dinner was kosher. A non-Jewish summer associate tagged along for some reason, and as dinner was being served he asked, "Am I going to get a plate of bacon sealed in plastic wrap?"

Fancy dinners aren't the only thing that's kept us running around like lunatics.

But I'm not complaining.

The events that have us going insane have been wonderful, meaningful, and even fun. Sunday was one such day. My daughter graduated from kindergarten with much fanfare and music. She had been treating us to previews of her performance all week at full volume.

I was surprised to see her singing so shyly, but she knew every word of every song.

We were beaming with pride. Her little sister enjoyed the music, but enjoyed the desserts more.

The graduation was followed by my son's piano lesson, and the final soccer games of the season.

My children played their hearts out, and my daughter even scored the last two goals of the game! She has come along tremendously, and was rightfully proud of herself that day.

Big brother also played his last game of the season.

And finished off the day with a barbecue at his coach's house. Both kids came home with small trophies and big smiles.

Normally, I derive my greatest pride from my children's accomplishments, but I must admit to one of own this week.

Every week, my Skokie Sistah and I take a class on keeping kosher with the Sephardic rabbi. We nod our heads, and jot our notes, and ask our questions, but rarely have we ever challenged the esteemed rabbi on Jewish law.

That changed a few weeks ago when the rabbi addressed the question of bugs in vegetables. According to the rabbis, eating a bug is a far greater sin than eating a piece of non-kosher meat; therefore, rabbis require strict cleaning and checking of vegetables, especially those that are highly likely to have a lot of bugs, or those where bugs can easily hide.

The Chicago Rabbinical Council has taken a more stringent view of the bug issue. To sum up their rulings, certain vegetables, like broccoli, cauliflower, brussel sprouts, and artichokes, are too buggy and too difficult to clean thoroughly. Therefore, in their eagerness to guard our souls, they have placed them on the "Not Recommended" list of foods, "Not Recommended" being their subtle way of saying forbidden.

As the rabbi read off the list, our jaws dropped lower and lower, and our blood boiled hotter and hotter. I looked in utter disbelief as this esteemed and seemingly rational man told me, a vegetarian and physical education instructor, that I could no longer eat fresh cruciferous vegetables (like the rapini I had just enjoyed the previous night). I was livid.

One look at my friend and the steam coming out of her ears, and I could tell she felt the same way. We both loudly protested at once. Obesity rates! Cancer! I sputtered. "It doesn't make any sense! Where in the Torah does it say I can't eat broccoli?!" Demanded my feisty friend. The rabbi had a mutiny on his hands.

I'm not sure how it got to this point, but my friend finally threw down the gauntlet, and offered a challenge to the rabbi, whose eyes had gone from confident and kindly, to slightly worried, if not fearing for his life. "I will bring you my cauliflower and broccoli!" She declared, jabbing her finger in the air to punctuate her point. "I will clean and check them like I always do, and I dare you," she demanded, "I dare you to find a single bug!"

And with that, the great veggie duel was proposed. I offered myself and my cauliflower as her second, and the rabbi called in for his own support. He immediately picked up his cell phone and called the CRC, and asked to speak to their "bug specialist", a rabbi well known for his in depth scholarship and knowledge of produce, and his keen eye for bugs.

The challenge was accepted, the time and date set for a rabbinical smack down. The housewives armed with their asparagus versus the rabbis with their Torah and light boxes.

The night before the event, I slept restlessly, dreaming of buggy broccoli.

But I'm not complaining.

This was a challenge greater than myself. The morning came, and I set to soaking, scrubbing, and searching my head of cauliflower like my life, and the lives of my obesity- and cancer-prone people depended on it. After 45 minutes I was satisfied, and I bagged the blemish-free produce and headed for my class. My friend arrived five minutes later with her broccoli. A crowd of almost a dozen men and women came, circling the table like a boxing ring, ready for a good fight, and they got it.

The great rabbi of the esteemed CRC began with his introductory statements, reminding us that eating one bug, just one bug, was committing five separate transgressions! He reiterated what our Sephardic rabbi had told us: some vegetables were just too hard to clean, therefore should only be purchased frozen from a reputable brand that has thoroughly washed, checked, and been granted kosher certification, for only $7 a bag.

I thrust my bag of florets into his hands, and dared him to find a bug. With all due respect, Rabbi, I've thoroughly cleaned and checked this cauliflower. You won't find bugs here. I said through the clenched teeth of a warrior.

He searched and searched for ten minutes while we argued back and forth.

"Frozen is almost as healthy as fresh." He peered in a bowl of cauliflower and soapy water.

It loses 50% of its nutritional value!

"Checking it like this takes too long!" He stared intently at my florets.

It's worth it to feed my family healthy foods.

"People are too busy, if we don't forbid them from eating fresh broccoli they'll just rinse it off and not check it thoroughly. They can't be trusted!" He checked the water at the bottom of the bowl.

I check it like this each and every time! I don't want people to not trust my kashrut because I eat fresh cauliflower!

He raised his eyebrow, and declared the cauliflower to be clean. A cheer rose from the small crowd.

In the end, not a single bug was found in my cauliflower or my friend's broccoli. The rabbi gave our vegetables his seal of approval. But, rabbi, we pressed, you have to change the website and explain to people that these vegetables are okay to eat if they're checked properly.

We pleaded our case, and provided our best arguments and our cleanest produce, and in the end, the rabbi agreed. "You're right." He shrugged his shoulders. "I'll speak to the committee and we'll see if we can change that policy."

With our veggies held high, we cheered our victory and celebrated over a Dunkin' Donuts iced latte, before rushing off to teach.

Shavuot is right around the corner. I spent five hours on Friday in the synagogue kitchen making salsa, enchiladas, and marinating chicken in cumin, chili powder and beer. I'll be there all day tomorrow baking and chopping some more as I prepare a meal for the congregation.

But I can't complain.

I volunteered to make this meal, and truthfully, it's a lot of fun. The rabbi may actually enjoy the fresh cauliflower salad for once.

En garde!