“YOU’D NEVER BELIEVE IT WAS TRAIFE!”

My son Ben is on his way to becoming a talented chef. As hedonistic as Jews are, he is likely to be more successful than his sister the physician or his brother the executive.

His mentor is proprietor of Mike’s Bistro in Manhattan, a superior restaurant that happens to be kosher.

At that point, similarity to the “typical” kosher restaurant ends. One will find no pickles on the table, surly waiters or greasy kugel. The restaurant is home to haute cuisine: Duck Panzanella, Ginger-Crusted Mahi-Mahi, Wild Mushroom Farfalle, the finest wines, the most comfortable ambiance.

“You’d never believe it was kosher!” Right? Of course, if you consider restaurant-style kashrut a cuisine, not a religious mandate. Then the “typical” kosher restaurant becomes a study in inferiority – ill-prepared food, impatiently served, ordered from fly-specked menus.

But, it is also a study in Jews being a tormented minority, especially for those of us who see everything in terms of being a tormented minority. The truth is that kosher food becomes increasingly attractive as it becomes increasingly goyisch.
Quenelles de poisson roll lighter off the tongue than gefilte fish does, because one is more likely to eat them at Pierre’s, while Yehudim are more likely to eat the latter at dingy delicatessens called “Moishe’s.” The same is true of gnocchi above knishes, Plaza del Lago above Kol Tuv Pizza. Hollandaise above schmaltz. Tarte de Pomme, oui! Apfelschalet, nein!

Dream along with me about a world in which we are dominant, and the goyim are the tormented minority. Consider them emerging from a grimy establishment called “Yankel’s,” rapturously exclaiming, “You’d never believe it was traife! Imagine that chopped liver, better than pate. And darling, what about the kugel? How could I ever go back to gratin dauphinois? The tzimmes made me forget that I have ever eaten ratatouille.”

Now wake up! You and I will remain a tormented minority. We will forever judge the quality of kosher food on how un-kosher it seems. I have already told Ben that this poses no problem, so long as he remembers how to make a good matzo-ball soup.