Click here to view other books by Sarah Shapiro

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Book Excerpt from All of Our Lives

All of Our Lives An Anthology of Contemporary Jewish Writing By Sarah Shapiro All of Our Lives”, edited by Sarah Shapiro is another anthology of fabulous Jewish literature by Orthodox Jewish writers from the “Our Lives” Series. Buy All of Our Lives at a special online price at www.targum.com

Tuna Patties

Leah Subar

"So," said my date with a grin, "do you like to cook?"

I didn't know how to cook and told him so. "However,"

I said, "I'm sure that someday I'll be a gourmet."

He believed me, and several months later we were married. Fortunately, sheva berachos put the issue off for another week. The day after sheva berachos was also easy as pie. Breakfast was bagels and cream cheese, orange juice, and a fruit salad, and the woman who'd made our last sheva berachos had sent us home with some of the really good stuff.

At dinnertime we were still full, and the next morning's breakfast was the same as the day before. So it was not until lunch, day 9 of our marriage, that it came time to prepare my new husband a meal.

He would come home from yeshivah in a half-hour. I opened one of my shiny new cookbooks and flipped through the pages. Veal Chops with Caramelized Onions...that sounds good. Grilled Halibut with Lemon Basil Vinaigrette...nice. Mi Amore Cacciatore...oh, wow...

Unfortunately, though, I didn't have any of the ingredients listed for these recipes. I did have onions. And there was a chicken in the freezer. I looked at my watch. Searching quickly, I found what appeared to be the easiest, least elaborate recipe possible: tuna patties. The recipe called for two eggs, finely chopped onion, a bit of matzah meal, pepper, and, of course, tuna. Shape the goop into patties and place them into the frying pan. Sizzle sizzle, flip flip, some more sizzling, then onto the plate with the suggested tomato and celery garnish. When my husband came home, he was proud. I could see it on his face. The tuna patties were delicious.

By the end of our first year, I was well on my way to making more sophisticated meals. Still, the memory of that first meal didn't fade. One night, just for fun, I thought I'd surprise my husband with a second round. He came into the kitchen when I was heating up the oil.

"Hmm, what are you making?"

"Tuna patties," I said, eyes twinkling. "That was our first cooked meal, remember? It was fun!"

"Oh, right. Tuna patties. Er, yes, fun. Well, how about going out tonight?"

"Going out? What do you mean? You loved my tuna patties. Don't you remember?"

"Yes. I remember."

"You mean you didn't like them? But you said you did. You didn't?"

"Did I? Umm - I remember the tomato and celery added a very special touch."

I tossed my apron over the kitchen chair and put on my coat. We were going out. After all, a good garnish is gornisht.

"It's okay that we're going out," my husband said on the way, "isn't it? I mean, I didn't hurt your feelings or anything, did I? About those tuna burgers?"

"Patties. Of course not," I lied. "I appreciate your honesty."

"Yeah - but maybe I shouldn't have said anything."

"It's really nothing, Reuven. I'm happy we can communicate openly."

I stared silently out of the car window for the remainder of the ride.

As the years went on, I learned to cook with the best of them, but the revelation of my husband's disfavor left a scar. Whenever I'd burn dinner or add too much salt, I'd hear a voice: "And tuna patties, too!"

The voice did not limit itself to my kitchen either; failure in any area created this knee-jerk response in my brain. The dentist says I have a cavity. "Tuna patties." The publisher rejected my picture-book story. "And tuna patties." That woman cut right in front of me as if I don't even exist. "Tuna patties, too!"

I never made tuna patties for my husband again, obviously, and I don't know what came over me the day I slipped them onto my children's plates. What could I have been thinking? Well, I did not think. I just didn't want to make hot dogs or soy shnitzel. I didn't want to make toasted cheese or noodles or scrambled eggs.

In six minutes the kids would be coming home from school. I switched onto autopilot and opened two cans. Why am I doing this to myself? I knew the answer: It's lunchtime. The children count on a reliable, consistent mother to be there with good food on the table when they come home. So where's the good food? Hush! The results are not in your hands. If they say they don't like it, I'll say they don't have to eat it. I'll say I'm perfectly happy to make them something else; they'll just have to be patient, of course, because lunch doesn't happen just like that. That would buy me some time.

I chopped an onion. I added eggs, matzah meal, pepper, and, of course, tuna. Shape the goop into patties and into the frying pan they go. Sizzle sizzle, flip flip, some more sizzling, then onto the plate with the suggested tomato and celery garnish.

In walked the kids, taking their seats around the kitchen table.

"I don't like it," said the three year-old. She popped off her chair and walked out, heading for her toys. I called out to explain how today's lunch was a little experiment, and that I'd be happy to make something else, but, of course, she'd have to be patient while I got it ready.

Meanwhile there was a big stir at the table.

"Wow!"

"What are these, Mommy? It's delicious!"

Holding my heart, I turned toward the children and threw my arms around them. "Oh, just tuna patties."

I told them the whole story, and they couldn't believe that their father didn't like these things. How could anybody not like tuna patties? They were so well formed and browned just right. Not too much pepper, just enough onion - they were great!

Since then I have served tuna patties every week. (The three year-old gets a sandwich.) And if a publisher rejects my picture book or when I feel misunderstood, I just think: Tuna patties! For now I know that to everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven.

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