From Critic to Critiqued: A Long Plays Journey Out Of Sight

As a connoisseur of critical reviews, I savor media critics who dare to slice and dice a popular restaurant, give a “thumbs down” to a blockbuster movie, or advise us to tune out the latest Walking Dead sequel. More than 10 years after it was published I still relish Pete Wells’s New York Times bloody evisceration of Guy’s American Kitchen & Bar, Guy Fieri’s Times Square outpost.

But now the glistening kitchen knife is pointed my way. My schadenfreude has been repaid with a critique of my first, unpublished, play, White Collar. The post-mortem.

Writing a full-length theater piece has been simultaneously challenging and exhilarating. Under the tutelage of my dramaturge, the work underwent seventeen revisions. It expanded and contracted like Weird Al’s accordion, going from one act to an act-and-a-half, back down to one, and finally a full two acts with a prologue and epilogue tossed in for good measure. Characters were added, subtracted, and redefined, while scenes were melded together using (almost) seamless segues. Only the final twist remained unmanipulated.

When the manuscript reached the ideal number of 90 pages, my dramaturge scrubbed out the obvious gaffes and cliches and submitted the work to his friend, a local theater producer. The producer didn’t like the play. At all.

In a very detailed email, he explained why. He saw dramatic inconsistencies, stilted dialogue, and characters who added nothing and had no arc. If the prologue was bad, the epilogue was worse. And too many witty retorts.

I could quibble with a few of his thoughts and comments–I could quibble with more than a few. But I will take this as a positive learning experience. I normally express myself in 500-word blogs, so completing a work of this length was immensely satisfying, even if it is nowhere near professional quality.

My next step? My cognoscenti included some suggestions. He even tossed in a compliment or two. I may use that insight to tear the play down and rebuild it in a few new ways—versions 18 through 30. But on my honor, no more witty retorts.

And from now on, Guy Fieri, I stand with you!

photo by phot.ai

For We Jews–Fond Feelings for Holiday Food

Sept 28, 2022

Rosh Hashannah has just passed. For those of you who are unfamiliar with “Rosh,” it is the Jewish New Year. I can’t tell you why the Jewish New Year is celebrated sometimes in September and sometimes in October any more than I can tell you why Chinese New Year is in February. I can tell you this is now year 5783 in the Jewish calendar. Again, don’t ask me why. I would have to Google the explanation just like you would.

Many Jews spend part of Rosh Hashannah in a temple, a synagogue, or another edifice where people can gather, pay their respects to their God, commit to living a better life in the coming year, and gossip about what the lady in the third row is wearing. A rabbi will sermonize and mighty sounds will be blown from the shofar, a hollow ram’s horn. Some temples keep an EMT on hand in case either the rabbi or the shofar blower passes out from over-exhalation of hot air.

If you notice the rabbi checking their watch as the service drones on, you know their spouse has warned them–be sure to let the congregation out in time to prepare dinner.

While 50% of Jews pray on Rosh Hashannah, 99% feast. The evening meal is celebrated with family, extended family, and almost family. Without the dietary restrictions of Passover (that pesky no flour rule,) traditional Jewish culinary dishes can be prepared and offered without limit.

Wine, challah, apples, and honey usher in the meal. Chicken soup — homemade of course — is a required opener. At the house chef’s discretion and preferred preparation method, the soup’s matzah balls (the one holdover from Passover seder) may be small and dense cannonballs or light and fluffy pillows.

And then–we have the meat! Brisket. We have the chicken! Roasted. We have the potatoes! Mashed, boiled, baked. The empty spots on the table are soon covered with salads, veggies, and Jello. No cruise ship’s unlimited buffet can compete with the largesse on the Rosh Hashannah table.

Do we have desserts? Cakes filled with apple and cinnamon. Assorted cookies and pies, ala mode for the kids. Everything except for pumpkin spice!

And for the more observant among us, there is a repeat of the feast the next night at someone else’s mother-in-law’s house.

Those two nights have passed. We are in the 10-day period between Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur, the Day of Repentance. In shul on Yom Kippur we will admit our sins and pray for forgiveness. To emphasize the seriousness of our atonement we will fast until sundown.

And then we will again gather at some relative’s home and celebrate. How? With a break-fast meal, of course. After all, we’re Jewish!

This Is My Favorite Chocolate Treat. What Is Yours?

Cora Lee Orange Peel fulfills childhood memories.

You can have your Raisinets. You can have your chocolate-covered strawberries, your chocolate-covered cherries, your chocolate-covered Oreos. For me, there is only one delicacy deserving a thorough coating of rich dark chocolate, the orange peel.

I am not sure how I first fell in love with these skinny strips of candied peel, but I know it was very, very early in life. Perhaps my parents first bought them for me as we walked home from lunch at Ashkenaz, the iconic Morse Avenue deli in East Rogers Park. The source was the Dutch Mill Candy Store just down the block. Sadly, once a thriving Chicago area chain of confectionery stores, Dutch Mill closed in 1988.

As I grew I kept seeking out my favorite treat. For many years, Marshall Field’s Department Stores were my go-to supplier. Although best known for Frango Mints, most Marshall Field’s stores had a fully stocked candy counter with a variety of fresh chocolates. I would make many Saturday afternoon visits to the lower level of the Field’s store in Old Orchard to pick up a quarter pound of my favorites. When Field’s became Macy’s, those visits came to an end.

Friends who know my proclivity for orange peels have tried to feed my flame. In that way, I have had the chance to try a variety of candy confectioners and chocolate styles. Some have been OK, none great. Either waxy chocolate or dried-out peels have doomed them. And one definite conclusion–bland milk chocolate is NOT the proper coating for the sugary peels.

Fortunately, several years ago Barb discovered a source that fulfills my fruity fantasy. The orange peels from Cora Lee Candies in Glenview duplicate the taste and texture of my Dutch Mill daydreams.

On my birthday or our anniversary, on Valentine’s or Father’s Day, I can usually expect a loving card and a pound of the Cora Lee sweets to be waiting for me on the kitchen island. I put the card on our buffet, pop the candy box in our freezer and then treat myself to an after-dinner chocolate crunch every night for a month to come.

A pound of Cora Lee Chocolate Coated Orange Peels isn’t cheap, but I guess I’m worth it!

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