My mother starts crying. The butler
happens to be Hungarian and so he understands when my mother tells her friend
that she did not expect this to happen; she
thought she’d be shown what to do. The
butler says he’ll help her. They go inside
the house and the butler suggests they put
their suitcases in the room assigned for
them. My mother declines, preferring to
leave the suitcases by the kitchen door to
the outside. “If they kick us out, it’ll make
for a quick getaway,” she says.
My mother decides that she’ll make tomato soup for a starter. But no matter
what she tries, she can’t get the flavour
right. The butler points to the shelf and
says: “Recipes. Lots.” But all of them are in
English and without any pictures, so they
aren’t any help. Then the butler points
again to another shelf and says: “Spices.
Lots.” So my mother takes them one-byone, tasting them, and adding various ones
to the soup. But still the soup is not right.
Just then lady of the house walks into the
kitchen. “What a wonderful smell,” she says
before leaving as suddenly as she arrived.
Next, the guests show up and the soup
is served. Hedi looks through the kitchen
door keyhole at the diners to see what’s
happening. She says they’re talking, but
she can’t understand what they’re saying.
Suddenly, the governor’s wife comes toward the kitchen. My mother, believing
this is the end of her very short career as
a cook, starts walking towards the door to
get her coat from the hook. The lady of
the house walks into the kitchen and
asks: “What soup was that?”
“Tomato,” says my mother.
“Amazing!” says the lady. “My husband
does not like tomato soup – but he had
three helpings... three,” she says, while
holding up three fingers to emphasise her
point, before turning around on heels and
marching back to her guests.
Dinner ends and my mother and Hedi
go to the room they’ve been given. My
mother, however, is unable to sleep at all.
In the morning she goes to the lady’s room
and says: “I’m sorry. I deceived you. I’m
not a cook. That meal last night was the
first one that I’ve ever cooked. I’ll go now.
You don’t have to pay me for yesterday.”
The lady looks at my mother and says: “If
this is how you cook when you don’t even
know how to, can you imagine what it’ll be
British High Commissioner
Wauchope during his tour
of a textile factory.
like when you learn? You’re staying. You’ll
come with us when we dine out so that you
can see what people prepare. We will introduce you as my niece. No more discussion.”
So my mother became the cook for the
governor of Palestine and Transjordan!
She and the governor’s wife followed their
plan, and in no time the governor’s kitchen
was considered the best in Jerusalem.
A few years later, my mother meets my
father and they have their wedding in the
governor’s garden. Soon after that, she
stopped working as a chef and got a job in
a fabric store. Fast-forward about 20 years
later and my Auntie Bella is making a barmitzvah for her son, Itzik. She asks my
mother if she will cater the barmitzvah
and my mother refuses. My mother says to
her sister: “You have money. Go to the best
caterer.” So Bella makes inquires and she’s
told that a Mr Levine has the reputation of
being the best caterer around.
She goes and visits the catering premis-
es of Mr Levine and asks him for a quote
and a menu. As she’s inspecting the
menu, she asks him, “What if my sister
were to make the cakes?” “Impossible!” he
responds. “You expect me to have another
person cater under my name who is not a
professional? Absolutely not!”
Bella says: “My sister is a professional!”
“Then tell me her name!” insists Mr
Levine, gesturing with his hands, “I know
them all.” Bella tells him her sister’s name
and Mr Levine says, “I’m very sorry, I cannot cater your function.” Bella asks him
for a reason, but Mr Levine refuses to say
why. Bella persists and, eventually, Mr
Levine gives in and tells her: “Everything
I know ab