YUMMY! - THE STREET

Until I was nearing age eighteen, I didn’t understand, wasn’t too curious, about where almost all of our neighbors went every Saturday night around seven p.m. A few of the places like the drug store stayed open when the migration began. Mr. Goldman, the shoemaker (who never made a shoe in his 70 years) worked alone and seemed to always have shoes lined up for new heels, re-soling, needing taps on the toes.

On Saturday nights my parents usually went to a movie or on a hot summer evening, would drive my little sister, Rhoda,  and me to Bayland Amusement Park.  I became tired of asking them about where everyone went and hearing the same answer ‘to Carole St.’ and gave up. By the time we would get home from wherever we went, cars were all parked in their usual spots and most houses were dark. Once or twice I sensed a sort of spicy, greasy odor. I liked that smell but the slightest breeze would blow it away.

Two days to go and I would be eighteen, no party, no fuss. I was a young lady who had her eye on Brian who lived on my street but was blind to my existence. Yesterday I saw him park in the spot my father usually parked, right in front of our house. This was my chance. I walked over to his car and introduced myself. ‘Hi, Brian. I’m Rhoda,’ and pointed to my house. I hoped my eyes weren’t fluttering but think they moved on their own. I asked, ‘ Would you mind moving your car? My father parks here and will be home for dinner in a few minutes.’ ‘Well, Rhoda,’ my pretend amour said. ‘Sorry, I can’t do that. I’ve been around the block twice and this is the only spot I could find. I have to get home to dinner myself.’ I was shocked, felt electricity stab me in my chest. Brian went on, ‘Since there was no harm in your asking, there isn’t going to be any harm is my asking you to come with me Saturday night to Carole St. Is there?  Mom needs a lot of stuff for a little get together Sunday and I’m her obedient slave. How about it?’

I couldn’t say ‘yes,’ didn’t want to say ‘no.’ ‘What’s there, Brian? I’ve never been but have heard of it.’ He stopped me before I could say anything else. ‘Just say ‘yes. I’ll pick you up at 6:45. Don’t get dressed up–in fact, dress down. See you then.’

‘Mom, guess what. I have a date, a real date, for 6:45 Sat. With Brian. I don’t even know his last name but he lives near here and he is dreamy. What’s on Carole St.? Why haven’t you ever taken me there or told me what lurks in the dark?’  ‘Rhoda, there is nothing there except noisy, pushing people. You can’t even get in the best places. Everyone gets a number, the husbands and wives each get one. There are loud arguments, sometimes fights. Dad and I just don’t like the commotion and manage well without it. You want to go, go. Be home by 10:30.’

Brian was here right on the dot. As usual there  were lots of parking spaces. The street looks like death walked down it and took everyone to hell. ‘Mom, this is Brian. Brian, what’s your last name?’ He answers, ‘Himmel’ like Guut in Himmel.’ I knew that meant god in heaven and thought that was beautiful but a silly name. ‘This is my mother, Brian. Her last name is Cohen, the same as mine.’ ‘Nice to meet you Mrs. Cohen. Can I bring you anything from Carole St.?’ My mother actually said, ‘Yes. If you don’t mind, bring me a big, thick slice of chocolate halavah–not those skimpy little pieces in Jake’s.’ She handed  Brian a dollar and thanked him. ‘Brian, I’ve never seen a big chunk of halavah. What wrong with Jakes?’ ‘It isn’t what’s wrong with Jake’s, Kid. It how much better and cheaper everything is on Carole St. I feel so dumb, actually stupid. ‘Where is Carole St.? That’s where everybody goes on Saturday night except my parents, sister and I.’

‘Rhoda, little kula lemmel, baby, dumb person, there is NO Carole St.’ I guess my eyes popped open as far as my mouth. ‘Then where are we going? ‘ ’Rhoda, you aren’t going to see any Carole St. signs. They will say, ‘Lombard St. It goes for six blocks, both sides of the street and ends at a brick wall. There is a memorial plaque on the wall to Carole Lombard, a fine, funny actress in the 1920's to forties. Her most famous husband was Clark Gable. Carole was killed in a plane crash and Clark had the wall built and the bronze memorial to his beloved wife put on it and it. Slowly Lombard became Carole St.’

‘Stay close to me, take a ticket and when I get to the counter, I’ll place ½ of my mother’s huge order and buy us each a ‘to go’ order of the darn best lean corned beef sandwich ever made. The bread will still be  warm. Do you like well done or half done pickles, mustard? How about slaw and potato salad? You can’t get this stuff in Jake’s.  Here, here’s the second part of my mother’s list. You give it to the clerk. Don’t let me forget a separate package of halavah for your mom. I’ll get some for us too. You’ll see what to do. Take a big basket as soon as we get inside and hold on to it for dear life or somebody will steal it.’

I am pushed, shoved, almost stepped on. These shoppers, my neighbors, act like starving maniacs. I am appalled but excited. The entire neighborhood smells like sauerkraut, garlic. Bread baking adds warmth to everything. I see the Browns and the McDougall’s, and love the interplay of religions and tastes. Nobody would get me to eat Haggis or corned beef with mayonnaise but maybe mayo isn’t bad.

Brian meets me near the curb and we have to shlep our packages 3 blocks to reach his car. We put all the packages, except our sandwiches and halavah on the back seat and floor. We open the car windows, and devour our sandwiches. It took strength, but we did manage to rest a moment before we ate all of our piece of halavah.  Before we got to my house, I managed to sneak another sliver off of Mom’s Halavah.

First thing I say to Mom, is ‘ Next Saturday we are going to Carole St.’