Seattle 158, or Freezer Aisle Conundrums

The hardest part about being back in Seattle is not having the kibbutz. Granted, the Happy Hippie Co-Op Down The Road fills some of the void, but I miss having a central gathering place for the people in my circle. I'm about to move into a house where the housemates don't typically talk to one another. Many things about the house are just right (price, location, gas stove), so I'm telling myself this is a good experiment in a different kind of living. But I miss the community. I've never had anything amputated, but I imagine this is a fraction of what it feels like - constantly reaching for something that isn't there.

So when Muppet* called from the Happy Hippie Co-Op Down the Road to tell me he'd just lost a dear friend back East to a drunk driver, and he might be in need of some company, I was so grateful. Here was a call to be part of someone's community when they needed it most. I promised him I'd be there with all proper Shiva call accoutrements - Entenmann's coffee cake, and a willingness to stay for hours.

I headed to the grocery store, strode purposefully towards the bakery, and was completely stunned to find no Entenmann's. No coffee cake at all, actually. They had something called "two-bite cinnamon rolls" that looked like rugelach, but other than that, bupkiss. I turned heel and walked to the aisle with the Hostess and Sara Lee confections, but was was thwarted there, too, despite some kosher squashed-looking cinnamon rolls. I asked a store clerk where the Entenmann's were, but she'd never heard of the brand.

At this particular grocery store, which features the largest kosher section in town, there is one employee who seems to have been hired specifically to deal with the Jews. He wears a kipa and tzitzit, and can often be seen struggling to keep up with women barking orders at him in rapid-figure Hebrew right around Passover. I saw him walking by with a giant box of Israeli candy and flagged him down.

"Yes?" he said, all business and busyness.

"I need some help," I began. Then, for some reason, my voice cracked. "What do you bring to a shiva call if there's no Entenmann's coffee cake?"

His face softened, but he didn't ask questions. "We have bapka," he said, putting the box down and leading the way. Bapka! Of course! That was even more perfect than coffee cake! I happily trotted after him - all the way to the freezer aisle.

He and I stared at the shelf of cinnamon and chocolate cake through the freezer door.

"Do I bake it?" I asked uncertainly.

He answered, just as uncertainly, "I think you just leave it on the counter for eight or nine hours." He then strode back towards his box of candy, calling a gentle "good luck" over his shoulder.

I whipped out my phone. My mother would certainly know the answer, but was wasn't picking up her cell phone. My father, too, was likewise unreachable, but I sent him a text - "What do you bring to a goyishe shiva call if there's no coffee cake??" I called my grandparents next, but they only suggested I try something other than frozen bapka. I wandered around the freezer section for twenty minutes, phone to my ear, demanding of four different people what to do!

Yes, it's silly. But I somehow wanted, as we all do, to bring the perfect thing, the one thing that could make my grieving friend smile. I had my heart so set on something that would remind me of my own culture and family that I completely lost sight of his. When my father called back to suggest "anything my friend would eat, or anything his guests could help themselves too," I knew I had my answer.

The pound cake and bowl of fruit salad went perfectly with the giant pot of vegetable stew and cornbread that was being served at the Happy Hippy Co-Op Down The Road for dinner. Secret Agent Lover Man and I settled in for a long evening with Muppet, hearing stories about his friend, talking about love, reading books, and admiring shiny new gizmos and gadgets. I found out that Muppet's father had once been an Entenmann's traveling salesman, but he thanked me for the pound cake all the same.

"Just as long as it wasn't angel food cake," said SALM as we walked home. "That would've been kind of tacky."