Bagel And Lox Quotes

Drugs and stealing go together like bagels and lox.

When I go downstairs, Pop has just lifted the metal door that covers the storefront. It rattles on its way up and sends light all through everything, the deli case and the floor I mopped till it shone last night before closing. I go to get the chopped liver and the whitefish from the walk-in fridge, shielding my hands with a second skin of latex, then scoop them into the containers. I slice up onions and lettuce and tomatoes. I set out orange-pink lox on a platter and lay down a sheet of saran wrap over it.

Is this lox shmear?" Dahlia asks, opening the fancy gift bag I couldn't really afford but purchased anyway and pulling out the Mason jar packed with the pink spread. "Crawfish spread," I say. "But I imagine it would go very nicely on a bagel, same as lox." I am underplaying how delicious this stuff is. It's just poached crawfish tails blended in the Cuisinart with lots of butter and garlic, and a little cayenne pepper, but it's become my favorite thing in the world to eat. I serve it at the restaurant as an appetizer with toast points.

And I've never been all that passionate about brunch food in general." My mouth dropped open. "Then clearly you've never had good brunch food." He raised an eyebrow, obviously amused. That tiny gesture made something hot tweak below my stomach. Down, girl. "I've eaten brunch at some of the best restaurants in the world." "But not from my kitchen," I countered. Now it wasn't so much about caring about how he felt: it was about proving I was right. "Come on. We're going to make a full Ashkenazi breakfast spread. I'm talking blintzes. I'm talking challah French toast. I'm talking bagels and lox and shakshuka. I'm talking matzah brei." "I've never heard of that last one." "See? You have never had a good brunch.

You really can't go wrong with the food at any Jewish holiday. Well, with the exception of Passover, because matzah is terrible and eight days of no carbs but matzah and potatoes can have you crying for pizza by the end. But think bagels and lox to break the Yom Kippur fast. All sorts of exotic fruits on Tu B'Shevat. Brisket and tzimmes and noodle kugel for pretty much any occasion. And that's only the Ashkenazi food; I'd been treated to Sephardic and Mizrahi food occasionally at friends' houses growing up, and I remembered fish cooked in spicy tomato sauce, tangines with chickpeas and saffron, Yemenite braided bread with whole eggs hidden in the twists. But Hanukkah food? Because Hanukkah celebrates the miracle of the oil, it's basically a mitzvah to eat fried foods for the holiday. And doing a good deed by eating French fries or doughnuts is the absolute best way to do a good deed.

Of course, as in all religions and cultures, there is contradiction, such as the lavish bagel and lox spreads brought in by Sheppy’s. We Jews believe in a lovely catered meal for the grieving family—as long as their asses go numb from sitting on crates. Suffer but eat well!

Lenore's galettes, one savory with a filling of fresh summer tomatoes and basil and one sweet with caramelized peaches, were tender and flaky and buttery and perfect. Maz's nargesi, an egg and spinach dish similar to shakshuka, burst with flavor on the tongue, especially when eaten beside the fresh watermelon and soft cheese salad he'd brought. They'd catered in bagels from the local bagel place, and whatever empty boasts New York City made about its food, they were right in that they had the best bagels anywhere. Especially when heaped with lox and cream cheese and capers and red onions sliced so paper-thin light shone pink through them.

My protein was salmon. I closed my eyes, thinking back to---lox. Smoked salmon we often ate on bagels, but I did have rice. What if I ground some of the rice to make a crispy crust on the salmon, then smoked the salmon on a play of lox? The seaweed had the same briny notes as capers, and I could pickle these radishes the way I'd pickled red onions...

You should avoid eating refrigerated smoked seafood, such as salmon, trout, whitefish, cod, tuna, or mackerel (often labeled as “nova-style,” “lox,” “kippered,” “smoked,” or “jerky”)—so no more lox and bagel for breakfast when you are pregnant, or actively trying to get pregnant.

Every man on the Explorer had a job to do, and with so many of the systems still works in progress, and only a very small window for the recovery, the crew had virtually no downtime. But when they could steal even a few hours, life was comfortable. A crew of fifteen cooks worked in the mess hall, keeping it provisioned twenty-four hours a day. At any moment, a crew member could stop into the mess and get a good, hot meal—rib eye steaks, lamb chops, burgers, seafood, as well as an array of salads, desserts, and freshly baked bread and pastries. For men who had only a few minutes, lounges around the ship were stocked with fresh fruit, nuts, candy, coffee, tea, and soft drinks. There was even a soft-serve ice cream machine. Two native New Yorkers had arranged for the cooks to buy and hide a large supply of bagels, lox, and cream cheese that they managed to conceal in the depths of the walk-in freezer—for a few days, until someone found the stash and word got out.

Every New Year's Day, my parents had a big party, and their friends came over and bet on the Rose Bowl and argued about which of the players on either team were Jewish, and my mother served her famous lox and onions and eggs, which took her the entire first half to make. It took her so long, in fact, that I really don't have time to give you the recipe, because it takes up a lot of space to explain how slowly and painstakingly she did everything, sautéing the onions over a tiny flame so none of them would burn, throwing more and more butter into the pan, cooking the eggs so slowly that my father was always sure they wouldn't be ready until the game was completely over and everyone had gone home. We should have known my mother was crazy years before we did just because of the maniacal passion she brought to her lox and onions and eggs, but we didn't. Another thing my mother was famous for serving was a big ham along with her casserole of lima beans and pears. A couple of years ago, I was in Los Angeles promoting Uncle Seymour's Beef Borscht and a woman said to me at a party, "Wasn't your mother Bebe Samstat?" and when I said yes, she said, "I have her recipe for lima beans and pears. " I like to think it would have amused my mother to know that there is someone in Hollywood who remembers her only for her lima beans and pears, but it probably wouldn't have. Anyway, here's how you make it: Take 6 cups defrosted lima beans, 6 pears peeled and cut into slices, 1/2 cup molasses, 1/2 cup chicken stock, 1/2 onion chopped, put into a heavy casserole, cover and bake 12 hours at 200*. That's the sort of food she loved to serve, something that looked like plain old baked beans and then turned out to have pears up its sleeve. She also made a bouillabaisse with Swiss chard in it. Later on, she got too serious about food- started making egg rolls from scratch, things like that- and one night she resigned from the kitchen permanently over a lobster Cantonese that didn't work out, and that was the beginning of the end.

For you, Manya, scrambled eggs with cream cheese and lox, our number-one seller. For the young lady a waffle with hot syrup and whipped butter and for Abe a steak sandwich with sautéed onions. Sounds good?" He left us for a moment before seating himself on the fourth chair at our table. He brought a basket with assorted breads, rolls, bagels and bialys that he lathered with butter and shoveled into his mouth. "Taste, taste." True to the sign that read In and Out in 20 Minutes, the food appeared not only quickly but on hot plates. "I learned from you, Manya. Always hot plates." The waffle was a novel experience: crisp, sweet, the butter served in a fluted paper cup, the syrup in a miniature pitcher.

In the center of the table is a classic deli platter of lox and tuna salad with all the fixings, bagels, and cream cheeses. And on a trivet, a noodle kugel, a casserole of egg noodles suspended in a light sweet custard, with a crunchy topping of crushed cornflakes mixed with cinnamon and brown sugar. It was always my favorite thing my mom ever made. "All my favorites." My mom beams at me. "And mine too. Let's eat!" my dad says, swatting my mom on her ample tush. We make our plates, I grab a plain bagel and top one up with tuna salad and dill pickle, and the other with chive cream cheese and cucumber. I also help myself to a large corner chunk of kugel, for maximum crispy edges, and some coleslaw. Clearly someone went all the way out to Kaufman's on Dempster in Skokie; I can tell by the bagels. A slight crunch on the outside gives way to perfect dense chewiness.