by Jerry Lefkowitz
Forest Hills, June 23 - Oh, Saul, I assume you heard about Joel? Yeah, poor Frieda and the girl are devastated. I just came from paying a condolence call there, and I have to say, Joel would be greatly disappointed by the quality of food at his Shiva.
You know it's true! The Joel Birnbaum that I knew would never stand for such inferior fare. Are you planning to go? Then you'll see what I mean. The white fish salad is bland; the bagels are second-rate; the lox isn't even Nova! Whoever ordered the platters for that poor family had no idea what they were doing.
It's becoming a problem. Remember last month at the Wilensky Shiva? Exactly! The pastrami was the driest I've had in years, even fresh out of the wrapping. And some lazybones decided to just order some pizza instead of a proper Shiva spread. It certainly wasn't like that in the old country, from what my grandparents used to tell me. Eastern Europe had not a pizza in sight - and certainly not a violation of tradition as blatant as one with pepperoni. Things are getting worse and we both know it.
But we don't even have to cast our aging minds back that far to find the evidence. Your grand-nephew's bar mitzva two weeks ago is all the proof you need. That was a pathetic attempt at Chinese buffet if I ever saw one. No wonder Harry Morgenstern got drunk - the only worthwhile stuff there to put in one's body was the cocktails. What happened? Didn't Ethel's nephew run a big-time catering company out of the Five Towns? Their fried chicken was the best, even cold. I expected better of that family. I'm telling you, it's a plague.
I tell you what: you and I, and maybe bring in one or two others such as Sheldon or Milty, we make a pact. Each of us commits to providing the fare for one another's Shiva catering, to focus on quality, the way it should be done. None of this phoning it in that we see all around us now. I hope we're in good enough shape and of sound mind to do so when the time comes. I couldn't stand to have people's memories of me tainted by inferior deli platters, or, God forbid, sushi. Some things you just don't do.
Poor, poor Joel. He would never have agreed to this.