'For Later' (pronounced: 'fah laytah')

There's an old joke that goes something like this:

An old man is on his death bed surrounded by his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  As his life ebbs slowly away he uses his last few breaths to speak lovingly to each of his progeny. 

Suddenly his nostrils twitch and his eyes begin to run freely with tears.

Several of the assembled loved-ones ask what's wrong... is he in pain?... does he need anything?

The old man shakes his head and says to the nearest great-grandchild, "Sweatheart... I'm crying because I can smell the delicious aroma of your great-grandma in the kitchen baking her famous rugalach.  That is one of my favorite smells in the whole world!  In fact... if you could go down and ask her to bring me just one of her rugalach to taste warm from the oven, I could truly die a happy man."

A few moments later the little child is back in the room and announces to all assembled, "She says you can't have any... they're for the shiva." 

[Note: Shiva is the seven day mourning period observed after a 1st degree relative's death]

I grew up in a home where both parents were very capable, and often inspired, cooks.

My father did the majority of the day-to-day meal preparation in our house since his teaching schedule allowed him to be home before my mother on most days.  And on holidays and other special occasions, my mother was more than capable of turning out a mouth-watering array of tried and true family favorites. 

Perhaps this egalitarian culinary background influenced me to feel completely at home in the kitchen... but then again, it could also have been the need to feed myself during more than a decade of bachelorhood.

However, one thing I never learned to do was bake.  Oh sure, I have a couple of easy recipes I can sometimes make work, but there is more art than science to baking... and I simply never did my lab work. 

In our house cakes (when we weren't going through one of our no-sugar phases) were either bought at a bakery or assembled from a Betty Crocker or Duncan Hines box.  Cookies were likewise store-bought or prepared from freezer-case cookie dough rolls.  Baking from scratch was something I'd only heard about.

But when I met Zahava a whole new family dynamic came into play.

Zahava came from a long line of accomplished bakers.  In the house where she grew up 'store bought' was an expression usually delivered with a sneer, and a separate freezer was always stuffed with a dizzying array of home-baked goodies that were earmarked 'for later'. There were always enough pasties horded in that deep freeze, y'know... justr in case they would have to host a tea party, kiddish or wedding on short notice.

As a result of this upbringing, Zahava has a tendency to rush all her delicious baked goods into the freezer after giving the kids a fleeting taste.  Luckily we have neither the space nor cash for a separate freezer or they might not even get a taste!

I realized shortly after we were married that both Zahava and I had unhealthy relationships with sweets and desserts, in no small part because of our family backgrounds. She came from a long line of hoarders, and I came from a household where sugar cereals and cakes were likely to be banned for long periods of time... so I exercised zero self-control when they were around.

When our kids came along it seemed that we were powerless to keep them from developing the same food issues we had.

But then a magical item full of possibilities came into our lives.

A table prize we won a few years ago at a UJA/Federation Hanukkah dinner offered us an opportunity to put sweet, yummy things out in a place where the kids could live comfortably with them:  It was a big gaudy cookie jar. The cookie jar was painted in garish colors and went with nothing we owned, but something about it just felt right. 

All of my friends growing up had had cookie jars in their kitchens and they had all seemed immune to the content's gravitational pull. Yet whenever sweet things showed up on my house I found myself sitting down and finishing the box! 

So after we moved here I took the cookie jar out of its hiding place in the breakfront and put it out on the kitchen counter where it belonged.

I have a feeling it's too late for me to change my stripes, but we've started putting some of Zahava's yummy cookies and pastries into the cookie jar so that the kids can become accustomed to having good stuff around on a regular basis without feeling the need to eat every crumb in sight! 

Don't worry though... a fair amount of Zahava's baking still gets squirreled away into the freezer... but there is always something there for the kids to 'stick their hands in the cookie jar' without fear of being 'caught'.

I want my kids to grow up comfortable in the knowledge that cookies and cake can just as easily be for now... or for later.