Page 40 of Sportsball is for Lovers

“You want to go to Bubbie Ruth’s?”

The Jewish deli doesn’t host a Seder, per se, but it does offer a very nice brisket dinner with matzo ball soup. And pickles. Can’t forget the half-sour pickles.

“Elliott and Yoni are hosting a non-traditional Seder,” Arielle continues.

My eyebrows go up.

Both Arielle and I grew up in Conservative households, where Elliott’s family was Modern Orthodox. In recent years, they’ve backed away from the traditional side of things. That they even want to host a Seder is strange enough.

“I think we’re all kind of missing the culture, even if the religious aspects may not be what we’re believing these days,” Arielle finally says. Stopping in front of the meat counter, she pulls an enormous slab of meat into the cart. “Yoni already promised to make his Saba’s brisket.”

“The famous brisket?”

I’ve heard about Yoni’s grandfather’s brisket over the years. Sephardic culture is rich in Middle Eastern traditions, whereas my Ashkenazi upbringing more closely follows Eastern European traditions. Even though we’re both Jewish, the traditions are very different, and so is the food.

Sephardic foods involve a lot of spices, fruits like dates and figs, and aromatics like leeks and scallions.

And Yoni’s grandfather’s brisket? He uses apricots and figs to flavor the meat instead of the Ashkenazi version of corn syrup or sugar. They also eat kitniyot, rice and legumes, which are prohibited during the week of Passover in my family’s traditions.

Whereas my family came from Poland, Romania, and Ukraine, Yoni and Jared’s family was originally from Spain; after the expulsion, they moved to Morocco and then Greece before settling in Israel. When their father was a child, the family moved to the States for his grandmother’s job with the Israeli embassy, and that was it.

“So you’re going to Yoni and El’s?” I ask casually.

Arielle nods, hefting a 5-pound bag of onions into the cart. “I’m sure you can come, too.”

“Oh, I don’t want to impose.”

My best friend stops in her tracks and stares at me.

“What? Do I have something in my teeth?” I move my hand to cover my mouth.

“You don’t want to impose?” She repeats incredulously. “Who are you and what have you done with Sadie Hershkowitz?”

I shrug. “I just…”

“Tell me you didn’t sleep with Yoni,” Arielle demands quietly.

My eyebrows go up. “What? He’s married.”

She blinks at me.

“Oh, and gay,” I add in. “Still—no. He’s my assistant.”

“So why do you twitch every time I say his name?”

Because I slept with his brother.

Three times.

Four, if I include the hallway.

Fifteen, if I include all the times I’ve replayed the memories in my head this week.

“Is he not working out as your assistant? Do you need distance in the friendship?” Arielle asks as she loads the cart with ten pounds each of sweet and regular potatoes. For a sprightly little thing, she sure is strong.

“It’s fine. He’s great.” I sigh. “I’m just in a little bit of a funk.”

She nods in understanding. “Post-signing blues?”

“Yeah. It was a great weekend.”

“Because you got laid.” She waggles her eyebrows.

“I was hoping you’d forget about that,” I mutter, putting more vegetables into the cart.

“Why? It’s not like you’ve ever been quiet about it in the past.”

That’s true. I might not brag, but I definitely don’t have that shameful attitude about sex. I’m single and having fun. I’m not hurting anyone.

But Jared and I? That can’t happen again. The six degrees of Kevin Bacon are too close.

Then again… he lives in Denver. I live in Boston. It’s not like we’re suddenly going to be running into each other all the time.