Shabbat sweet Shabbat

I first wondered when I saw what I thought was a beautiful shofar sitting on the hallway table.  Then, unmistakably, a hamsa hanging above the sink.  

I know what you're thinking, you small minded reader, "Why, in one of the most Catholic cities in Mexico, Brendan ends up in a Jewish family?  Wacky!"

You're damn right its wacky, and I couldn't be happier with 'em.  

Being as my grandfather was a professor of Old Testament theology and Hebrew, I've actually got more Jewishness rattling around in my brain than Catholicism.  I never even bought the comic book lives of the saints.

So:

My first ever shabbat dinner was on Friday, March 20th in the Montejo household.  It was fantastic.

It made me think of a wonderful cookbook that Nicholas Hamel had in college, it was Jewish cooking around the globe.  All these amazing recipes!  I promised my house mom (I dunno what to call her yet, lets try house mom for a while) that I would cook for an upcoming Shabbat dinner.  

Well, never having ever been to a Shabbat dinner before, I thought I did pretty well.  I got there before sundown at least, changed clothes, and Paulo dug up a wacky little kipa appropriate for a 7 year old.  I think it was a watermelon motif.

Now what the hell do I do with the knowledge that I gained this afternoon, upon opening the oven I saw a giant bag of Chicarrones!  Yup, fried pork skin, in this Jewish house.  What a scandal!  I am reminded of the following amazing joke