A friend in New York bewails eggplant, which his snookums is forcing him to eat. One imagines a person who looks like Agnes from the Despicable Me franchise sternly facing down a minion with spectacles and a kippah over the shabbes dinner table. Because, apparently, he hates eggplant.
He has been told that there will be no nose snarling, and to take five big bites at least. Despite his bad memories of being offended with cooked eggplants as a grown-up. Probably by other adult delinquents in the synagogue parking lot after playing hooky from kiddush club.
Not being from New York, I imagine strange goings on there. Really, I have no idea what life in New York is like. But eggplants are a bad part of it.
A while back I posted a recipe ("fish flavour egg plant", 魚香茄子 'yü heung ke ji'), which with some minor inventive modification could be made kosher, but I hesitate to suggest that course of action to him and his snookums, for fear of mayhem.
He is laying in a supply of home-baked cookies in case there is nothing else to eat, which shows foresight.
Fearing eggplant is a very English thing.
We Mediterranean types just adore aubergine!
You can stop snarfling into your soup, it's very rude.
Thanks to my apartment mate, who seriously enjoys watching white bitches fighting and getting drunk on teevee, I have seen an inordinate amount of 'Real Housewives of New York'. I don't remember any eggplants.
That probably reflects a very New York sensibility.
One can't associate New York with food.
Not after hearing about pizza.
Or "New York Chinese".
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