I looked through the viewfinder of the camera one more time, making sure the shot was just right. A kitchen bathed in warm light, ingredients spread out on the counter. The star of the show, patiently standing to one side, was ready for her close-up. An internet cooking show wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I first dreamed of becoming a filmmaker. And the woman in front of me certainly wasn't the actress I'd dreamed of directing. She wasn't even a celebrity chef―he was my grandmother. My bubbe. How long has it been since I cooked in the kitchen with Bubbe? I wondered. When I was a kid, I was at her house all the time, and she was always in the kitchen. "Stop playing with those pots and pans, boychik," she chastised me when I drummed on a frying pan, calling me a young man in the Yiddish she always sprinkled into her sentences. She was a real character. I helped frost cupcakes and plunked the carrots and celery into her chicken soup. Her potato latkes, her beef brisket...loved all the traditional Jewish foods Bubbe made, and she made them better than anyone.
by Avrom Honig, Worcester, Massachusetts
I looked through the viewfinder of the camera one more time, making sure the shot was just right. A kitchen bathed in warm light, ingredients spread out on the counter. The star of the show, patiently standing to one side, was ready for her close-up. An internet cooking show wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I first dreamed of becoming a filmmaker. And the woman in front of me certainly wasn't the actress I'd dreamed of directing. She wasn't even a celebrity chef―he was my grandmother. My bubbe. How long has it been since I cooked in the kitchen with Bubbe? I wondered. When I was a kid, I was at her house all the time, and she was always in the kitchen. "Stop playing with those pots and pans, boychik," she chastised me when I drummed on a frying pan, calling me a young man in the Yiddish she always sprinkled into her sentences. She was a real character. I helped frost cupcakes and plunked the carrots and celery into her chicken soup. Her potato latkes, her beef brisket...loved all the traditional Jewish foods Bubbe made, and she made them better than anyone.
카메라의 뷰파인더를 다시 한 번 들여다보았다. 화면을 제대로 잡았는지 보기 위해서였다. 따사로운 햇살에 흠뻑 젖은 부엌이며, 조리대 위에 펼쳐진 재료들이 보였다. 지긋하게 한쪽에 서있던 주인공도 클로즈업을 받을 준비가 되어 있었다. 처음 영화감독의 꿈을 품었을 때부터 딱히 인터넷 요리 프로그램을 하려 했던 것은 아니다. 내 앞에 있는 여성 또한 내가 연출하리라고 꿈꾸어 왔던 여배우가 아니다. 그렇다고 유명한 주방장도 아니고 말이다. 그분은 바로 우리 할머니, 나의 버비(이디시 어語로 할머니라는 뜻-편집자 주)였다. 문득 이런 생각이 들었다. ‘부엌에서 할머니와 같이 요리해 본 것이 벌써 언제였더라?’ 어릴 때 나는 늘 할머니 댁에 갔는데, 할머니는 항상 부엌에 계셨다. “요 녀석아, 냄비랑 프라이팬 가지고 장난치지 마라.” 내가 프라이팬을 뒤집어 바닥을 두드릴 때면, 할머니는 이디시 어로 ‘녀석’이라 부르며 나를 혼냈다. 할머니는 문장마다 이디시 말을 섞곤 했다. 정말이지 괴팍한 분이었다. 나는 그분을 도와 컵케이크에 설탕을 입히거나, 닭고기 스프에 당근과 샐러리를 퐁당퐁당 집어넣었다. 할머니의 감자 랏키스(유대 명절 하누카 때 먹는 음식으로, 감자 부침과도 비슷하다-편집자 주)며, 쇠고기 가슴요리…. 나는 버비가 만드는 전통 유대 음식이라면 다 좋아했으며, 할머니는 그 누구보다도 맛있게 만들었다.
