The New York City Fire Department has given the all clear for people to re-enter Chelsea Market after it battled a fire that broke out in a cooling tower on the roof of the building on 9th Avenue between 15th and 16th Streets.
About a week ago, my husband Chris and I came down with a hideous flu, reducing us to germ-riddled, whiney science projects. All I could think about was ordering a batch of the sure-fire cure: Jewish Penicillin from my local Upper West Side deli, Artie’s. At Artie’s, the broth is rich and so golden it almost hurts to look at it. And the matzo balls? The matzo balls are the size of Utah. That should do us for a day or two.
My Papa Max always made matzo brei for my sister and me when we visited my grandparents in Massachusetts at Passover. I’m pretty sure it was the only thing he ever cooked, and I remember how much he delighted in showing us how to make it — and in eating it with us. Sometimes he’d fry up little pieces of Hebrew National salami and mix it in with the eggs, and he always added lots of freshly cracked black pepper, because he loved his food spicy.