The Brisket Brigade

I must confess, I never cared much for brisket, the fatty part of the cow that for centuries Jewish home cooks have embraced for holiday dinners and celebrations.

Still, I knew – well before I became a widow – that in order to win the heart of a potential mate, significant other or lover, I would need to be a brisket-making maven. But, I wondered, where did this written-in-stone tradition come from? Especially since (these days) we are well aware that eating too much artery-clogging cholesterol should be off limits for any potential partner beyond a certain age.

According to legend, the tradition comes from the Eastern European “shtetls.” When a widow learned that a man in her town had lost his wife, she’d swiftly go to her stove to cook up a pot of care and concern. You could compare this activity to a fisherman who tosses his rod into the waters with the hope that he will reel in a big fluke or tuna.

The difference, however, between the fisherman and the widow who cooks a brisket, is that a fisherman can afford to be patient. But unlike the fisherman-who can sit and wait – speed is of the essence if the widow wants to beat out her competition. Even back during “shtetl” days, the ratio of widowed women to men was way out of balance. And today it’s even worse. In fact, a recent US census, reported that of the 13 million widowed-folk over the age of 65 – 11 million are women.

But why a brisket? Well, back in the olden days, when meat was scarce and expensive, bringing a brisket to the grieving widower meant that, when it came to his well-being, no expense had been spared. The money the widow spent on the meat was kind of like an investment we’d make in today’s world. It’s like the once-safe bet of purchasing a tax-free interest-bearing bond. It’s an even better idea, some would say, to invest in our children’s education with hopes that they will (and will be financially able to) take care of us in our old age.

While I now understand where this brisket-roasting tradition came from, I needed to know why the custom is so often referred to as the “Brisket Brigade.” I think I finally found the answer. One day, as I sunbathed in my backyard, a swarm of ants came crawling to feast on the crumbs I’d dropped on the patio from my oversized Dunkin’ Donuts muffin. They marched swiftly-methodically in lockstep formation – and knew exactly what they were doing. They were organized and determined, much like well-drilled soldiers who were out for the kill. These little guys knew (like the savvy widows of today) that the first in line had the best chance of beating out the others.

But these days, just bringing a widower a cooked brisket might not be enough to defeat the competition. You need an edge. A friend of mine who is a widower, told me recently that along with the directions about how to reheat his meal in a microwave, one widow had added her phone number along with a picture of herself that had (obviously) been taken decades earlier.

Since I don’t like making brisket (never did – never will), I guess I need to find another way to make my mark on a man. I could bake a batch of my marvelous nut-studded Jewish cookies called “mandelbread” (but, for the men who wear dentures, I would leave out the nuts).

If neither my cooking nor baking skills would fit the bill, I guess I will have to depend on my good looks, warmth, charm, wit, charismatic and fun-loving personality – to hopefully – win the heart of a very special man.