You saved me. You swooped into DC, tubs of hamantashen in hand, and packed up my whole room in just six hours. I know you think I have a lot of junk… but if it was really a lot, we wouldn’t have been able to fit it all in one car. But we did it and I’m out of my house and out of DC, writing to you from south Delhi, where I’m learning about organizations that implement craft production as a catalyst for the economic and social empowerment of women. There is so much going on here!
I admit that I owe you an apology. After all you did for me, I had the chutzpah to diss your hamantashen during our drive out of DC. I was just so excited for a taste of Purim, and the sticky canned fillings you used were an insult to your perfect Bubbe-inspired dough. I appreciated the effort, but canned apricot…really? It was so sweet that I could barely taste any flavor. I’m sorry. I now regret my quick dismissal… what I’d do for a hamatashen packed with canned ANYTHING at this moment!
I’ve been having great fun with Indian food, but could go for something mild and comforting right now. (I can feel India’s green chilis burning my stomach lining.) As Purim was approaching, I saw Haman’s hat in the piles of samosas stacked on big carts on every street corner. I wonder why Jews decided to dedicate a sweet cookie to Haman’s evil regime rather than a spicy samosa, which seems more appropriate, no?
Despite some mild intestinal struggles, I’m getting so much flavor inspiration here! Indian sweets combine unusual flavors, and I can’t stop thinking about how amazing your hamantashen would have been with Indian-spiced fillings instead of canned apricot, cherry and poppy seed. It might be after Purim, but I learned well from Bubbe that hamantashen aren’t just for Purim and the orange ginger filling makes the most of some of the spices so common here in India. I can’t wait to try some next year when you combine this filling with Bubbe’s perfect dough.