"White Russian."
[OK, OK, but if my purchases are going to be influenced by movies, that's a good one. Besides, up on stage at the Canaan music bar, Jordan Zell is playing an original song named "Russian Girl."]
The waitress looks at me quizzically. I repeat the order, point to "Black Russian" on the menu. A light goes on.
"Ah! Ani Eshol." [I'll ask.]
She talks to the kippah-clad bartender, comes back a few seconds later.
"Zeh b'chalav- anachnu b'sari." [There's milk in that- we're a meat establishment.]
I order a Black Russian instead, as a small chorus of angels inside my head (and I, to my neighbors) sing the praises of the Land of Israel.
I've ordered White Russians in bars before. This is the first time that's happened.
Oh, did I mention the shelves behind the bar that the bottles are on are in the shape of a giant Magen David? Perfect.
No comments:
Post a Comment