TURKEY CAN BE PINK . . . CAN'T IT? (RE-WRITING LEVITICUS 11:1-8)

Izzy, Ikey, Jake and Sam,
We’re the boys who eat no ham. — Old chant, learned in BBYO

Katie is a longtime friend who’s not Jewish. She was raised Catholic, and we compare guilt over a weekly lunch. We have the same interests and the same financial status, which is to say we were both shmooshed by the stock market, so Subway seems ideal; it's cheap AND we always have coupons. So last week I asked for a turkey sandwich with mustard. I didn't pay attention to what Katie ordered; I was busy trying to figure out the coupon with an IQ that dips into the double digits when it comes to math. Don’t get me started. So: We took our trays to a table and I was halfway into my sandwich when I noticed I wasn't eating just turkey . . . and what was dripping onto the tray was white like mayo and not yellow like mustard. While Katie's head was turned I sneaked a look; on top of my turkey was “the other white meat.” Katie must have ordered turkey and ham with mayo, and — speculation — SHE didn't know WHAT to say because she knows I choose not to eat pork . . . and she surely thought that if I wasn't saying anything, I didn't notice. She knows it’s not a religious thing with me; it’s only that my mother taught me by example to say “eeuuww” at the mention of pork, so I’ve never tried it (that I know of). I didn't want to make a big tsimmis out of it, because Katie would have felt awful (again with the guilt), and it was awkward to say HEY in the middle of the sandwich because what could we do, trade? Nu, I pretended I didn't notice and just ate it. Lightning didn't strike at Subway, and since I'd had no intention of ordering ham and was eating it for what amounts to courtesy, I didn't put a blot on my mother's memory. I’ll just call what I ate “pink-colored turkey.”


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