Hard Boiled Eggs in The Salad

A quiet Saturday in Birmingham, Michigan, an upscale town that once was home to the down scale folks who served, butlered and chauffeured the automobile who-ha-has who lived next town over in the mansions in Bloomfield Hills. Honey and I went to lunch at South, a new bistro, in this now trendy town of movers and shakers full of charming bistros, expensive shops and Georgian style town homes. We shared black bean soup, lobster cerviche and a vegetable wrap out on the elegantly furnished covered terrace and watched the joggers and shoppers pass by. Traffic was light. The American was playing at the Birmingham Theater across the street, but we had to market. Our kids were coming to celebrate the Jewish New Year.

Not religious, but a stickler for tradition, we needed a challah to share between us down by the lake. On the High Holy Days of Rosh Hashahah and Yom Kippur, the Michigan Roths get together to cast our sins into the water. With bits of bread thrown into the lake, I'll throw away my road rage and eating out on a day of fasting. Honey will do the same. Therese, Steve, Taylor and Zac will have their own faults to fling. I can hardly wait to hear what my most precious, most perfect darlings regret. The swans, ducks and geese will appreciate the purging. Back at the house, we'll dip apples into honey in hopes of a sweeter life in 5771. Better get some apples too.

After our cappuccinos on our way back to the car, I photographed the colorful marquee, a terrific focal point, for a future cityscape. I did the twenty minute sketch above while waiting for water to boil. I like hard boiled eggs in the salad-- another symbolic food from another holiday on the fairer side of winter--Pesach,Passover, my absolute favorite.