The Inside Press

Magazines serving the communities of Northern Westchester

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Adding a Personal Touch to Turkey Day

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There’s something almost primal about Thanksgiving in our country. Who among us doesn’t have at least some early memories of the day be it related to travel, cousins, football, parades and, stating the obvious, food! Sure, there’s a lot to be said about the meaning of this wonderful non-denominational holiday. The importance of family/friends gathering and showing gratitude for the bountiful meal and what it represents is a powerful and meaningful tradition. The holiday even has a nice story about pilgrims and native Americans initially appreciating the beautiful land and its kind abundance together. But I digress, for the purpose of this story, dear reader, you can undo the top button on your trousers, dip a cinnamon stick into your apple cider and care not about the burnt marshmallow at the bottom of the oven.

The day begins really early in our house. My wife Laurie handles the turkey expertly and in a stress-free manner. When it emerges many hours later it will be juicy, golden brown and so excessively large that I had wondered if it would actually fit in the oven. My childhood memories of Thanksgiving in no way involve how the table may have looked but as a modern host the “table-scape” has become an important element. I’m not involved in this in any manner other than posterity related photography (see below) and (sincerely) praising my bride’s fine eye as the table looks clean yet absolutely autumnal with orange/red/brown details. There might even be a few pinecones involved.


As Laurie crafts her turkey magic, I am tasked with preparing the stuffing and having it done before the bird goes in the oven. I make a lot of it. Enough to fill the bird and lots more as a supplement. Is there any more subjectively controversial food item than stuffing? It’s quite personal and it’s connected to the version one’s been most exposed to. When we first hosted the holiday years ago we’d have several different types of stuffing represented from both sides of the family. Inevitably (barely) civil debates would arise about which was superior. Every year my simple recipe (cornbread, onions, seasoning and an absurd amount of chicken stock) is exactly the same and our regular annual guests are now addicted. The other stuffing’s are now but a culinary memory. Another Pavlovian success story!

Speaking of subjectivity, I love the unique dishes of different family’s versions of the feast. Somewhere along the way I started making chopped liver (!) on Thanksgiving. Initially, it was just an appetizer that I enjoy and wanted to try making. People seemed to like it and Aunt Sally, a respected elder of our clan, would request it so now it is firmly entrenched in our delicious ritual. I did think that, perhaps, this ethnically defined dish might be contrary to the spirit of the day. However, when I learned that our friend Shira makes stuffed cabbage (really good!) for Thanksgiving, I concluded that slightly off-message dishes add depth to the experience.


Dessert on the big day can be complicated. Too many times after overeating, I had been rendered into submission by the time dessert was served. (*Note to young over-eaters from a seasoned veteran: Go easy on the appetizers, mashed potatoes, stuffing and biscuits ). I’m a traditional dessert guy. Love the pumpkin pie. Our one departure is an ice cream turkey which is an ice cream cake shaped like a turkey with caramel skin, waffle-cone drumsticks and two flavors of ice cream representing white & dark meat (mint chocolate chip & rocky road respectively). Some consider it kitschy, I embrace it as a fully legitimate annual dessert item.

A happy element of the day is working with Laurie hosting. One of my duties is preparing two gravies. One is a light au jus that comes directly from the pan and the other a more formal gravy which is silky and luxuriant. One Thanksgiving, I looked in our fridge and saw a container of store prepared gravy! Was I insulted? Yes. Was I going to confront my wife while she was preparing a meal for 25 people? No. I may be sensitive but I’m not crazy. The “back-up” gravy controversy has faded, this year’s feast is fast approaching and I cannot wait!

Our beloved caramel coated ice cream turkey cake PHOTOS BY DAN LEVITZ

Back to School: Then and Now

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Full disclosure – Deadlines being what they are, I am writing this back to school piece at the end of June. School just ended today and my youngest son graduated high school a week ago. As the weather is finally starting to get steamy, it’s a bit hard to imagine school resuming again, though of course I know it will.

Things have changed a lot since my oldest son started kindergarten in 1996. Back then, there was no online shopping and no prepackaged school supplies vendors. We would take the supply list we received by snail mail to Staples and, in scavenger hunt style, search for each item. There were always one or two items we had difficulty finding and we would go to another store on our way home to complete our task.

By the time my youngest son began school in 2006, to quote B.B. King, “The Thrill Was Gone” and I was only too happy to take an easier route and get the prepackaged box of supplies from Supplies to Please, rather than dragging all three kids to the store. I admit that although it was easier, there was a small part of me that missed the annual ritual.

Another thing that was different “way back when” was that there was no portal. Our district didn’t launch it until my middle son was in high school and, initially, it was only for report cards at the mid-point and end of each quarter. Now, in addition to report cards, there are grades for each test, homework assignment and more. The portal was accessible all the time until the district shut it down during school hours because some kids were checking their grades between each class, which was extremely anxiety provoking.

Although I found there were certain advantages to having a portal, I also felt that with its implementation something was lost. I missed the days when a teacher would have to pick up the phone to tell me my kid was screwing up. The portal made things impersonal and wasn’t always even all that accurate–some teachers seemed to update it all the time, while others (despite district guidelines) were slow to post on it. Having come late to the portal technology, I never got the hang how often I was supposed to be checking and how much responsibility I should leave to my child, although maybe there isn’t one right formula for that.

Another less-than-positive change is the pressure of getting into college, which has escalated to an alarming degree over the ten-year spread between my oldest and youngest. Living in a high achieving town where educators and parent put undue emphasis on college ratings, there were always demands on the students.

Recently, it’s gotten completely out of control, as was highlighted by the college admissions scandal.

Whereas some of my oldest son’s classmates were tutored for college entrance exams or an occasional subject in which they were struggling, now there are tutors for everything–SATs, ACTs, Regents, SAT 2s, even the ELAs. I thought my youngest was joking when he told me that but, apparently, it’s a thing. While it may be good news for tutoring businesses, it’s incredibly expensive, as well as time-consuming.

While schools are offering mindfulness classes and workshops for parents billed as “How to help your student manage stress,” they seem to be swimming against the tide. Parents are stressed. Kids are stressed. I am not sure where it’s all heading but I can say for sure that where someone goes to college is way less important than what they do when they get there.

There are a lot of mental health issues and angst in college and strengthening the skills that can alleviate some of those issues before a kid starts college is crucial. Working on independence, self-advocacy, balance between work and play, etc. needs to take precedence over getting admitted to a school a few slots higher on the US News and World Reports college lists.

Even though much has changed over the decades, I can say for sure that one thing that has not changed is the desire well-meaning parents have to do the best they can for their children, whatever form that might take. I am curious to see what transformations in edu-cation occur in the upcoming years.

Although I will be a spectator and not an active participant in the 2019-2020 school year, I wish all the parents and their students a successful year, one that’s filled with growth, learning, and joy in the process.

Remembering My Dad

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This Father’s Day, my family will be celebrating my husband, who is an amazing father. But I will also be thinking about my father, who passed away four years ago.

A little about my dad …

My father was born in Budapest, Hungary in 1932. When the Nazis invaded Hungary in 1944, both his parents were taken to Auschwitz. He was interned in a ghetto and lived with an aunt and a cousin, surviving under the protection of Swedish diplomat Raoul Wallenberg. His mother escaped during a death march, running away into the woods and eventually returned to Hungary. His father died at Auschwitz in the gas chambers.

My dad emigrated to Canada after the war ended with a group of Hungarian teens who had lost parents in the war–his mother eventually emigrated there, as well. He attended McGill University, met my mom who was visiting relatives in Montreal, and moved to New York when they married. He worked as an engineer and was able to get his Master’s degree from Columbia University at night.

Although the Holocaust certainly shaped my father, he tried hard not to let it define him and he rarely spoke of the atrocities he witnessed. He made sure to live life fully, enjoying good food, wine and music. He was quick to laugh, especially at his own brand of dad humor. My father embraced his adopted country and was deeply grateful for the freedoms and opportunities afforded him here.

Having been born in different countries and in different eras, my father and I saw things from different perspectives. He was a staunch Republican, whereas I am a liberal Democrat. When I was a little girl, he would take me into the voting booth with him and teach me the importance of voting, telling me how lucky we were to live in a democracy. I always vote and when I choose my candidates, I think of him.

Although I thought of my father as more of a math/science guy, he was also more than proficient in writing–in fact he was able to edit my essays in high school and correct my grammar–pretty impressive for someone whose first language was not English. He was my first Scrabble opponent–he never went easy on me. Although it took me two years to beat him, when I finally did, he was as excited as I was.

Despite losing his own father at a young age, my dad knew how to be a good father. He taught my brother and me how to ride a bike, fish, ice skate, swim and play chess, which was a passion of his. He got up in the middle of the night with me when I was sick and dried my tears when I cried—he couldn’t bear to see me sad. He taught me a lot about nurturing and made me feel safe. When he held me in the ocean when I was a little girl, I knew I would be protected against the crashing waves.

My father was thrilled to become a grandfather and was delighted to be able to attend all five of his grandsons’ bar mitzvahs. Although he was mostly confined to a wheelchair for my youngest son’s bar mitzvah, he did manage get up so that he could have one dance with me.

When he got sick with Parkinson’s disease, he rarely complained, accepting his fate with quiet grace and even humor. In fact, a few days before he died, a nurse asked him if he was comfortable, to which he replied, “I make a living.” And even in such a compromised state, he managed to chuckle.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention my father’s thriftiness, which was legendary. If saving money were an Olympic sport, he would’ve been a gold medalist. He would turn off the air conditioner on summer nights and turn down the heat in the winter. To this day, when I leave a light on, I can hear his admonishment in my head. And every time I spend three dollars on my iced coffee, I am pretty sure he does a little roll in his grave.

I suppose that’s how it is with all the people we love. We never forget them or the things they taught us. We are reminded of them in the special moments and in the ordinary moments. They live on through the people they loved and who loved them back.

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads who are with us and to those who live on in our hearts.

LIKE FAMILY: Why Lange’s Feels Exactly that Way

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The author’s Dad–a Lange’s regular

It’s hard for me to put into words the feelings I have for the place that was a huge part of growing up. Lange’s Little Store and Delicatessen, the small, simply furnished family-oriented deli that my family has frequented since the very beginning.

I am proud to be a second-generation Lange’s-goer. My dad grew up in Chappaqua and his family ate there. I’ve been going for as long as I can remember.

If you aren’t the kind of person who likes to run into everyone you know, I wouldn’t recommend going to the Little Store at lunch time on any given weekend.

I however, live for the social scene. Although my dad doesn’t like to admit it, I know it’s his claim to fame. We can’t go there without seeing someone from his childhood. An old friend, coach, father of an old friend. You name it, we see it.

But the one person I never tire of seeing is the legend himself. The man behind it all – Mr. Lange.

Sweet. Funny. Caring. Kind. If there was a Mad Libs page for this guy, those adjectives would fill the page. I’ve never met someone like him. I think of him and see a man with a big smile and open arms.

When my family eats there, he walks upstairs and joins us. We bond over our love for Cape Cod and dachshunds. In high school, he would ask about my soccer games and my sister’s basketball games. He also gives great advice.

Today he told me that we learn something new every day. Something we’ve all heard before, but for some reason coming from him, it sounded different. He told me that every day he still learns something new.

Lange’s is a place that many people find comfort in. The hot plates and breakfast sandwiches too.

When my grandpa died, Mr. Lange was there for my family. Shortly after, my parents found platters of food atop of my grandpa’s car. No note. No ringing the doorbell. No nothing.

When my dad went solo one Saturday because I was sick, he noticed and sent my dad home with a large container of chicken noodle soup.

And when our town experienced a tragic loss two summers ago, Lange’s seemed to be a place of comfort for all. After the funeral, my sister and I felt that we needed a Lange’s sandwich to make us feel better. I guess it was a common thought. We saw many of the same faces eating sandwiches that we had seen an hour before sitting in the pews. Including members of the Lange family.

In my eyes, it’s the staple social hub of Chappaqua and a place that embodies what it means to be a community.

I felt a sense of pride as a high school freshman having just made the varsity soccer team, walking into Lange’s and seeing my face on the varsity poster hanging on the wall. I then felt a sense of pride as a sophomore, junior and senior going and hanging up the poster myself. I felt a sense of pride whenever I was introduced to someone as Gary Klein’s daughter while waiting for my sandwich. And I felt a sense of pride today when I gave Mr. Lange a hug goodbye and he said, “aw my buddy,” as he patted my back. The people that I see in Lange’s have changed over the years.

I see younger families come in after AYSO soccer games on Saturdays and think of my younger self. I see the oldcomers and think of how Lange’s has been the go-to lunch for me and my cousins whenever we all ate at Grandma’s. Turkey, coleslaw, Russian on rye bread. The Klein sandwich.

Going to college meant no more Lange’s. I was back three weeks after I left, sitting in the dining room with my parents. Mr. Lange asked why I was back so soon. My response? “I needed my Lange’s fix.”

Although the people, decor, my order and myself may change. Two things never do: Mr. Lange and my beverage selection.

I always get a Snapple. Which means I always get a Snapple fact. Mr. Lange was right. I learn something new every time I walk into Lange’s Little Store and Delicatessen. Today’s fact: “Real Fact” #845: a lemon contains more sugar than a strawberry.

The Changing Nature of Motherhood

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This Mother’s Day will mark the last one that I am a full-time mom. My youngest will be leaving for college at the end of August, which means that after nearly three decades, I will be an empty nester.

I am no stranger to the changing nature of motherhood. When my three boys were little, it was all about physical caretaking; making sure they were fed and clean. I read to them and cuddled them and covered their faces with kisses millions of times as I lifted them out of their cribs, high chairs, car seats, strollers, etc. We had outings to the park and playground and we were together almost all of the time. It was me and them and we made a great team.

As they began to walk and then run, I became their protector. This was no easy feat because my sons often seemed hell bent on self-destruction and I often felt as if I spent my days saving them from themselves. There was the time my middle son, who was almost two, ate goose poop on a soccer field. Although he was fine, more than two decades later I am still scarred.

Between my older boys there were a slew of gashes that needed stitches and broken bones that needed setting. I was in charge of triage, trying to figure out how serious each injury was, a job for which my degree in English literature did not prepare me. At one point, the nurses in the orthopedist’s office knew my name and I was concerned they might call social services on me. Luckily, most of my sons’ injuries happened when they were not with me; most were sports related. I told the doctors that I should get a punch card where the cast for the tenth break was free.

My favorite role probably has been that of teacher. I am proud that I taught my sons how to read and was even more excited than they were when they sounded out their first words. I taught them their first notes on the piano (always starting with middle C), how to tie their sneakers, poetry, and a million other things I’m not sure they remember. But I do.

When my sons became teenagers, my role felt as it had morphed into being a warden and disciplinarian-in-chief. All of a sudden, instead of it being me and them it sometimes felt like me against them. This may have been the hardest stage of all because I didn’t enjoy enforcing rules—I suppose most people don’t. After all, who wants to be checking on homework and grades and meting out punishment for broken curfews and other infringements? Parents of teens will most certainly understand the grueling and often unrewarding nature of that stage.

Resident Uber driver, playmate, nurse, tutor, cheerleader; these are only a few of the other hats I wore over the many years I parented.

As my two older sons have gone off to college and graduated, gotten jobs and left the nest, I have found my role shifting once again. This phase is less hands on and more advisory; I am mostly called upon to listen to woes, lend moral support and occasionally offer an opinion. I’ve also entered a phase where, in addition to being my sons’ mom, I get to be their friend and can enjoy them in a way that I was not able to when they were younger. When we are together, we talk about their jobs, politics, life, whatever. And it’s really nice. When they were younger, and we were at odds, I honestly couldn’t envision the relationships we have now. For those of you still in the trenches, hang in there.

I won’t sugarcoat how hard it is to imagine all three of their bedrooms clean and empty and the house eerily quiet. After all, wasn’t it just a moment ago when they were little, making messes and noise? I am comforted by the thought that although my role has changed, two things remain constant; that I will always be needed in some capacity and how much I will always love my children.

This Mother’s Day, whether you’re peering at your baby’s first sonogram, opening homemade cards in bed with your little kids, joining your big kids for brunch, or even if you can’t physically be with your children, I hope you have a wonderful day. Because all of us who have nurtured, protected, disciplined and loved, have earned it.