THE HERRING MAVEN OF THE ESPLANADE  - Laurence Lieberman

My wife, Gloria, has a secret. Elders of our tribe who live in the suburbs know the secret. They always want to know when the food of ecstasy, the paradise of taste, will be bestowed upon them. My wife makes herring.

This has absolutely nothing to do with anything eaten out of a jar. The herring she makes is primordial. It is pre-historic. It comes out of the depths of her Polish origins and those of her ancestors, traced through the peasantry of Eastern Europe. A taste of her herring initially transports you back in time and space. Then the sheer ecstasy of it smacks you in the face, and puts you right into the exact moment of your existence. Time is measured from when the last batch of herring was made.

Naturally, she learned the technique from her mother. But it is not so much about the technique as it is about the herring. And for that, you have to go to the Russians in Brookline. It also helps to ask for female herrings, which tend to be more robust and may even have eggs, an added bonus.

The word travels in unknown ways. She's making herring again. And then it starts. The jockeying for position as to who gets how much and when. There are deliveries and drop-offs at pre-arranged meeting places, and clandestine visits to Land Boulevard. The situation has become the equivalent of the special knock on the hidden door, resulting in an eye at a peephole, scrutinizing the worthiness of the potential recipient. And so they come, bowed in reverence, like supplicants awaiting the blessings of the herring deity.

My wife's herring is never dispensed on a first-come, first-served basis. She has prioritized her list based on pure lust. If you cannot conceive of being alive without it, you go to the top of the list. If you eat herring in cream or herring in wine sauce or herring out of a jar, don't even bother applying for membership in this exclusive club. Eating herring unadulterated and unadorned (chopped red onion is acceptable), is the only way to achieve special status. The people on this list are indeed extremely fortunate, but not just because they are on the list. They are fortunate because I don't like unadulterated herring. I actually prefer it out of a jar. To me, it is Jewish sushi. If this were not so, I would be the only one on the list. 

 At this point, everyone on the herring delivery list is tied for number one. There are no number twos.