Near Jew-town in Cochin, there is a restaurant, near the water, nice location and well equipped, that was once a large home. This is still obvious from the street.
It once was the home of one of the sustaining families of the Pardesi synagogue, our guide said, where we read the Torah on Shabbat. The Koder family were prominent Jews, the patriarch Samuel started an electric company and a chain of department stores. The home is built on a Portuguese model, some of it even gabled in Europe, three floors, one for each child. The Koder family came to Cochin from Iraq in the early nineteenth century, the home dating from the early years of the twentieth century.
Ralphy had brought kosher chickens, frozen, with him from Mumbai and gave them to the chef at the restaurant. At the restaurant, they have all the old recipes of the family that once lived here, said Ralphy, and on special occasions they prepare them. Ralphy, always conscientious and respectful, knew the Shabbat preparations were not complete without the [kosher] chickens. So he packed them up and checked them through IndiGo, Indian domestic airlines to Cochin.
We had Friday night and Saturday afternoon meals at the restaurant, called Menorah, featuring the recipes of the family that once occupied the house. The chefs were delighted to serve the meals honoring the predecessors of the restaurant. Who once lived there lives again through the family recipes featured in that house. The restaurant is named Menorah.
There were many courses. They were excellent and often a surprise. There was a dark chocolate gelatinous dish, for example, I had never experienced before, not a pudding not a jello, something startling and wonderful. And, of course, the kosher chickens from Mumbai, prepared in the deep roasted tandoori style.
We made the blessings in the melodies I had heard in my heart at the synagogue, reviving the melodies in some approximate form that are bled into the stone floors, the walls of this home now restaurant, honoring the social ritual religious spiritual physical nexus in eating with a nod to memory that the restaurant, the neighborhood, the street, the synagogue maintains. Respect and rooted gestures have a place, even in a restaurant.
It was the week in Torah when we rise to the top of the mountain, see G*d, and have a little something to eat and drink (cf. Exodus 24:11). Amen.