Every other Monday I do girls' morning carpool. That means leaving my house by 7:50 am to pick up the other three girls and drive them across town to school. Nestled comfortably in her seat on the way to pick up girl number 2, my daughter realized this morning that she had forgotten her lunch.
She didn't actually forget it, since no one made one for her. As the holiday schedule differs from Jewish school to Jewish school (half our kids are off, the other half aren't), my husband, the family cook, thought she made up the half that is not in school today.
No problem. I'll just go into one of the markets around her school and pick up some yogurt and snacks. While on my side of town, all the kosher markets are owned by Americans or Russians, on the other side of town, that's not the case. Over there, I had a choice of not one, but two Persian (owned) markets.
Okay, I'll admit it. I'm one Ashkenazi Jew who is no match for Persian shoppers. Once, years ago when I was curious, I went into Elat Market, one of the bigger Persian kosher markets down the block from the school (and one of my two choices today) and ran out scared after watching women physically fight over empty shopping carts. Haven't been back since.
So with much trepidation I entered Glatt Mart, Persian owned and frequented, but surprisingly with very few Persians actually inside. The market is staffed by Hispanics, and boy, what a pleasant surprise. Talk about service oriented. Even the valet who took care of my big 10-passenger van, also Hispanic, was sweet.
All's well that ends well. My daughter got her yogurt and snacks, and I got peace of mind. I worked through my fears (well, fear, of Persian markets) and came away renewed. Kinda like Psalm 23, with a twist.