An inexperienced cook and an even more inexperienced teenage assistant — surely they could use some help

February 1964

There. Morning hubbub done. Annie had dropped Ruchele off at kindergarten and placed the twins on their school bus with kisses and treats for recess. Abe had left to his medical practice, as always, with a tuna sandwich and a cheerful goodbye. Mutty, her diligent Mutty, had gone to early minyan, grabbed a quick breakfast, and was off on his subway ride to Columbia University before most of the household was even stirring.

And Artie? He was still asleep now, having spent far too much time strumming that guitar into the early hours of the morning.

With her anxiety about Artie’s future darkening her mood, Annie wanted — needed — to get out, to see people, hear the noise of laughter and conversation. She could do some dress shopping, or have coffee with a friend, or....

The hotel! With the chasunah tomorrow, Perele would need help in the kitchen. And it would be fun, cooking there again.

After her first shocked reaction, Annie had allowed herself to delight in Mrs. Horn’s obvious happiness. Mrs. Horn had cooked generously for so many years — she’d earned the right to a joyous and restful retirement.

And the hotel kitchen? Annie didn’t know Perele well, but she seemed pleasant and efficient. She and her two-year-old son had turned up at the hotel in early 1957, part of the flood of Jewish refugees who’d escaped Communist rule during the short-lived Hungarian Revolution. Papa had told Annie that Perele had a well-to-do uncle who supported her financially, so she did not have to earn a living. Perele lived quietly, raising her child and doing whatever she could to help the elderly boarders.

An inexperienced cook and an even more inexperienced teenage assistant — surely they could use some help.