Ten Minute Lox Salad
Plus: The Four Questions Interview with Bonny Reichert of How to Share an Egg
This week’s newsletter and recipe are going out to everyone, but *most* of my newsletters are just for paid subscribers. Paid subscribers get weekly recipes—like Melted Cabbage Wedges with Dill and Saucy Harissa Meatballs—and stories from around the Jewish world, plus a chance to interact with other readers. You also support my work, which makes all the difference to me as a full-time freelance food writer and cookbook author. If you’ve been thinking about upgrading to paid, you can do that here or below. Thank you! xo
Hello, The Jewish Table Readers!
This week’s newsletter is such a treat. I am joined by my friend and fellow writer, Bonny Reichert, to talk about her lovely new memoir, How to Share an Egg: A True Story of Hunger, Love, and Plenty. Bonny also shared a quick and delicious recipe for the Lox Bowl her father made for her when she was growing up. The combination of smoky lox and briny capers with bursts of cherry sweet tomato and slices of mellow, marinated onion takes exactly 10 minutes to make, and brings together the best flavors of the Jewish breakfast table—with a bagel, or without.
After reading the interview, and immediately making and devouring the Lox Bowl (I know you’re tempted!), be sure to scroll down for a first hand account from a friend and USAID employee whose life-saving humanitarian work hangs in the balance because of Trump and Musk’s reckless budget slashing. In this time of rampant misinformation, I think it is so important to hear directly from the people and communities—including our friends and neighbors—who are shouldering the worst of the impact.
The Four Questions Interview: Bonny Reichert
Welcome to the latest installment of The Four Questions, The Jewish Table’s semi-regular interview segment featuring Jewish food luminaries. This week I’m thrilled to be joined by Bonny Reichert, a Toronto-based journalist, chef, and author of the recently published memoir, How to Share an Egg: A True Story of Hunger, Love, and Plenty.
Reichert and I first connected in 2015, when she interviewed me for a story about modern Jewish cooking for the The Globe and Mail. Last year, she emailed me to ask if I would be interested in reading her new memoir, which she described as, “my experience as the child of a Holocaust survivor, growing up in the restaurant business.”
I said yes, of course—I am always game to check out new food writing. But I admit I went into reading How to Share an Egg feeling a bit wary. I was raised on stories about the Holocaust—at school, at Hebrew school, and through books like Lois Lowry’s influential novel, Number the Stars. (Goodness, I must have re-read Number the Stars a half-dozen times in my early teen years.)
There’s a rhythm to most Holocaust stories. There’s beauty and resilience, yes, but mostly there’s crushing, soul-shocking pain. Of course there is—the horrors of the Holocaust left a singular gash on the Jewish community and a stain on the fabric of humanity. But cumulatively, over time, encountering that amount of pain and horror can leave one feeling a bit numb and resistant to encountering more.
Fortunately, it only took a few pages of reading to realize that Reichert’s approach to storytelling found a way to cut through the numbness. Yes, the book is about her dad, who was a 9 year old Hasidic Jewish boy living in Poland when Hitler’s reign turned the sweet world he knew into a nightmare. But Reichert, who was a young child in Canada when she first noticed the numbers tattooed on her father’s arm, also tells her own story—the one of a daughter growing up and searching to become herself in the Holocaust’s long shadow.
At its heart, How to Share an Egg is less a story of “the Holocaust,” and more a chronicle of how trauma passes through families from one generation to the next. It is about the weight of grief and how it weaves and shifts through time, but never disappears.
I recently had the chance to interview Reichert about her heartfelt, honest, and deeply relatable book (which I have already ordered copies of for multiple family members). She shared with me how she overcame her decades-long writers block around writing her dad’s story, about her family’s trauma-informed relationship to food, and her “spiritual mothers” in the food writing world.
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You write about your long term writer’s block around telling your dad’s story—and how a bowl of borscht you ate in Poland helped open the floodgates. What was it about that experience that finally allowed you to get his (and your) stories out?
I grew up knowing about the Holocaust, and my father told stories when I was little. He wasn’t secretive or unable to talk, but he turned his stories into what felt like fairytales. Then in the late 70s when I was a young teenager, I saw a miniseries about the Holocaust and it looked very different from what my father had presented. It was my first time seeing it all from the outside, and I lost the protectiveness he’d given me as I reconciled the two realities. I was basically terrified for the next 30 years.
I never wanted to go on a heritage trip to Poland or visit the camps. My dad always said, “I suffered enough, I don’t want you to suffer.” But then, several years ago, he heard there was a family tomb—it turned out to be his grandfather’s tomb—in a Jewish cemetery in Warsaw. And he changed his mind on a dime. So my mother, one of my sisters, and I went with him and we found his grandfather’s name etched in the stone. It was an incredible moment—to see this proof from his whole way of life before the war erased it all.
Afterward, we stopped at this bleak little restaurant that our guide found. It was raining outside and I had a headache and was absolutely done. Our guide ordered for us and out came these bowls of borscht. They were beautiful—transparent, red, cool, clear, and simple with a tray of chopped cucumber, boiled potatoes, sour cream, and fresh dill as garnishes. I was just stunned, I can still feel it. It’s not that I particularly loved borscht as a child, but it was so honest and pure. I thought all at once, “My own grandmother probably made borscht just like that in Poland.” I suddenly felt so connected and moved and realized that this heritage wasn’t just about the Holocaust. It was about everything that came before and after. It opened up something in me and when I came home I started to write.
That must have been really emotional to finally feel the floodgates open.
For so long I felt this conflict because I knew my dad wanted me to write a book about his story. But I knew that was impossible, and I had to find my own way in. Once I realized that the book actually needed to be a personal memoir with my family’s story wrapped around it, I wasn’t sure how he was going to feel about it. I felt anxious that he’d be disappointed or feel too exposed. But he said to me, “Nothing you could do could disappoint me. Do you know what unconditional love is?”
After that, I felt this huge lifting. I felt a lot of healing in creating this work, which is not a direct regurgitation of his experience, but a transformation. I worked his trauma through my own hands to turn it into something else.
You write about the dichotomy between your dad’s abundance-minded relationship with food as a Holocaust survivor-turned restaurateur and your mother’s closed off relationship to food. What was it like as a young person navigating those two poles?
It should have been confusing! My dad had his restaurants, which were a central part of our lives. And my maternal grandmother, who was part of running the family, cooked constantly. They both put energy into feeding and enjoying, and creating a sense of plenty. Meanwhile, my mom put her energy into trying to control food. She wanted to be thin, she wanted her children to be thin, and she wanted to eat modern food, not “Jewish food.” On Passover, Baba Sarah would make knaidlach and my mom would roast Cornish hens. We did not eat brisket in our house—that went too far for her. I think my mother had her own first generation trauma and found her mother, who was a very large woman, and her immigrant family status embarrassing. She wanted to ascend.
While the messages were very different, the consistent message from everyone was that food mattered. And somehow it all balanced out. My mom definitely had a disordered relationship to food, but none of my three sisters nor I do. It is kind of incredible, but it all balanced out—this need of my dad and grandmother to feed and my mom’s nervousness around food.
Your book shares some stylistic similarities to Ruth Reichl’s memoirs, and of course there’s the allusion to MFK Fischer’s book How to Cook a Wolf in your title. Can you talk about your influences for the memoir, and how their work inspired you?
I call these authors—Ruth Reichl, and MFK Fisher, and Elizabeth David, and Alice Waters, and Laurie Colwin—my spiritual mothers. Colwin was the first one I discovered more than 25 years ago. My husband came home with a copy of Home Cooking and that little book rocked my world. Food writing was still new as a concept, but once I understood it was a genre, I started looking for it. I bought another book called Clementine in the Kitchen that had a forward by Ruth Reichl, and I felt like she was speaking directly to me. I just freaked out at how cool they all were. I did not have a particularly strong relationship with my mother, so there was a lot of room for other mentors. So when I say that these women are my spiritual mothers, I really mean it. It’s like a conversation, and it has been really important to me.
How to Share an Egg, by Bonny Reichert, was published by Penguin Random House in January, 2025.
Ten Minute Lox Salad
This Ten Minute Lox Salad, which was shared with me by author Bonny Reichert, is one of those incredible “you-don’t-need-a-recipe” recipes that takes a few choice ingredients, mixes them together, and creates pure Jewish comfort. In her newsletter, Field & Pantry, Reichert writes about the dish’s origins:
“A slightly quirky kid with a distinct palate, I loved all varieties of tinned and smoked fish but did not enjoy bagels, which seemed bland and dry by comparison. So Dad created a dish, just for me; Lox Salad, we called it — juicy, cubed tomatoes; onions marinated to soften their bite; capers, and chunks of smoky lox, all dressed with a little oil, vinegar, salt and pepper.”
Reichert’s description is basically the recipe—a dish that is easy enough to make right now, if you’ve got everything on hand. I’ve shared a few clues here for how to put it together, but feel free to dress it up/down however you’d like. A bit of chopped fresh dill, lemon zest, and/or everything bagel spice would certainly not be out of place! Serve it alongside bagels (if they’re your thing), crackers (if they’re not), and a bit of cream cheese for schmearing.
Serves 1 (scale up or down as desired)
Thinly slice one-quarter of a small yellow onion. Place it in a bowl and top the slices with a couple of splashes of white wine vinegar and water. Let sit for about 10 minutes, then drain.
While the onions are marinating, halve a handful of cherry tomatoes and cut a piece or two of lox into bite-size pieces. Add both to a bowl along with a spoonful of capers and the drained onion slices.
Drizzle the bowl with olive oil and a bit more vinegar. Season with salt and pepper, toss, and serve immediately.
A Personal Account from a USAID Worker
Ten days ago, a friend shared a letter about losing her job at USAID in the wake of Elon Musk and Doge’s chaotic (and in many cases illegal) cuts to government funding. To be clear, I am *not* against the idea of rooting out waste and fraud in the government. But Trump and Musk’s actions are not good-intentioned. They are an attempt to further enrich themselves while putting Americans and people around the world in danger. These slash and burn cuts have had deeply painful, real-life consequences including:
Putting American farmers’ livelihoods in jeopardy.
Closing VA hospitals and cutting life-saving health services to America’s veterans.
Gutting the USDA Forest Service—the very people responsible for being stewards to America’s national parks and managing forest fire prevention.
Making responding to the next pandemic (which could very well be around the corner) much harder.
With permission, I am sharing a condensed version of my friend’s letter below. I’ve kept her name confidential, but can attest that she is an incredibly bright, hard working, ethical, and good hearted person. As she told me via email, “The Talmud teaches us, “Saving a life is as if you have saved the whole world.” I do this work because I'm a human. I do this work because I'm Jewish. Because the thought of people suffering, despite the great bounty available to others, is devastating to me. Because had my refugee great-grandparents not had the chance to immigrate, I would not be here today.”
Please take a moment to read her words. It is just one story (of thousands), but it brings to life the stupidity, chaos, and cruelty of Musk and Trump’s efforts. There is so much misinformation and propaganda flying around on social media, so these personal, eye-witness accounts are so important to witness and share. For more, The Daily just shared a new related podcast called: Inside the Trump Purge: Federal Workers Tell Their Stories.
“Feb 6, 2025
Dear Family and Friends,
By now you have likely heard in the news about the dismantling of the US Agency for International Development (USAID), my employer since 2020. We are currently witnessing in real time an unlawful seizure of power as Trump, in collaboration with an individual who was neither elected, confirmed, nor granted security clearance, destroys USAID.
USAID works on everything from education to water systems to renewable energy to democratization to assistance. I work specifically on the disaster and emergency side, within USAID’s Bureau for Humanitarian Assistance (BHA). Our mandate is to save lives and alleviate suffering.
The administration has repeatedly attacked our projects, claiming our allocations process is corrupt and irresponsible. The reality? In order to award a grant for humanitarian assistance, we conduct a multi-month review process. I am personally responsible for upwards of $70 million in humanitarian assistance. Please believe me when I say I take every precaution to ensure all laws are followed. Working in dangerous contexts, we are in touch with the Office of the Inspector General frequently, and audits of our work are expected. Failed audits have serious consequences.
In week one of the new administration, a pause was put on all foreign assistance. With limited guidance, we had to figure out what this meant for our work and for that of our partners. We were also instructed to report on colleagues working on DEIA initiatives within ten days, or face disciplinary action.
In week two, we were told to apply for a waiver to allow emergency assistance to keep flowing. We were also told we weren’t allowed to speak to colleagues at the Department of State. All of our contractors received stop work orders.
On Friday, January 31, AI appeared on all USAID devices without warning. It was understood that it was being used to record internal meetings and generate transcripts that would be FOIA-able and used against us, while employees navigated a black hole of guidance.
In the waning hours of week two, Musk sent his 19-24 year old acolytes to storm the USAID offices, demanding access to highly classified spaces. Musk’s small boys forced their way into these spaces and threatened to call the U.S. Marshals on the brave USAID security staff who tried to prevent them from entering. The senior USAID officials were then placed on administrative lead as Musk’s DOGE boys raided the space despite having absolutely no security clearance, permission to access, or right to be there.
In week three, all personal services contractors lost access to email and computers, with zero communication from the Agency. As of February 4, nearly all direct hires – career civil servants and foreign service officers – had also lost access to email and computers.
Why is Humanitarian Assistance Important?
Upon establishing USAID, President Kennedy explained that any cuts to aid “would be disastrous and, in the long run, more expensive. Our own security would be endangered and our prosperity imperiled.”
Humanitarian assistance is not perfect. In some ways it maintains neo-colonial systems, with an inherent power imbalance. It is also not a sustainable solution. Providing health care and emergency food assistance today does not guarantee a better tomorrow for beneficiaries. Systems that are broken too often remain broken.
But humanitarian assistance, complemented by stabilization, development, and democratization work, making use of the rest of USAID’s tool chest, has the possibility to change lives. Public-private partnerships help grow economies around the world while simultaneously bolstering American businesses. Aid efforts create economic reasons for potential migrants to stay at home. Aid saves lives by providing HIV, malaria, and TB medications. And governance initiatives can stem conflicts before they become violent.
USAID staff are currently on the ground in Kampala, Uganda, working to stop an emerging Ebola outbreak. The 2014-2015 Ebola outbreak in West Africa did not massively impact the US thanks to USAID’s work. Remember the panic in NYC in 2014 when just one case made it to the US? Yet USAID staff in Uganda no longer have access to their email; these are the people in charge of communicating with the White House, National Security Council, and CDC.
BHA staff are currently responding to the world’s most pressing crises: the war in Ukraine, the war and Famine in Sudan, the war in Gaza, the conflict in Yemen, and the Taliban takeover of Afghanistan. Our work to meet the needs of the most vulnerable is a vital step towards eventual peace; nowhere is this more true than in Gaza. The ceasefire deal, signed January 19, stipulates certain quantities of humanitarian assistance that must be brought into Gaza during phase one. If these aid commodities don’t make it into Gaza, the ceasefire deal will fail.
Humanitarian aid workers – myself included – receive extensive training for operating in dangerous contexts. I have been trained how to drive an armored vehicle, brace for a bomb, perform emergency trauma care on victims of a violent attack, and escape from a burning building. Many of my colleagues are former military who dedicate the same pride and integrity they exhibited during their military service to the work we do every day.
Soft power is vital to America’s safety and to the image of the US abroad. As former USAID Administrator Samantha Power said to Colbert on February 5, “USAID is on the frontlines of some of the hardest challenges our country faces and that some of the most vulnerable people in the world face.” She added that USAID is “an investment in our stability, in our security, in our alliances.
Whether you’re concerned about foreign aid or not, you should be concerned about unchecked power and the unlawful concentration of power in the executive.
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Update as of Feb 13:
A judge’s temporary restraining order has bought many of us another week. Now back on email, we are doing what we can to continue to deliver aid to the world's most vulnerable. A colleague described it yesterday as, "like working with a gun to our heads." I am prepared to lose my job within the week, along with thousands of my colleagues. But in the meantime, I will continue to follow three different codes of federal legal regulations as I work to safely shepherd your tax dollars to address the needs of the world's most vulnerable on behalf of the American people.”
You can follow the USAID Stop Work account on Instagram for up-to-the-minute information.
As a family with the legacy of Holocaust survivors, we understand Ms. Reichert's father's life built on nourishing others with plenty is a most healing and defiant act