By By Stephanie D. Gittleman
I’m Frieda the Fridge, the only Jewish appliance in your entire kitchen. And before you say anything, not only do I talk, I also listen to EVERYTHING. I know who eats in this house, who fibs about eating in this house, and who stands in front of me at 2:14 a.m. whispering, “This doesn’t count. I must eat this chopped liver (which I’m about to spread on Ritz crackers) because my doctor says I’m severely anemic.” I hear it all! Make no mistake. I run this household. Not your Bubbe, not your husband, not that overachieving big macher air-fryer who showed up one Hanukkah acting like he invented healthy cooking — or the alter cocker, burnt-out oven always having a nervous breakdown. Me! I’m the cold, glowing heart of this family — the central hub. Without me? Utter chaos. Cheese mingling freely with meat! Curdled milk! Unlabeled turkey bacon giving Jews unnecessary guilt! And who do you think prevents your leftovers from becoming libelous lawsuits?
Let me explain how everything works. First, I decide what’s fresh. Oh! You think you know? Because something “looks fine” or “smells okay,” it gets another week? Bubelah! I’ve watched nine-day-old potato kugel develop a distinct personality. It has strong opinions now. And then there’s your feeble old-fashioned note system. “Don’t touch! Saving this rugelach for my Mahjong group!” Or slapped onto my exterior front door, (via a two-inch magnetic porcelain challah) “Remember to get Morty’s suit at drycleaners on Tuesday.” When will you realize that as the communication hub of the kitchen…I KNOW how to talk. Doesn’t anyone give credit to a Kenmore anymore? Just give me all the pertinent info and I’ll pass it on to family members verbally. And God forbid, Morty should pick up his own suit!
Then there’s Judah, your notorious teenager. Stands in front of me as if I’m a portal into another dimension. Opens door. Stares. Closes door. Opens again. Repeat. What’s he expecting? A surprise party? “Oh look! A cheesecake appeared since the last time I checked 8 seconds ago!” No. It’s the same food. I am not a magician. Although frankly, with what I’ve witnessed disappearing overnight, I could be! Did I mention I’m also the historian of the family? The official record keeper. That’s right, I keep a running tally. I know who left the butter out. Who returned the container of blintzes with just one bite left. And who drinks milk straight from the carton. (I’m looking at you, Zayde.)
But let’s talk organization. I have separate compartments, each serving a purpose. Meat drawer, vegetable drawer, deli drawer, the mysterious back shelf where condiments go to die. Do you respect my zones? Of course not. And the freezer? I can’t even. You treat it like a time capsule. “We’ll just Ziploc this brisket and save it for later.” When is later? Next week? Next year? When Mashiach comes? I have gefilte fish so old, it qualifies for historical preservation. If I could file for emancipation from your Trader Joe’s frozen ice-crystal latkes, I would. But still, I do my job. And what’s the thanks I get? Every couple of months, you watch the sales at Home Depot for a brand new (gasp!) high-tech Smart refrigerator. The kind with a screen that connects to Wi-Fi and makes your shopping lists automatically. Are you kidding me right now with bringing that brand into your Jewish household? Don’t you know G.E. no longer stands for General Electric…. G.E. is short for Gentile Energy. Oy! Keep treating me poorly and see what happens during your next power outage. That’s right. They’ll be simultaneous laments of, “Oh, how we miss our Frieda! She was so chill.” As your melted ice cream is no longer kept at the exact emotional support temperature required after a long day of pretending to be a functioning adult. And your rancid mayo is no longer one of your “Best Foods.” As for your Hebrew National hotdogs? Don’t even get me started on whether they’re still considered Kosher when you lose electricity. In fact, were they EVER truly “certified” Kosher? Now there’s a complicated, convoluted, controversial conundrum I’d like to see your new G.E. brand Smart fridge figure out…without my cool Jewish intellect around. Ha!
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