Thank you for your forbearance during last month’s hiatus. I’m back now and we’re off to the races. We’re heading into late summer and if you’re anything like me, that’s high time for a “píknik” (picnic), a “barbekyú” (barbecue), or a “féldvarmes” (cookout). We can fire up the “brót-reshotke” (grill) and eat a “hámburger,” for example, which we might also call a “gehákter kotlét” (literally, chopped cutlet) or even a “frikadéle” (frikadelle) if it’s small and spicefully seasoned. Or we might sample a “vurshtl” (hot dog), if that’s your thing.
But in Yiddish, the “gevírtsn” (condiments) are where the action is. First, I need only mention “kétshop” (ketchup or catsup, depending on your preference) because it was not a traditional condiment in Jewish eastern Europe, so there’s not a great deal of idiomatic depth to work with. Next comes mustard. One can use the Germanic “zéneft” or the Slavic “górtshitse” or the Romance “mushtárde.” Despite the synonymy, there is similarly little by way of idioms incorporating mustard. On the subject of “górtshitse” I will only mention the derivative “gortshítshnik” (mustard plaster), the poultice of mustard powder that was used as a folk remedy for a number of ailments.
Much more can of course be said about the humble “tsíbele” (onion). This was a ubiquitous part of the culinary landscape and therefore of the linguistic one as well. Most often, the onion was a token of paltriness. So, for example, “es iz nit vert keyn tsíbele” (it’s not worth an onion) means it’s not worth a lick. A “tsíbele gánev” (literally, onion thief) is how one would refer to a petty thief. Other uses are more figurative in nature. While one can say “krokodíl-trern” for crocodile tears, one can also say “tsíbele-trern” (onion tears). A “bítere tsíbele” (bitter onion) is the Yiddish word for a killjoy. And perhaps my favorite: “gándz-tsíbele” (literally, goose-onion) is one of quite a few different words for daisy.
The prize for the greatest variety, however, goes to “ésik” (vinegar), which I have heard tell is sometimes used on “frítlekh” (french fries), but that may just be a peculiar myth. Among the culinary uses of vinegar is to make “ésikfleysh” (sauerbraten), an acquired taste to be sure but one which I have readily acquired. Beyond the culinary, one of the primary uses of “ésik” is as an intensifier with certain kinds of subjects. Most often this comes in the phrase “mit ésik” (with vinegar). So, for example, a “shlimázl mit ésik” is not just a shlimazel but a person who is utterly and irredeemably incompetent. A “fayg” refers to a fig, but is also used colloquially to mean “nothing.” So “a fayg mit ésik” means “zilch, nada.” The verb “fírzogn” means to utter or express, but is most often used to refer to things that are false or deceptive. So the expression “fírzogn a shmúe” means to pass along a rumor. To up the ante, “fírzogn a shmúe mit ésik” means “to talk absolute nonsense.”
But the fun doesn’t stop there. Given the summer we’ve had, all of us have had some experience of dripping with sweat. A more intense version of that would be “bodn zikh in ésik” (literally, to bathe in vinegar), meaning to be utterly exhausted and drenched in sweat. One can say “es brent ésik” (literally, it’s burning vinegar), but in this case it doesn’t refer to the heat. Rather, it’s an expression used when witnessing something wondrous.
The final set of examples comes from the realm of fashion. The verb for getting (or being) dressed is “ónton zikh.” But if I said “zi hot zikh óngeton in ésik un in hónik” (literally, she was dressed in vinegar and honey) it means she was dressed to the nines. One can also make the metaphor a little more literal by saying “zi is áyngemarinírt in ésik un in hónik” (literally, she is marinated in vinegar and honey), but the meaning is pretty much the same. That’s why the expression goes “kokh a nar in ésik un in hónik, blaybt er alts a nar” — if you cook a fool in vinegar and honey, he’s still always going to remain a fool. In other words, dress him up as pretty as you want, a fool’s still a fool.
Finally, there are some truths that transcend culture. “Mit hónik ken me khapn mer flign vi mit ésik” — you can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar. It’s a verity I have drummed into my kids for years: it costs you nothing to be nice. A condiment of wisdom, if you will (or even, like vinegary french fries, if you won’t).
Enjoy the rest of the summer’s cookouts and culinary treats. And as always, “léyent gezúnterhéyt” — read it in good health.
Please send Yiddish questions to: yiddishcolumn@americanisraelite.com.