MIDDLE EASTERN EASTER MOMENTS IN OREGON

How you see your middle eastern Easter moments reveal your true self. Do you like it?

If you’ve been to a big box store, you know the drill.

Get a huge cart, fill it up, pack it into your car and go home.

This was one of those trips to Costco. Nothing unusual. At first.

The pre-Easter food run included lamb.

“Should we cook chicken or lamb for Easter?”

“Chicken. We’ve got chicken, let’s cook chicken.”

“Right, but I want bone-in lamb and there’s only one place to get it.”

Right away I knew we weren’t doing a chicken Easter. It would be more a middle eastern Easter.

“I know a middle eastern market with a butcher shop just off Hwy 99. There’s a middle eastern restaurant next door.”

Since we skipped the traditional Costco hotdog deal for $1.50, food sounded good.

The big problem was timing.

The middle eastern market where we’d find a bone-in leg of lamb for our middle eastern Easter was closed.

The sign on the door said it would open after prayer. Since it was afternoon they would re-open in ten or fifteen minutes. So we waited.

My upper back felt tight. I did a stretching routine in the parking lot, the one where you put your hands together straight out in front of you and turn side to side.

In the window I looked like I was dropping into a pistol shooting stance with my hands in front.

Not a good look for a middle eastern Easter moment. I lowered my hands and looked around slowly.

Other cars had pulled in to wait for the store to open while I stretched. I couldn’t tell if I was feeling awkward or politically correct, so I sat in my car.

Once the doors opened everyone came in. Some were wearing their prayer clothing, beautiful robes and hoods in bright colors.

I was impressed to see so many middle eastern people in full gear, but wondered why I hadn’t noticed anyone before.

The butcher had his cabinets and tables in the back left corner with a huge side of beef laid out for chopping.

Legs of lamb sat in the windowed cooler cabinets. One looked like a big drumstick, another looked like the back quarter of sheep.

Women placing their orders started arguing who was first in line. The butcher settled it when he pointed to one of them.

The lady not chosen kept complaining. The butcher told her to wait her turn.

“You cannot talk to me like that,” she said.

Since everyone spoke English I wondered who’d been so insulted. I also wondered why everyone spoke English.

The offended lady kept up a low monologue of complaint, which often leads to explaining to a husband, which leads to husband asking, “Why did you speak to my wife in such a way?”

I stepped back waiting for my turn, feeling a little funny at the idea of keeping a safety zone. Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi character would have fit right in.

My wife asked about the leg of lamb in the cooler.

From thekitchn.com:

The slaughter of a halal animal is called “zabihah” and there are certain guidelines to follow:

• Allah’s (God’s) name must be pronounced during slaughter.
• The instrument must be very sharp to ensure humane slaughter. The animal must be slit at the throat.
• The animal must not be unconscious
• The animal must be hung upside down and allowed to bleed dry. Eating blood is not halal.
• These steps must be accomplished by a Muslim or the People of the Book (Christian or Jew.) Many observant Muslims find kosher meat acceptable.
• The animal must have been fed a natural diet that did not contain animal by-products.

We cruised the store for Easter gifts, which seemed sort of daring, like an undercover operation, before going next door to the middle eastern restaurant.

So far, so good.

A few tables held two men each with a curtained room in back. Six middle eastern men came in and headed behind the curtains.

A waiter brought two plates and set them at a table for two. The plates were piled with rice, one with a steak on top, the other half a chicken.

One of the men sent it back.

The waiter brought back a platter holding all the rice with a steak on one end, chicken on the other. The guys both ate from the same plate.

I looked at another table and saw the same thing, two guys eating rice with their hands. One of them caught me looking. I smiled my sweetest.

This was a middle eastern Easter moment in Oregon and I liked it. As the only non-middle eastern man in the room I soaked it it.

No plates? No silverware? Fewer dishes to wash in a culture that sets a table for two with enough knives and forks and plates for ten.

A pillow lounge in back to relax after dinner? I’m there.

A trip to Costco turned into a middle eastern Easter moment in a Portland suburb.

What could be better? The leg of lamb was great on Sunday.

Please share comments on your middle eastern moments in your town.