Noshing: The art of the surprise bowl

A snack hack I learned from the one of the best.

Welcome to Noshing, the newest series of Oy Vey It’s A Food Newsletter.

It’s still about food, of course, but it’s a deviation from the lengthy news summations, sardonic commentary, and heated Kvetch Sesh essays you’ve come to know and love me for.

Or, at least, know me for.

Noshing is where I’m encouraging myself to rediscover my love of writing and my love of romanticizing food.

My hope for this series is to lean into the stories, memories, and feelings that—long before academia, annotated bibliographies, and peer-reviewed research—food has always held for me.

The title, Noshing, comes from the word nosh.

Nosh (NAHSH) | v. To snack or eat. | n. A snack.

Comes from Yiddish— נאַשן nashn— nibble (on); eat (sweets)'

The inspiration for the first edition of Noshing came from a list of food prompts by

Dianne Jacob

titled, “Need a reason to write?”

Specifically, prompt #4, “Which food is a symbol of your childhood?”

Dianne advises writers to, “Allow yourself to write whatever comes up.”

So that’s exactly what I did.

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The art of the surprise bowl

I always like to have something sweet after dinner.

Sometimes it’s dates with peanut butter, a piece of dark chocolate, or some fruit.

But more often than not, I want something sweet and salty, like popcorn with chocolate chips. Or I want sour candy, or ice cream with lots of chunky mix-ins. If I have the energy, I love to make a batch of chocolate chip cookies. In the winter, I won’t say no to a mug of hot chocolate—preferably with marshmallows.

Sometimes, when I don’t feel like baking or we’re just low on groceries and I’m too comfy to run across the street to our neighborhood market, I’ll root around in our pantry and put a bunch of random things into a bowl.

I learned this little snack hack from my mom. She always called it a surprise bowl.

My mom would bring over little pastel-colored plastic bowls with different emotive faces printed on them to my brother and me as we watched a movie or America’s Funniest Home Videos from our giant, faded green couch. The bowls would have a mishmash of things inside and no matter what she combined, it was always perfect.

And, it was always a surprise.

Now, when rummaging through my own cupboards, it’s tough to surprise myself. But to this day, I consider whatever mishmash of snacks I find to be a surprise bowl.

My most recent surprise bowl

For the past few weeks, my surprise bowls have been some combination of chocolate chips, popcorn, crinkle cut salted potato chips, raisins, and peanut butter pretzels.

Each time Ginny hears me open the peanut butter pretzel bag, she’ll come sit right at the edge of the kitchen, waiting expectantly. Peanut butter pretzels are one of her favorite snacks, and even if she’s fast asleep on my bed she’ll wake up the second my hand touches that particular plastic bag.

Once Ginny gets a pretzel, I go sit with my not-such-a-surprise bowl. It rests on the arm of my couch, in my apartment. As I reach into the bowl I get a flash of memories— the surprise bowls of my childhood.

Faintly, my mom, smiling, comes into my mind’s eye. She’s handing my brother and me our little plastic bowls. I can feel myself supported by the weight of the green couch, the cushions dipping slightly as she passes me mine and comes to sit with us.

A bittersweet feeling rises in my chest.

The duality of a fond memory and a pang of melancholy creates a portal. An offering to my childhood self and present adult self of a moment to connect. In one sense, it’s a fleeting experience. In another, it’s always present, ready to be summoned as soon as I toss some snacks into a bowl.

As the memory plays briefly in my mind the feeling expands in my chest. I can see and feel my mom’s love and care. She did everything with love, and I always felt it. She still does, and I still do.

That’s probably why the pang hits so deeply.

Then I inevitably get sucked into whatever show we’re currently bingeing. Scrolling on my phone with one hand and using my other for snacking.

The bowl is soon empty.

And the memory disappears.

Until the next surprise bowl.

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