Confessions of a compulsive recommender

I really love a saying, and as soon as a “saying situation” pops up for me, I shout it out loud.

I’ll take the first parking spot I see, three blocks from where I am heading, because a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than catching up with a friend over a walk rather than a coffee, as I’ve killed two birds with one stone, and is there anything better than 10,000 steps and socialising? At the same time! 

Back in the day, when I was of the dating (i.e “marriageable”) age, my mother would say her favourite Yiddish saying, Itlekhs tepl gefint zikh zayn dekl which I repeated for years (and still say) as “there’s a teppel for every dekkel”. A lid for every pot. Someone for everyone. Hope for all, so good!

I mean I’m not alone here, right? Who doesn’t love a saying, especially when it can be used in everyday life? 

There is one that I use the most, more than any, my favourite of all: “Plant expectations, reap disappointment.” The premise is simple. When you expect something to be excellent (or delicious, riveting, hilarious or unparalleled) and it’s not, you will inevitably be disappointed. It happens to all of us at one time or another. Some more than others. In every part of life. From the trivial to the serious, from the personal to the generic.

If you’re the type of person who generally has high expectations or if something comes highly recommended, the enjoyment of the experience is at risk.

Let’s start with you. Are you the type of person who generally has high expectations in life? 

My (late) dad always used to say, “not bad”. How are you, Dad? Not bad. How was your lunch? Not bad. How are you feeling? Not bad. Does that mean his expectation of everything was that it was going to be bad, so he was pleasantly surprised when it wasn’t? Is that a Jewish thing?

No high expectations there, and perhaps very little disappointment. (The exception to this was when he had cooked us voosht and eggs in which case he would say to me “wasn’t that absolutely delicious, darling?”)

On the other hand, are you someone who makes it hard for themselves and sets their own high expectations? I am married to one of those. My lid. When I ask Danny, let’s say, how dinner was at some new restaurant, he might say “it wasn’t amazing” or “not outstanding”. Why is his expectation always so high? Why can’t the expectation be that it’s “just” good or delicious? Expectation here most often leads directly to disappointment. 

This is where I come into it. Recommendations exacerbate the problem, and it seems I am a compulsive recommender. 

When the Israeli TV series Shtisl first came to Australia, I became completely obsessed, to say the least. To everyone who crossed my path, I urged, “you must watch it, it is outstanding, an incredible insight into the Haredi world, such a good story and the main guy Akiva Shtisl will change your mind about many things!” (Don’t get me started on the Jerusalem Kugel which, because of the show, I also became obsessed with, and it is in our fourth book, Now for Something Sweet).

A couple of my friends watched the show and reported back, “it was ok”. Why was it just ok? The main reason is the huge expectations I set up, and the show didn’t - it actually couldn’t - live up to the hype I had created. Maybe it wasn’t their preferred type of show, maybe they were not in the mood for subtitles (no dozing off possible!) or maybe they just hated Shulem Shtisl, the combative patriarch. My point is, though, that if they had randomly found the show, there was a greater chance that they would have enjoyed it.

I love nothing more than giving a food recommendation. I think it’s in my genes. Food is important to us and getting it right and eating the best we can find is entrenched. The American comedian Milton Berle once said, “anytime a person goes into a delicatessen and orders a pastrami on white bread, somewhere a Jew dies”. I feel it is my duty to anyone I come across who is about to eat at, for example, Katz’s in New York to ensure that they know to order pastrami on rye (and don’t forget the coleslaw and Russian dressing.)

If, for example, you tell me you’re going to Paris, I’ll say “whatever you do, just make sure you go to Du Pain des Idees patisserie for a sacristain”. I will then describe an extraordinary, perfectly puffed puff pastry, twisted and rolled, baked until deep golden so you bite into perfectly doughy slightly chewy layers alternating with buttery crisp-edged layers of pastry, brought together with baked-in creme patissiere (a light custard) alongside swathes of glistening coarse sugar for sweetness and crunch. If I tell you all that, you’re bound to be disappointed. Should I have rather just said, “the sacristain is worth trying?”

It’s mainly food that I love to recommend but I do get carried away with podcasts, books and TV series from time to time. I will always use my best endeavours to ensure you try the “most perfect silky, flavoursome kreplach in the world” at Balaclava Deli in Melbourne and the most unique, fluffy yeasted cheese hamantashen (with streusel!) at Bianca’s in Sydney.

As well as these, I can urge you to listen to the “most riveting podcast ever” at SamHarris.org on jihad (and I’ll even send a link) and to read Everyone and Everything by Nadine J.Cohen, a beautiful, funny and emotionally charged story of a young Jewish woman’s life in Sydney. 

I simply want others to share the same joys and memorable experiences that I have had. Unfortunately, there is an issue with all these enthusiastic recommendations. 

Imagine you do follow one of my recommendations and love it. What a joy for you! But it is also a real win for me. Straight out nachas. On the flip side of the same coin, if you don’t think it’s outstanding, for whatever reason, I will indeed be sad. You see it’s not only the “recomendee” (yes, that is a made-up word, but I think it works!) who is disappointed. Have some sympathy for me, the recommender, who is equally despondent for failing at this one important task. Oy.

So, what to do? The problem I see is that having expectations in the lead up to things is without a doubt a solid part of the enjoyment. Anticipation in itself is a joyous state. For me, sharing my best experiences with others is also utterly joyous. 

Should I stop recommending with exuberance? Should I temper my enthusiasm? Or should I keep going and be prepared for your dissatisfaction and my inevitable dismay when you don’t love what I love. While you ponder that, let me tell you about an incredible cholent recipe I recently discovered...