Page 16 of The Hanukkah Hook-Up

Nora wasn’t kidding, Alex soon discovered. New York Jews did not mess around when it came to food, its proportions or its variety. Every level of the boat boasted a different culinary delight, with distinctions for every dietary restriction, religious or otherwise. The buffet tables groaned with a variety of dishes, from seasonal Hanukkah favorites to quintessential New York all-year-round traditions.

Alex didn’t know where to start first, what to try next. He followed Nora’s lead, loading plates of bite-sized items they could stroll with to the next area.

Sections were designed for maximum grazing and minimal lines. Groupings of tables were available if you wanted to nosh and socialize, never too far from the action. There were other bars, too – not just serving the specialty Hanukkah cocktails, which they had doubled back to for a refill, but wine, beer, non-alcoholic juicery options and even an egg cream bar.

“Is that a matzo ball soup station?”

Alex thought he had seen everything, but people were walking by with glass teacup-sized samplings with the fluffiest matzo balls he had ever seen bobbing on top, and well…he had to try.

But not before Nora pushed something past his lips that tasted all at once like home and heaven. Under the perfect golden fried layer was a delicate pasta that practically melted on the tongue, followed by a zing of cinnamon, sweet cheese and the tiniest crunch of apples. “It came to Talia in a dream,” she explained. “Fried Kugel Ravioli. Good, right?”

“Put it this way. If a plate of these fell overboard, my cousin Drew was drowning, and there was only one life preserver…” He laughed at his own dumb analogy, and the imagery of a plate of kugel bobbing in the East River.

Warmed by the food now filling their bellies, they ventured back out onto one of the heated decks. Just as Nora had pointed out famous landmarks, she began discretely pointing out celebrity passengers, squeezing his arm each time as they walked by.

“The Matzo Baller is infamous for a lot of things, but one of the coolest is the impromptu ‘sessions’ that might happen, given the guest list,” she explained. “You just never know who is climbing on board with you. That’s why no two Ballers are ever the same.”

They ducked back into the ballroom in time to catch a stand-up bit by an up-and-coming comedienne Alex had recently seen on a streaming special, and a karaoke performance by an actor known for a singular superhero role, who brought an impressive “One Day” by Matisyahu in the back lounge. It didn’t seem to matter if they had three or one-hundred-and-three people watching them, it was just part of the night’s fun.

“How long has Jay been doing this?” Alex marveled, stuffing some of the larger bills he carried into one of the manytzedakahboxes near the talent. “He makes it look so effortless.”

“Six years of actual cruises, but it grew out of his desire to gather all eight of us together once a year, after we got back from Israel. That’s been the hardest part, sadly. Like herding stray cats.”

A flurry of activity across the room caught her eye. Catering staff were rolling out carts of desserts that looked as height-defying as the champagne tower. A redhead in a chef’s coat was directing them. “We’re all well-fed strays, at least,” she murmured. “Talia ensures that.”

Sure enough, a tray was set within their reach by a young waiter. “Sufganiyot Croquembouche,” the kid pronounced slowly, “with sour cherry cream.”

“If you mean fried donuts fused together by caramel, I am all for it.” Nora wiggled the top donut off the pile, and then a second one, sending a sprinkling of powdered sugar down her arm. The rest of the tower stayed intact, its structure bolstered by maraschino cherries filling in the holes and a halo of spun caramel candy floss. But Alex had the feeling the tower would soon be breached, as more party guests descended.

“Not the ideal first date food.” She gasped a laugh after a perfect swirl of jelly and pastry cream rocketed out as she bit down. Alex decided to conquer his in one bite, making her laugh even harder. “We’ve come a long way since Maureen from the Sales department’s yule log.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Origin stories AND office party dessert fails don’t count as shop talk, agreed?”

“Depends…does this count as a first date, Ruben?” He arched a brow at her.

“What happens on the Baller, stays on the Baller, Beckman. And seeing as I lured you on here with my all-access pass…”

Her grin absolutely untethered him. There was definitely something about being out to sea that made anything happening on the mainland seem very far away in comparison.

They checked out the lower cabin areas, where Jay was engaged in what appeared to be a high-limit table game of dreidel. Ladies hung off his powder-blue tux, like they were on a casino floor in Vegas. Shouts and cheers erupted.

“Jews and gentiles, he rose out of JCC basement tournaments to take the title of two-time Major League Dreidel champion of the WORLD!”

“That’s our friend Jonah,” Nora explained, pointing out a tall guy in a loud-patterned suit who was making it rain, gelt-style. “He’s from New Jersey. Or as he would say: NewJewsey. Total mensch. He comes every year without fail.”

“And Avi Wolfson?”

Alex hadn’t glimpsed the singer again since his appearance during the candle lighting. But the embrace Nora and the others had shared with him definitely signified he was within their inner circle and they in his.

“Twenty gelt coins says Baltimore’s boy wonder will be crooning into a mic by the end of the night,” Nora smiled. “Even on Shabbat, Avi can’t stay too idle for too long.”

They settled on one of the low leather couches lining the perimeter of the cabin. Open windows above their heads brought in cool breezes from the lower deck, and it was dimly lit, set back from the side of the room where the games were going on.

“You like to make bets, don’t you, Ruben?”

“A pact is different from a bet, Beckman. But if you want to add stakes to make it more appealing…”

“I already find you very, very appealing, Nora.”

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