When I woke up today May 14, 2023 and realized it was Mothers Day I first thought about my Mom, Claire Mazer and then for some unknown reason recalled the distinct aroma of her twice-baked made from scratch mandel bread (mandelbrot in Yiddish).

As a kid, the trials and tribulations of quasi-confinement at Camp Timberlane for Boys, a predominantly Jewish summer camp in Woodruff Wisconsin were mitigated by much anticipated parcel post deliveries of my Mom’s “care packages”, tightly wrapped aluminum foil-lined designer shoe boxes hermetically sealed and stuffed to the brim with a kosher salami, a handwritten letter and multiple plastic sandwich bags chock full of crumbly sugary-sweet almond and vanilla mandel bread. Not a bread, not a butterscotch blondie and certainly not a standard issue bakery good or Italian biscotti, I binged upon and then carefully hoarded my precious mondel throughout my stints at summer camp like a gluttonous t-shirted Greek God feasting on ambrosia among mere mortal campers. Then I shrewdly traded the leftover mandel slices to camp counselors and swim staff members to gain special favors like getting out of the “swim a whole lap” and “dive off the high diving board” mandatory test and the early morning bugle reveille call.

Honestly that almond and vanilla extract infused mondel bread with or without raisins was so good and lasted so long it was like having a sweet savory homemade dessert that doubled as legal tender like some edible transferable German bearer bond. Well, at least or until it went stale and lost its soft but crusty texture and flavor as well as 100% of its commercial trading value.

Sadly I returned the olfactory favor and my mother’s love by completely forgetting about a sickly tree frog I stuck in my yellow waterproof nylon raincoat’s side pocket for “safe keeping” on the last day of camp …which ended up stinking up our entire garage for a solid month after my return home. ADHD much? Thinking of a future career as a doctor I believe I intended to save the frog’s pitiful life and like my Mom provide him with unusual love, support and sustenance. Trust me, not so sweet or savory. My mother who eventually found the fossilized remains loved to tell my friends and current relationship partners the mostly putrid chapter of my summer camp story almost right up until she herself passed away in 2016 at 89 years young. I very much miss my Mom and her mandel bread and I still feel really bad about that terrible ending. I only wish the slippery slimy little guy could have gone to his Maker munching on a still soft heavenly morsel of my mother’s delicious mondelbrot.