The Mystery of the Missing Poppy Seed Filling: Part 2
From her car, hands still resting on the steering wheel, Barbara opened her phone. The synagogue WhatsApp group waited there, its familiar stream of messages offering a fragile sense of connection.
Her fingers moved quickly. “Has anyone seen poppy seed filling at Kroger?”
The replies arrived almost instantly. And with each message — Hyde Park empty, Blue Ash barren, Kenwood offering no trace — the unease deepened. The panic had only set in on Barbara, but now to the entire Mahjong group.
Some mentioned Barbara to contact Lisa – the synagogue caterer. Lisa, it turned out, had ordered the poppy seed filling weeks earlier on Amazon.
This revelation produced in Barbara a complicated mixture of emotions. She loved Lisa. Everyone loved Lisa. Lisa had catered Asher’s bris, an event Barbara still regarded as one of the synagogue’s more successful social triumphs. In fact, Barbara privately maintained — with complete sincerity — that Lisa’s current position within the synagogue was due, in no small part, to Barbara herself, who had years earlier “strongly encouraged” the hiring decision.
Barbara, emboldened by Lisa’s direction, turned immediately to Amazon, where she located the very same Solo poppy seed filling. Relief lasted only seconds before giving way to fresh alarm.
The listing required a minimum purchase of six cans. Six.
Barbara stared at the screen, her mind racing. What, precisely, was one expected to do with six cans of poppy seed filling? Even accounting for Purim’s generous baking requirements, this quantity suggested some deeply questionable decision-making.
Naturally, Barbara presented the dilemma to the WhatsApp group.
“Would anyone like to split an Amazon order?” The silence that followed spoke volumes. Eventually, a response appeared.
Debbie. Barbara sighed.
Debbie was not, strictly speaking, objectionable, yet she possessed certain habits Barbara found deeply troubling — most notably her tendency to bring frozen bagels to Mahjong brunches. Frozen. Bagels. Barbara had long regarded this behavior as a quiet but unmistakable commentary on Debbie’s standards. Barbara could not possibly enter into a joint culinary venture under such conditions.
After the lack of response, Barbara rejected the Amazon option entirely. But she had a new plan.
Barbara reached back out to Lisa, confident that affection, history, and shared synagogue politics would yield a more sensible solution. Would Lisa set aside a can for her?
Lisa’s reply arrived swiftly. The poppy seed filling had been used. All of it. Lisa had already baked the synagogue’s hamantaschen.
Barbara felt the room tilt.
Stress, arriving now in full force, triggered the unmistakable onset of a hot flash. She lowered herself carefully onto the couch, fanning her face while contemplating the catastrophic implications. No filling. No cookies. No Mishloach Manot. No photograph on Facebook.
This was no longer inconvenience. This was collapse. In a state of mounting distress, Barbara dialed Julie.
Julie — Asher’s mother, Barbara’s daughter-in-law, and frequent participant in Barbara’s ongoing commentary regarding child-rearing decisions — answered cheerfully, unaware of the emotional storm she was about to inherit.
Barbara, already sobbing, began recounting the tragedy in exhaustive detail. Kroger. The stockboy. The manager, Mike. Lisa. And Debbie.
Somewhere in the background, Jonathan, Barbara’s husband, attempted to intervene.
“For heaven’s sake, Barbara, you’re being dramatic,” he said. “We’ll just buy the premade hamantaschen.”
Barbara gasped audibly. Premade? Store-bought? Grandma Ida’s recipe reduced to plastic clamshell packaging? The suggestion was intolerable.
“Why don’t you just make apricot,” Jonathan continued, displaying what Barbara considered deeply alarming judgment.
Apricot. Barbara’s sobbing intensified. Is this what her life was reduced to? Making apricot Hamantaschen?
Apricot was not merely a substitute; it was an insult. They were a poppy seed household. For 100 years, the women in her family had passed down Grandma Ida’s famous Poppyseed Hamantaschen. Kroger had just ruined her 100 year old family tradition. And Jonathan’s solution was apricot?
“Honestly,” Barbara cried into the phone, “sometimes I worry Jonathan is developing early Alzheimer’s.”
Julie, still listening, attempted repeatedly to interject, though Barbara — committed fully to both emotional expression and narrative completion — did not give a moment of air time to Julie. Only after Jonathan apologized, muttering something about unreasonable expectations, did Julie finally seize an opening.
“I actually saw poppy seed filling at Meijer,” Julie said cautiously. “I picked up two cans so the kids could bake at home, just in case you were too busy this year.”
Barbara froze. Too busy?
Barbara had baked hamantaschen every Purim for decades. There had been years with illness, years with travel, years with kitchen renovations of questionable duration. Yet never — never — had Barbara been “too busy.” Julie, realizing her error, immediately recalibrated.
“I mean, of course you’re not too busy,” she added quickly. “I just thought it might be helpful.”
Barbara, mollified but not entirely appeased, accepted Julie’s apology with dignified restraint.
“Fine,” Barbara said. “Send the cans with Asher on Sunday.”
Then, remembering her prior grievances, she continued.
“And please wipe him down before he arrives. Last time he had cream cheese everywhere. The chairs were a disaster. I’m still cleaning from the last time he came over.”
Julie agreed. Extra clothes would be packed. Asher would be inspected. No chairs would get cream cheese stains.
After hanging up, Barbara experienced the profound calm that accompanies solving a major crisis for the Cincinnati Jewish Community. The filling had been located. Tradition preserved. Social equilibrium restored.
Returning to the WhatsApp group, Barbara delivered the news. “I found poppy seed filling at Meijer. They have plenty. Wonderful store. Go there.”
One replied, “Ooh, I love Meijer. I definitely need to make a trip out there.” Another, “they just have the best selection of birthday cards, love Meijer.” And Debbie, “Thanks Barbara, can’t wait to see you all next week at Mahjong. I’ll bring the bagels.”
But Barbara didn’t let Debbie get to her this time. She had just solved the mystery of the missing poppy seed filling. Now everyone in Cincinnati would know where to go last minute to get their can of Solo poppy seed filling. All thanks to Barbara.
As she left for her workout, Barbara’s phone buzzed. Another message from her Whatsapp group. Kroger had stopped carrying Paw Patrol yogurt. Barbara stopped walking. “Oh, absolutely not.”
