To celebrate Purim, I went Hamentashen-hunting.
I first went to my favorite source, a bakery that recently reopened after being closed for several months and changing ownership. I was curious how my beloved Hamentash would fare.
I called to make sure they had Hamentashen on hand. Then I put one on reserve. It was a lot like putting a book on reserve. All I had to say was, I’d like to put a prune raisin Hamentashen on hold, please.
At the bakery, I saw familiar items on display–chocolate chip cookies, muffins, loaves of bread, and Hamentashen. Before the store changed hands, the Hamentashen was huge. Since then, it had shrunk.
I gave my name to the clerk, who gave it the baker, who said she wanted to give me one from the batch fresh from the oven. What a relief: it was twice as big as those in the case and as good as I remembered. I loved the triangular pastry with the prune raisin mixture.
Buoyed by my success, I continued my quest yesterday by going to a new source. A couple of months ago, I had stopped to admire a window display full of scrumptious-looking layer cakes and chocolate pastries; the inside case showed off even bigger Hamentash than my favorite source. I couldn’t wait to try them, especially since the clerk said they were baked daily.
When I called, the man said he had one prune Hamentash left.
Was it meant to be?
As soon as I took it out of the bag, it crumbled in my hand. One piece flew through the air, almost landing on the sidewalk, but thank goodness for my remarkable dexterity, which caught it in the nick of time and popped it in my mouth for safekeeping.
Baked that morning? More likely, several mornings ago. Maybe even last Purim!
The taste of stale Hamentashen still lingering, I raced to catch the next bus, braving traffic and endless stops, for Fresh Hamentashen. The store I had in mind was, I thought, on the corner where I got off, but it had disappeared. I returned downtown and consoled myself with a French dark chocolate truffle, infused with ginger.
Later I searched online for my missing bakery. I discovered I had the wrong name and location.
How crumby!
Notes from the cupcake rescue league 
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