Chopped Liver & Celery Soda for Steve

My friend Steve Pearlman died last week. Steve made me (and a thousand other people) laugh. Losing him makes me cry, and remembering him makes me feel lucky.

Steve and I met at a wastewater conference in 2005. We both sat in the back row; I because I am an inveterate introvert; Steve because he was decidedly not. Before the speaker began what I’m sure was a thrilling exegesis on nutrient loading, Steve and I somehow began talking about music*, and discovered a mutual love of Joni Mitchell**.  Although ostensibly we did not disrupt the ensuing PowerPoint presentation, for the next thirty minutes, a piece of conference-hotel-supplied note paper flew back and forth between us:

“Sarah MacLachlan?”

“Yes. The Killers?”

“?? Alanis?”

“Ew, no. Listen to The Killers. V. good.”

“Deep Purple?”

“Musical gymnastics. Soundtrack of every 15 y.o. in Guitar Center. Spoon?”

“Listen to Deep Purple. No Spoon. Eva Cassidy?”

“YES! Love Eva.”

It went on, and we revisited a similar version of this exchange at three future wastewater conferences a year, often interspersed with Jane Austen references or dialog from Buffy. Steve also introduced me to Joan of Arcadia, Veronica Mars, and the Ralph Macchio flick Crossroads.

*Yeah, I know: at some point every conversation with me is about music.

**While I considered my love for Joni to be quite deep, I had nothing on Pearlman. His Grand Canyon-scale Joni love made my Blue-centric attention look like Mary’s Creek in Benbrook, Texas. As with everything else he loved, his was the real deal.

At one of our regular sewer meetings in Washington DC, Steve and I discovered a mutual love of Dr. Brown’s Cel-Ray soda. We decided to grab a couple of other rebels, skip out on that evening’s conference reception and head to a Jewish deli on the opposite side of town. I had a Rueben, Steve had chopped liver, and we both drank a Cel-Ray. That evening Steve told stories of growing up in New York in his family’s deli, of his mother’s devotion to the Yankees (listened to every Yankees game on the radio until the day she died), and of how—when his father went to work at a pajama factory—he used to give his teachers pajamas as holiday gifts. He also told the story of meeting his wife, Nancy, while they both attended a party where he was reading an Immanuel Velikovsky book*.

*This freaked me out because my husband is the only other person I have ever known who has read Velikovsky.

Soon I met Steve’s amazing wife and fell in love with her as well. Smart, beautiful, incisive, warm; full of laughter and charm. The type of person who makes you want to be the best version of yourself. Their gorgeous and talented daughter Leah also exudes these rare and beautiful qualities.

For seven years I have received the blessings of their friendship. I know I am fortunate, but I still want more. Fucking cancer.

chopped liver on rye, picked onions, celery soda

I can’t make it to Steve’s memorial service in Denver today, so last night Jay and I enjoyed a Steve Pearlman Memorial Dinner: chopped liver sandwiches and celery soda. I made the celery soda from scratch, because I’m annoyed with Dr. Brown for switching to HFCS from real sugar. I used Alton Brown’s basic recipe, but added a little grapefruit syrup to the celery because Steve was also a fan of Fresca (guilty here as well). I owe a debt of gratitude to my book club (Karen Borger, Nina Insler, Susan Jacobs, Marcia Gold, and Anne German) for steering me in the right direction for chopped liver (chicken livers ONLY, with onion, chopped egg, and LOTS OF SCHMALTZ!).

Steve loved making music as well as listening to it, and he and his performing partner Rebecca regularly played at their church, Montview Presbyterian. I know Steve loved playing Eva Cassidy songs for the congregation, so I dedicate Eva’s version of Autumn Leaves to Nancy and the rest of Steve’s amazing family. Thank you for sharing him with the rest of us.