Once A Chazar, Always A Chazar
By Max Bonem
“Chazar” is not an easy word to pronounce correctly. In fact, it isn’t an easy word to spell either. After I determined that my previous blog’s name (Omnivorous) was too close to an already established food publication (Omnivore), I realized that I needed something new in order to move forward with this project. I wanted something simple, direct, and short, and I wanted it to possess the same spirit as the previous name, the idea of wanting to taste everything. My goal was to use just one word (similar to Fool), but I was willing to use two if need be (more like Lucky Peach). As you can see, I had low expectations.
The name “Chazar” doesn’t have a grand story behind it, there was no eureka moment when I realized that it was the perfect way to describe what I was doing. Using a word that no one recognizes or can pronounce probably isn’t the best idea when trying to gain name recognition, but I like it nonetheless. Much like our favorite foods, the word “chazar” is rooted in memory and sticks with me because of who I associate it: my Dad
I’ve always had issues with food, or maybe I’ve had issues with myself that come to the forefront when food is involved. As a kid I was always overweight, not exactly fat, but being called chubby was definitely commonplace on the playground and soccer field. On top of that, I ate very quickly and overate simultaneously. As you can imagine, this was a vicious cycle. When you add in the fact that I have a gigantic mouth, it’s easy to see how all of these factors played out: big bites + only chewing my food enough to get it down + already being a big kid = contiguous gorging. I was an elementary school glutton. Chapter one of my future memoir, found. Go me.
My dad has always been thin and even at 70 still has a metabolism that rivals that of a teenage wrestler. I think it was hard for him to see his kid eating unhealthily, especially when he knew that there really wasn’t anything he could do to change my behavior. However, whether it was when I was stuffing my face with pizza or devouring a second helping of pasta before he’d gotten half way through his first, my dad used a certain word to describe my eating habits: I was a chazar.
For those of you who don’t know, “chazar” is a Yiddish term for a pig or glutton, for someone who overindulges. There’s no official spelling, but I’ve seen it written out every way from “hazzer” to “k’hazr”. I sided with the “chazar” spelling because of an old poster that used to hang in my parents’ attic that was entitled The Yiddish Lesson and had apparently been hung in an old Jewish butcher shop at one time. Amongst the many panels on the poster, the meshugas, the shvigers and the like, was “chazar,” which showed a man eating a sandwich far too large for any normal person’s mouth. However, much like that guy, I knew that my appetite was sometimes too good for my own good and that idea always stuck with me.
I’ve always been a glutton on the inside. I’ve learned to keep my urges on a leash, but my hunger for more, towards both food and otherwise, has always been rampant. It started with sneaking extra meals in between breakfast and lunch, lunch and dinner, and, my favorite, between dinner and breakfast, but that desire has spilled over into all facets of my life. It’s why when I start liking a band or writer, I feel the need to absorb all possible information about them that I can. I want to know how the band got together, I want to listen to their demos that were never supposed to see the light of day, or I want to know how a writer’s stint as a marine detonations expert influenced their prose. Sometimes I can’t stop until I feel like no one could tell me something that I didn’t already know about the topic or person. That’s gluttony, that’s what it means to be a “chazar”.
They say we crave comfort food because of the sensory memories we associate with specific dishes. I feel that way when I smell my mom’s spaghetti frittata or my dad’s homemade pesto, it takes me back to another time and place, when all I was worried about was how big my portion was going to be and how much cheese I could top my food with before someone commented on my indulgence. Similarly, whenever I type in the name “chazar” into my search bar, I’m taken back to a time when the “father and son” relationship meant something very different than it does today, now that I’m a full-grown adult. Yet, even though my dad and I are both older, occasionally wiser, and have a better understanding of each other, there are some things that will never change and, for better or worse, I’ll always be that kid who wants more of dinner for first dessert and maybe ice cream to follow it up later. Once a chazar, always a chazar. MB
