The Carlton

Hit the road, Jack (or how Noshy got it’s name)

I’m in the bakeshop this morning jamming out to some tunes when Hit the Road Jack by Ray Charles comes on.  Well, of course this song requires me to stop whatever I’m doing and raise the volume past 11 and start dancing around.

I truly was a sight to see. 7am, swinging my hips and waving a sheet tray above my head around the shop. Clearly, I’m now a morning person.

I was raised on a steady diet of Motown. It’s my go-to happy music and this song in particular is one of my favorites. It reminds me of my Dad, partly because we used to sing it around the house and at least a little because my grandfather’s name was Jack. He was a fire chief and owned a dry cleaning business in NJ (among other things). Because his clients during that time were primarily in Jewish neighborhoods, Yiddish spilled into our family vernacular. That’s actually where “Noshy” comes from.

“Nosh” is Yiddish for  “a little snack” or “to eat a little something.” And for a family who always tweaks language to fit our amusement, “noshy,” somewhere along the way, was born. Use it in a sentence: “I’m feeling a little noshy, meet me at the diner*!”

Fast forward 60+ years and Noshy was really the only possibility to consider when starting this company. After all, it was Dad who taught me to make cookies. Every Christmas we had our standards – Chocolate Chip, Chocolate Chip with Nuts (for mom), Oatmeal Raisin, Oatmeal Raisin with Nuts (for mom), Holiday bars… Sometimes we’d spice it up with Ricotta cookies or a decorated sugar cookie or fifty.

Surprisingly, there aren’t any photos of me learning how to bake – it was just something that always was.

Years later, though, the student became the teacher. Dad was so surprised and confused to learn that Noshy was using his oatmeal raisin cookie recipe. “But yours are so much better! How is this my recipe?” he said. Turns out, I had to teach Dad about the proper way to measure flour and how room temperature butter really does make a difference.

So that’s the story of how Noshy became Noshy. And if now you have images of me dancing around the bakeshop (or of dancing cookies a’la sugarplum fairies), I guess that’s okay too. ;-)

 

* One of the things I miss about Jersey – meeting friends at the 24/7 diners that were basically on every corner.

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