One cold winter day in Chicago a poor Jewish man was slowly walking home from the factory when he passed by a fancy, expensive restaurant. He stopped before the huge glass window and gazed for several minutes at the rich people sitting in the plush warm room talking and laughing while eating delicious cheese blintzes, completely oblivious of him as though they were on another, higher plane of existence.

"Blintzes," he muttered to himself as he turned and continued home.

"Sarah," he announced to his wife as he closed the door behind him and threw his coat over a chair, "Sarah, I've been thinking, do you think you could make me blintzes? I would really like some blintzes."

"Of course Max," she answered. "I'll try my best."

Sarah took out her old cookbook and opened it up to "Blintzes". "Aha!" She happily exclaimed. "Here they are… blintzes!"

Two cups of flour, a cup of water... "Oh, look here, Max, it says we need cream cheese. We don't have cream cheese," she said sadly. "Listen Sarah, you know what? Forget the cheese," consoled Max.

"Look here" she called out again. "It says we need walnuts, honey and raisins!" "Forget that stuff, too," he advised. "Oh you are such a good husband Max! But, what's this? What about cinnamon and brown sugar," she read out from the book. "Not necessary!" he decreed. "Just please start baking already, Sarah, I'm really hungry."

So she ceremoniously lit the oven, mixed the flour and water, rolled it into cigar shapes put them in to bake and in just minutes there they were, sitting on a plate before a very happy Max, napkin tucked into his collar.

His knife and fork immediately went to work and within seconds he was actually doing it! He was eating blintzes just like the rich guys in their fancy restaurant.

Sarah watched him proudly as he slowly swallowed. After several seconds of complete silence she couldn't resist. "Nu, what do you think? Do you like it?"

"You know, Sarah," said Max. "You know, I don't understand what those rich people see in blintzes."