Naming Rights

In my catalog of obsessions is the stand-out one of names. I’ve not had a solo moment of naming since I changed the name of Pizza Garden to Adagio. The latter name expressed the speed (slow) I wished my guests had to savor the food offerings I hoped would both nourish and satisfy in the white-tablecloth atmosphere we had created to evoke the spirit and vision of Tuscany.

The last solo name game I had played was after noting that my new puppy, a Cairn terrier, showed interest only in the women in any given room. Fittingly, I named the pooch Sappho, after the ancient (630 – c. 570 BC) Greek poetess from the island of Lesbos.

The rest of any naming activities in which I might have participated were met with my merely making suggestions that were generally shot down by whomever I was making such suggestions.

During our first pregnancy we found two books of names that we would read in bed before falling asleep. For reasons I don’t know, the names we read aloud to each other were hysterical. Names like Nasalcavity or Pondscum were quickly dispatched to the “you gotta be kidding me” bin. They were followed by such suggestions as William and Lucy, neither of which made the cut.

What goes into making a name choice for somebody you’ve yet met? Without being given a chance to goof around with a newborn until their first day of kindergarten, parents are given the arduous task of giving the kid a name that may suggest a future.

“Kai” tops the list of newborn boys last year. The problem with that name is that up until this past spring, Kai was the name of only one man in history, Kai Winding. He played trombone, an instrument whose bleats are welcomed nowhere.

Eliana topped the list for girls. It’s a pretty, musical name, with a slight suggestion of an Italian heritage.

Another name that might imply an Italian heritage is Luca (Lenny Montana), the dimwitted henchman for Don Corleone (Marlon Brando) in the 1972 movie, “The Godfather.” It came in third. Careful what you wish for.

Ezra came in second for girls in 2023. While typically a boy’s name, its historical character was a poet. He also seemed enamored with Adolph Hitler and the Nazi movement in Eastern Europe.

I’m very proud of my Bohemian (Czech) heritage and with that in mind, I suggested that if our first child was a girl, I’d like her name to be Danica. For a boy, Miloš was my first choice.

Geri knows the Czech pronunciation of my family’s name. Leesh-ka is the way to go, and Geri said she was not going to allow any son of hers to be known as Mee-losh Leesh-ka. She was anticipating the letters home from schools describing our Bohemian son rolling over the playground encampments in his attempt to oust the Fascist foes from the arena of the righteous. It was a moment of infuriation that we missed.

I was given an alphabet letter—the first one—as a substitute for a name my parents would never call me. They wanted me to have the same initials (AJL) as my father. Apparently, they hadn’t heard of such names as Alan, Adam, Alex, Albert, et cetera. That was true with my second name. Nobody calls me James. As you all know, Jim is what I’m called.

They named my sister what we all called her: Jo.

I was never given the chance to be an “& Son.” My father was an “& Sons,” because his younger brother joined their father in the steel business. My dad left the family business, but they didn’t change the signage. Later, after granddad died and Eddie took complete control, the business became E.J. Liska & Sons.

There might have been something awry in that configuration. I don’t know, actually.

Every now and then we’re given the opportunity to name things that might seem awkward or unknown. Who knows?

Sometimes we name things that clearly do not need names. Cars come to mind. Each car has a name given by the we-name-cars division of every automobile company. Women, I’m hesitant to say because of the possible backlash, seem more likely to give new names to the vehicles they drive than are men.

My daughter’s car has a name for the Chevrolet Avalanche she drives. It’s called The Pony, named for the vehicle’s inaugural drive to Pony, Montana. Once upon a time, I had a brand new Mercury Topaz. If the destination counts, its name would have been Van Nuys.

Without sounding sexist, I do believe that women have a predilection to naming things, many of them inanimate, then men. My wife named my red GMC pickup truck something I don’t remember. Color may well have been involved. The same was true with the powder-blue Ford Pinto station, although it might have been “death-trap.”

Her beloved ’71 Ford Mustang was named Rosie. She gifted it to Daniel. He calls it the Mustang.

Writing in his marvelous novel, “The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay,” novelist Michael Chabon noted that “The naming madness that came over men when they arrived here in the unmapped blankness seeped quickly into every corner of their lives. They named the radios, the latrine, they named their hangovers and cuts on their fingers.”

Such madness seems to serve us all well.

Photo illustration by Courtney A. Liska

Spaetzle

These little flour dumplings are great with any number of dishes or sauces. They soak up gravy like there’s no tomorrow and are a great alternative to potatoes and noodles.

1 cup flour   –   1/2 tsp. salt   –   1 egg   –   1/4 cup milk   –   Pinch salt   –   Butter as needed

In a medium sized bowl, combine the flour with the salt. In a separate bowl, mix together the egg and milk. Pour the egg mixture into the bowl of flour; use your hand or a spoon to mix the batter until an extremely elastic dough has formed, about 5 minutes. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let the dough rest for 20 minutes.

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Transfer the dough to a colander with large holes. Hold the colander over the boiling water; use a spoon to push the dough through the holes to form small dumplings, carefully letting them drop into the boiling water. Cook the spaetzle at a gentle boil for 3 to 4 minutes. Drain and toss with butter before serving.