More than a decade ago, I had gone to the grocery store with my mom picking up a few things. It was the week between Christmas and New Year’s and she was on the hunt for pumpernickel bread and pickled herring. I must have blanched when she flagged down an employee and made her request because once she found her wares, she turned to me and indicted: “Don’t you eat picked herring and pumpernickel on New Year’s? It’s good luck.”