We spent the first night of Passover at my friend Caryn‘s house and as usual, the food, the company, and the Seder songs were unsurpassed. The only negative comment I have to make about the evening is that the wine sucked. What is it with kosher wine? Haven’t the Jews suffered enough? It would kill San Giuseppe to get a rabbi out to the vineyard once a year and bless some grapes for us so we can have a Chardonnay that doesn’t taste like lighter fluid?
I feel justified in complaining about the crappy wine because I brought it. Every year I volunteer to buy the wine because I silently commit myself to finding a decent one. Every year I fail. I’m not talking about the Manischewitz purple syrup of my childhood Seders which was sipped mainly for ceremonial purposes. That stuff is still somewhere on the table next to the horseradish that can clear your sinuses and remove wallpaper.
Nowadays, the wine industry has noticed that palates have become more discerning and people want a delicate, sophisticated wine to pair with their gently-braised-for-six-hours brisket. Liquor stores have an entire section devoted to kosher wine in all price ranges. After years of experimentation, it’s clear to me that none of them are any good. So once again I plunked down decent money for several bottles of Baron Herzog only to discover once the corks were out that instead of Mr. Herzog it was Mr. Clean.
For those non-Jews among us, Passover commemorates the Exodus of the Israelites from Egypt and their liberation from slavery. The term “passover” refers to God’s sparing of the Hebrew firstborn as he saw the blood of the sacrificial lamb on the doorposts of their houses. The ritual feast of this holiday is called a Seder (Say-der). For the week-long period that we celebrate Passover, we eat matzoh, or flatbread, to symbolize the rapid departure of the Israelites from Egypt. They had no time to wait for the bread to rise so we eat unleavened bread to commemorate their hasty flight. Obviously, they couldn’t wait for the grapes to ripen either which is why we drink Lysol.
This is a shame because Passover is the perfect holiday to get hammered. Families gather together and eat heartily. It’s a joyous celebration for people of our faith around the world. Best of all, there’s a second night in case you’re too distracted by chocolate macaroons to get sufficiently blasted on the first. You can’t say that about Thanksgiving with its sleep-inducing turkey basted in tryptophan. It figures that on a holiday where you can drink a prime Pinot Grigio, the meat puts you out before you even raise a glass.
I didn’t let anything stop me though. I still got snookered. Husband and I enjoy sitting at the ‘children’s table’ at Passover, which is peopled now by children in their twenties. We like to catch up on what’s going on in their lives and get their perspectives on world events. This year the added bonus was that they decorated the cast on my broken arm which I have to wear for another two weeks. So now I have clever signatures, Batman, Superman, and other assorted artwork to entertain me. One of the children is now a doctor and he wrote a prescription for Vicodin right across the top. I doubt I could have it filled although it looks authentic. You can’t read a single word.
Daughter’s Featured Fotos take place out On The Street
round up all the usual seats and don’t let them get away
electrical box in boston
wheel shadows
