2020-04-09 – So, for the first time in my life, I didn’t attend a Passover Seder. As we say every year in the Seder: L’shana Haba’ah – Next year.

At least I made matzah ball soup.

I do this every year (or at least watch when my son does it). It’s pretty simple, but it takes some time. The first time-hog (this is just an express—no hog products were used in the matzah balls or the soup) is the time the batter needs to cool in the refrigerator.

My batter is nothing special. I just follow the recipe on the side of the matzah meal box. A few eggs, oil, salt, water, and, of course, matzah meal. My son the chef added pepper last year, so I added some pepper. I mix it up and then pop it in the refrigerator.

The delay accomplishes two things. It allows the ingredients to mix at a molecular level. And it causes the batter to harden somewhat to facilitate making the matzah ball shape.

And after the wait, of course, you are getting hungry.

The second time-hog is the actual cooking of the matzah balls. As you roll out each matzah ball between your hands, you drop them into boiling water. They sink to the bottom at first, but once the cooking begins, they float to the top. Some people may drop theirs directly into soup, but I do boiling water first. It keeps the soup clearer.

I didn’t make my own soup this year. I usually make my chicken soup from a chicken. This year I made my chicken soup from a box. I suppose a chicken was involved at some point, but nowhere near me. So, of course, there were no pieces of meat to eat afterward. I did sauté some vegetables to put in: onion, carrots, and a few slice mushrooms. It came out fairly tasty and, with the matzah balls added, it was a reasonable facsimile of the real thing.

We ate two bowls full, each of us. And there’s enough left for lunch or dinner. (Probably lunch, because I don’t think I can wait.)

* * *

So, when I cancelled the Seder, I wrote my guests that I didn’t think it appropriate to celebrate “until the angel of death had passed over.” When I wrote those words, I fancied myself as being very clever. And most people laughed. As usual, I used the joke over and over. That’s what dads do. But as I repeated it, I realized that it wasn’t a joke.

That’s the origin of Jewish humor.

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