It’s Passover weekend… and every year, I get invited to a Seder like I know what I’m doing. I walk in like “Shalom, is there a brisket here I can bless or…?”
Listen—no one told me you gotta wait four hours before you eat. They’re passing around parsley like it’s an appetizer. I’m Italian! We open with a meatball!
To all my Jewish friends: thank you for making me an honorary guest at the most structured dinner party on Earth. I still don’t know what “Dayenu” means, but I’m singing it like it’s Sinatra.
L’chaim—and pass the gefilte fish, I guess?
