The Story Gets Told and Never Gets Old

The best thing about Ms. Mush's photo from last night's seder is the Katz's Deli hat that Farmer Sam is wearing in lieu of a yarmulke. If a Katz's Deli hat isn't kosher, what is?

No food photos this year, probably because the evening started with plenty of that horseradish-infused vodka, and since Chef Pickle and Farmer Sam got caught in a traffic jam on the Bay Bridge, by the time they got to World Headquarters The Great Plotnik was already in a fine old mood.

Rose's Brisket was not as good as at Rose's house, but it was delicious nonetheless and there is a ton left over even after people took a few plates of food home with them. Pip brought asparagus which was quite tasty, though she started out from home with more than got to World Headquarters, thanks to the street turning sideways on their way over. Silent Bill's White Sauce was the hit of the evening, with people piling it on top of everything on their plate including Mary Ann's delicious green salad. There were poached fingerling potatoes and Lois's green bean/red pepper/Kalamata olive salad and several pounds of fresh, shelled peas that Chef Pickle cooked up in butter, and all of that followed Pickle's duckzoballs in the peppery Pat Conroy chicken stock, and of course by then everyone had also eaten tons of Lois's haroset and horseradish and matzos, which itself had followed half a dozen appetizers, all the while drinking Pinot Noir from Farmer Sam's grapes, and Frivolo from Amador County, and that quite astonishingly good horseradish-infused vodka.

Fortunately, three of our participants did not drink, which was probably the only way anything got accoomplished at all.

As always everyone participated in the seder, which involved lots of talk about politics and current events, which is, after all, one of the hearts of the Passover story -- the tyrant in Egypt who wouldn't let his people go. Ever heard that one before?

If Moses had had Twitter, they probably could have had regular bread and doughnuts for the press delivered to a staging area at the Red Sea.

After dinner, there were Ducknik's macaroons and Liz's Italian almond cake, made with almond flour. That cake went so fast it practically never hit the plated and the macaroons are fantastic the next morning with your third cup of coffee.

Plotnik feels good about making his Mom's brisket and serving it on a table decorated with her long white tablecloth and the candlesticks she and The Chief gave to Plot and Duck not long after they moved back to Shmalifornia. It also feels good to open out their ancient oak dining table, that they bought at an auction in Catawissa, PA, back in the farm days, along with so many other pieces of well seasoned furniture with which they furnished the old farmhouse once, and which still add the patina of great memory to the picture, several houses and cities later.

Plot and Duck have known Pippa and Steve since they moved to Saint Plotniko, and they knew Steve's dad and Pip's mom. Lois lived next door at that point so her mom and dad were alive too -- we even had Passover once at Lois's new house in the Mission with her father leading the service, maybe the last one he ever led.

Mush and Bill have become good friends relatively more recently, but they have opened their home and their friends to Plot and Duck too. Sarah and Sam have also fit in perfectly with everyone else, and it's always great to see them (and it's not a bad idea to know a chef and a vintner when planning a dinner). And Ducknik met Liz and Fredricka (her service dog) in Spanish class at CCSF. Liz was a high school teacher once and taught Dan's great friend Eric and his brother Noah at Lick Wilmerding High School. Everything goes around and around.

Like Ducknik says, this holiday is about being part of a long and ancient tradition, which has continued since practically the beginning of recorded time. You make it more or less religious as it suits you. For Plottie, the point is to plug into the world of his grandparents and their grandparents and theirs too, who also lived in many different places and gathered around hundreds of different tables, but always told the same story, over and over and over. It took them six hours. Last night Plottie did it in -- well, he may have broken the Chief's record for brevity.

But the message was the same: We were slaves and now we are free.

And the food was ready. You know?