So I've pesadickied my kitchen (aside, when I was a kid, I thought there were a few people my family knew, called Pesach Dick and Yomtov Dick), bought more chopped fried fish balls and cheese variants than I really need to, (sub-contracted) the cleaning od my house from top to bottom, and valetted my car.
I am spiritually cleansed, clearly.
And I've covered all my work surfaces with heavy-duty kitchen foil.
I followed Jonny Cohen (which one, you ask?) around a series of kosher shops in Golders Green, Tescos, the toothbrush section. We are leading parallel lives, except mine is in Kilburn and his is in Finchley.
I believe Pesach is about simplicity: it's more about not eating cake and remembering the Exodus (from Egypt, since you ask) than about making seventeen different kinds of potato-based faux cakes.
So I have four place settings of cheap crockery, one pan, and two serving dishes. It's kinda nice. And I've resolved not to eat cake. And go easy on the matzah. Because, as we all know, it's not exactly good for your gederim.
But this is the best: ShaBot's Seda' Club.
Peace, man.
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