I got to work making charoset (belatedly, I know. I was working the first couple days of Passover and sadly didn't attend a seder this year). In my household growing up, we always had two charosets on the table. One made according to Ashkenazi tradition - chopped apples and walnuts, with a dash of cinnamon. And one made according to Sephardi tradition - blended apples, walnuts, dates, figs, orange, wine, and cinnamon. Having two charosets on the table each year kept my mother of Ashkenazi descent and my father of Sephardi descent happy.
This of course meant that, as a young adult now living on my own, I had a decision to make. Which charoset should I prepare for myself? I bought a haphazard mix of ingredients. Apples, an orange, walnuts, dates. I bought pomegranate juice because I thought that would be a fun twist on the wine tradition. I chopped the fruits and nuts and threw them in a bowl with a splash of the pomegranate juice and a sprinkle of cinnamon. Now, the question: To blend or not to blend?
I could've solved this problem in a variety of ways. Portioned the mixture in two halves, leaving one half chunky, and blending the other half smooth. I could've decided to leave it all chunky this Passover and commit to a smooth Passover next year. The decision I made, however, was an attempt to honor both traditions in the same bowl. You know, like how both traditions live inside me simultaneously. I am the bowl in this metaphor.
Anyway.
I blended my charoset halfway.
Just as I had finished tupperwaring my beautiful half-chunky half-smooth charoset, my German roommate walks into the kitchen. "Whatcha making?" he asks. "Charoset!" I answer. "A traditional Passover dish." I acknowledge the funky consistency of my charoset, explaining the two culinary traditions I grew up with back home. Then, I held out the tupperware. "Wanna try?"
"Sure!" He said, delighted. I handed him the tupperware and began doing the dishes. A minute later, I turn over my shoulder, curious to see his reaction. To my horror, I see him spreading the charoset ON A PIECE OF BREAD. I gasped.
"NO!" I fumbled in my pantry shelf and practically threw my box of matzo at him. "CHAROSET DOES NOT GO ON BREAD!!!"
He reacted appropriately - dismayed and apologetic. Hurriedly, he scraped the charoset off of the bread and transferred it over to the matzo. "Mmmmm" he chewed slowly. "It's good! Tastes...healthy!."
Oi vey.
I will say, it was slightly hilarious and absurd seeing charoset on a piece of bread. It's like seeing someone dressed as Santa Claus at a Chanukkah party. Or a Trumpie at a Black Lives Matter protest. Or a vampire at a garlic-tasting event. I don't know, I'm sure you guys can come up with better comparisons. Comments section, I summon you with the authority of a Pharaoh. Make me laugh!
