Musings on knitting, crochet, and a fairly loopy life.

Wednesday, March 31, 2010


Once upon a time a mother passed along her holiday cooking traditions to her daughter, and she to her daughter, and so on, and so on ...

I'm sure it still works that way in many, if not most families. Not in mine. Yesterday, Ian learned the fine art of matzoh-ball making from his father. Here they are, in our itty-bitty-city kitchen; Charles is tutoring Ian in the fine art of creating a just-right ball (not too hard, not too fluffy).
When I was Ian's age, I asked my mother to teach me how to make matzoh balls.

"You follow the recipe on the box," she told me. "Just put in enough matzoh meal so they feel right."

"But how will I know when they feel right?" I asked her.

Her answer? "You'll just know."
I have to say, not only did Ian's and Charles' feel right, they tasted pretty right, too. And so, while I may not have been the one to pass on this tradition, at least it's being passed along. 

On the other hand, I lead the seder when it's at my house. So I do pass along traditions, even if they're not of the cooking kind.

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