Happy Hanukah

Wednesday night, I made potato latkes for the very first time. My Safta (Dad's mother) would roll over in her grave, cursing in Yiddish, if she could see the manner in which I went about it:

I guess this means I'll finally have something to atone for on Yom Kippur. (Hey, at least it's Manischewitz and not Nabisco!)

In my defense, it had been a stressful day and I didn't decide to cook latkes until late in the afternoon, so there simply wasn't time for the potato-shredding necessary for real, honest-to-God latkes. So my goy boy and I enjoyed the American, made-from-a-box version and I vowed to never take shortcuts to authentic Jewish cooking ever again, lest they revoke my Hebrew name and make me start attending church.