“With salt, babe, less is more. Did Lot’s wife fall in this shit?”

Halfway through preparing a not-so-traditional Passover meal for over fourteen people, I realized I had no idea what I was doing. There are people who find it fulfilling and quite enjoyable to cook for others and host big gatherings in their home. I find it fulfilling and quite enjoyable to visit those people. Yet, there I was yesterday, playing the part. Surprisingly enough, it was kind of fun.

My brother’s usual advice to dinner guests: “Play it safe. When going to Katie’s house for dinner, eat something beforehand. It cushions the blows.”

He has a point. I’m not domestically inclined. I can make a kick ass salad, but, historically, that’s been about it. Of course, my dad remembers the time in 1993 when I made a huge layered salad for everyone, added sunflower seeds, but forgot to remove the shells. Spittoons for all my guests! Another fun night.

This year, I attempted something only experienced chefs should try: an entire vegetarian meal without using bread or flour. It turned out okay, I guess. No one got sick or complained. A few even asked for seconds.

Highlights Worth Remembering:

John, an old friend, was one of our few “chosen” guests. He took one look at avocado pits used as substitutes for shank bones and requested proof of my M.O.T. status. (What? I’ve taught my kids to talk with their hands - I’m in!) Although handicapped by a booze-induced haze, I was able to find my conversion paperwork and John was sufficiently convinced that I’m one of them. Only then did he allow me to sit on their side of the table.

People ate matzo and grooved to Ray Charles because the only Jewish music we have is the soundtrack to Schindler’s List.

My husband read the story of Passover and added comments about the strength of Moses’ “rod”.

Beth, co-worker and new best friend because she reads weekly and laughs at my jokes, brought husband Mike, other new best friend because he reads weekly and thinks I'm funny, for their first Passover experience. Mike even added his own inquiry during The Four Questions. He wondered aloud, "Your husband's funny. Is he the one who really writes on your site?" Needless to say, Mike's not my new best friend anymore. But my husband wants his number.

My youngest son got busted sipping Elijah’s wine – proving some Irish lives in him yet.

During the reading, my oldest son mumbled words heard in every Jewish household from here to the Bronx, “This is too long. Aren’t we ever going to eat?” After a few minutes, he excused himself from the table. When I went into the kitchen to get more wine, I busted him stuffing a handful of “Kosher for Passover” crackers into his mouth. Smart kid.

When I thanked my mother-in-law for her matzo ball soup, she informed the room that real matzo ball soup has chicken broth. Since we’re vegetarians, the absence of dead chicken juice just f*cks it all up. Delicious, though, so that’s gotta count for something.

What I’d do differently:

I would have put down the goddamn wine. Not that I started to dance on tables or anything. I just got a little too tipsy.

I haven’t been drunk since 1997 when Becky and I dragged my husband to our ten-year high school reunion. Too much alcohol makes me mean, mean, mean. That particular night, I insulted, but in a funny way, several of Beck’s ex-boyfriends. I decided the next morning, while nursing a pretty bad hangover, I was never going get drunk again.

Some of you might recall that I’m off the sauce because we might be trying for a baby soon. However, when orchestrating a big meal/performance, it’s important to be…comfortable. So, I said to hell with it for just one night.

SIDE NOTE: The performance part of the meal involves reading the Haggadah. Ever try some of those words sober? It ain’t easy. The majority of our guests weren’t Jewish and wouldn’t have known a mispronounced Hebrew word from gefilte fish. However, sister-in-law Susan is Master of All Things Hebrew and would have sold me out. I just know it.

This is what happens when I drink a little too much: I repeat myself. I get lost in my own thoughts. Then I repeat myself again. All in the span of about five seconds. And so on and so on all night long. I should have just relaxed and drank some white tea instead. Besides, John had Dominos Pizza on speed-dial just in case my dinner tanked. Either way, we were golden.

The only other thing I’d do differently is not load up on crap I don’t usually purchase for two people who turned out to be no-shows. Now I’m stuck with a refrigerator full of shit beer that will a) never be consumed because my real friends have taste and b) serve as an embarrassment every time someone goes into my fridge, causing me to defend myself against Beer Snobbery with excuses like, “I didn’t buy that for myself. It's for schmucks who don't even call before not-showing up.” Ahh, well. Live and learn.

In the end, it was a successful night. I think. I truly enjoyed the company of friends and family members I don’t see enough of and didn't humiliate myself in the process. What do you know? Turns out that can be fulfilling and quite enjoyable after all.