Matzo brei: The treat that comes but once a year.

Matzo brei prepared properly, aka hard, on the left, and that other way, to the right.

     The electric company ended Passover early this year. Well, at least in one tweet yesterday, claiming the holiday ended Monday night — 24 hours ahead of when the holiday actually ends. Eight days. It's a wonder the lights stay on at all. 

     A forgivable lapse — though one they did not correct themselves, even when I politely pointed the error out to them. Few corporations do; they tend to blunder on instead. 

     Not a failing that can be written off to ComEd being a gentile company — Jews have a way of rushing their own holidays, whether convening sundown at mid-afternoon on Yom Kippur. Or returning to bread a few days before Passover officially ends. Tuesday night. One misses bread. 
    Myself, I actually need that full eight days, for a reason I've never seen committed to print, so this might be a first. The full eight days are required to get your matzo brei in. 

    Allow me to explain. Matzo brei is a traditional dish of eggs and matzo — not to be confused with egg matzo, which is matzo baked with egg in it. Matzo brei — also called "egg matzo" — is a breakfast dish.   It isn't intrinsically heavy, but is so good, you tend to eat a lot. I do, anyway. So while you are tempted the first few mornings of Passover, the idea is dismissed — everyone's too full from the night before (there are two Seders, on consecutive nights; don't ask why; it's complicated) and, besides, there are all those leftovers to eat.
     But — and this is a rule of my own — you only eat matzo brei during Passover, because otherwise the foodstuff would escape into the rest of the year and a) lose its specialness and b) you'd eat it continually, the way I do Bays Raisin and Cinnamon English Muffins. (although, they never lose their specialness, because they're so super special, and since I haven't had any the week of Passover, when I do, Wednesday morning — pay attention, ComEd! — they'll be doubly extra special). 
      Suddenly Tuesday and Wednesday — impossible, due to the Seders the night before — slip into Thursday and Friday. The matzo brei doesn't get eaten then because preparing it is a production and after the ordeal of preparing for the Seder one craves normal, eat-and-run life. The canyon floor was rushing up. Finally Sunday we dove in and had our matzo brei.
     Although — and this is why I'm writing this — this year my wife and I parted ways when it came to matzo brei preparation. Matzo brei is prepared by wetting matzo in water, mixing it with scrambled eggs then frying it. And my wife likes hers well-soaked in water, so it's soft. Which I suppose is fitting under strict literal interpretation: matzo brei translates out as "matzo porridge." 
    Me, I like the matzo just kissed by the water, so it's hard, or hardish. A quick rinse, then broken into the eggs, stirred a bit, then into the hot pan.
     In past years, we've compromised by eating matzo brei twice — one made her way, aka  wrong. And once my way, preserving the dish's delightful tactile firmness. But this year we decided just to each prepare our own meal. Which struck me as slightly dubious, like couples having separate bank accounts or taking separate vacations. We're sort of joined at the hip, my wife and I, and preparing separate meals, not our style.  Generally.

     But I only eat the stuff once a year, and want matzo brei the way God intended, aka, my way. As did my wife.  Although we did not  — Israelis and Palestinians take note — kill each other over it. We made accommodations to our divergent claims on reality.
     We didn't consult beforehand — my wife just set out two cast iron pans — and I noticed differences. I used three pieces of matzo while she used six, which took me aback. When I inquired, she said she planned on having extra to take to work Monday, another practice I'd never consider —you don't reheat matzo brei, but consume it all, immediately after being prepared. She used vegetable oil. And I used butter because, as Napoleon said, if you're going to take Vienna, take Vienna.  One doesn't skimp on a meal you eat once a year. With lots of sugar. Though she uses salt. Which is also wrong. 

      We each did sample one anothers preparation — I found hers soft.  She tried mine and did not remark upon it. Being polite, no doubt. Frankly, she could have spat it into a napkin. I didn't care. This is my annual matzo brei.
      As we ate, we discussed that. She mentioned that we could, you know, enjoy matzo brei at other times of the year. "We have turkey when it isn't Thanksgiving," she argued. Yes, well, that's turkey, and this is matzo brei. Once a year. No more. To do otherwise would be crazy.

Three matzos + two eggs = one plate of delicious matzo brei as God intended.