Confessions from the Bread Aisle: The Perils of Passover in Aspen

Passover and Easter welcome spring in Aspen, sure as sudden snowstorms followed by random bouts of 50 degree sunshine. “Happy Easter” texted my friend Dave, spreading pastels and good wishes to friends everywhere.

“You mean Happy Passover. Hope you’re eating lots of leavened bread in my honor,” I texted back, feeling weak from lack of leavening.

“Oh yeah, gluten-free crackers. Isn’t this the one where they put blood on the doorway to protect the first-born?” he replied.

Not bad, Dave, not bad.

“Yeah, tell Sheldon to watch out,” I responded, referring to his less-than-angelic first born, with whom the Pharaoh would have had a field day. Easter Sunday marked the home stretch of Passover but at that stage in the game, I would’ve traded my first-born for a slice of bread.

 

 

 

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