Every Shabbos, like clockwork, my wife puts one slice of gefilte fish on my plate. She says that’s all a respectable man needs before the soup.
I know gefilte fish has its critics. Some people look at it and say, “What exactly is that?” To which I reply, “It’s the taste of Shabbos and tradition, blended into one glorious oval.”
I did some research once for a history of Jewish foods tour and it turns out, gefilte fish actually started in Germany. “Gefilte” literally means “stuffed,” because the original version was fish stuffed back into its skin eaten during Lent. Leave it to the Ashkenazim to say, “You know what this needs? Fewer bones, more onions, and definitely some matzah meal.”
I like mine with chrayonaise – that’s a glorious mix of chrain (horseradish) and mayonnaise. Once you try it, you’ll understand. It’s the perfect blend of spice and smooth – like a good marriage.
Speaking of marriage, one time – just once – I suggested to my wife that maybe we skip the gefilte fish for Shabbos dinner. The look she gave me could’ve frozen the soup. That Friday night, sure enough, no fish. No chrayonaise. Just silence and salad. That’s when I realized: gefilte fish isn’t just food. It’s tradition. It’s peace in the home, shalom bayis. It’s love in loaf form.
At every kiddush, it’s the same thing – people standing around with little plates, pretending they’re just being polite, but secretly eyeing the last slice. Because no matter how you slice it, we Ashkenazim love our gefilte.
So, what’s the moral? Respect the classics. Appreciate the slice. And never take for granted a spouse who serves you gefilte fish every Shabbos – especially if they give you a good dollop of chrayonaise on top.