Passover

I walked into the Genova's Deli on 51st and looked at my options. It was Passover 2009, which meant I couldn't have a sandwich.

I saw the fried chicken off to the side. I can't have fried chicken, because there's breading on it.

So I decided to take my problem, my issue, to the counter. When my number came up, I explained to the young woman. "I'm Jewish. It's Passover. I can't have bread. What are my choices?"

She looked at me like I was an alien. And I don't mean one with a green card.

Then she said, "Huh?" She really didn't understand a single thing I said. I tried to explain more, but leaving out the "Jewish" and the "Passover" stuff. "I can't have bread. I can't have a sandwich. What else is there?" She still stared at me.

This is the problem I face every day. I can have fruit, and I can have salads. And I've discovered omelets, although I usually don't want to eat them. But they're now a choice.

The best choice often feels to be: just eat at home.