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So I really and truly traifed up the kitchen this week. I was being a good wife, making dinner for my man. I took out the milchig pot to sautee onions. I chopped the onions, added them to the sizzling oil, and started stirring. With my fleishig spatula. I did that for a good five minutes or so. When I suddenly realized what I was doing, I dropped the spatula in fright and frantically called Donny. (How was he going to solve this problem from the train? you wonder. Let's just say I'm not the most logical thinker during a crisis. In crisis mode, my brain has one track: Call Donny.) After I got off the phone with him, I g-chatted my brother, HaRav Aars, Shlita. For those of you not well-versed in Jewish kitchen law, let me sum up for you. Onions = screw everything up. Onions + hot + milchig + fleishig = just give up a move to a new apartment. HaRav Aars really did try. "Did you use the pot for hot milchig?" Yes. "Did you use the spatula for hot fleishig?" Yes. [Pause.] "Yep, you're in trouble." Basically, I have to now do libun or something, which I'm pretty sure involves spitting on Jonathan's shoe and then marrying him. While carrying a blowtorch. This is a crisis. CALL DONNY.
Anyway, you know how employees of the Gap get a discount on clothes? [Yes, you nod.] And you know how they can pass the savings on to their beloved relatives and friends? [Yes, yes, go on.] Well, I'm thinking there should be a similar deal for rabbis. You know, a "Get out of a traif kitchen free" card. And if the rabbi wasn't using it that month, he could pass it along to a friend or family member. So Aaron - stop hording your cards and pass one along to your sister. Don't make me use my blowtorch.
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