Celebrating Passover South of the Mason Dixon Line
Coastal Georgia is not an ideal place for a novice to make gefilte fish. I realized this at the counter of City Market, Brunswick’s fish market. The display case was filled with fresh shrimp.
“Do you have any carp?” The man looked at me quizzically. “Um, what about pike?” He shook his head slowly. “What kind of fresh fish do you have?”
“We have grouper. How were you planning to cook it?”
“I’m going to – er, make fish meatballs out of it,” I said.
The shopkeeper looked at the meaty pink fillets sadly, then back at me with a raised eyebrow. “Fish meatballs?”
“Well, yeah it’s this tradition …” I trailed off. Passover in the South, I had learned, was a tradition unto itself.
John and I were newlyweds when we moved to Columbia, South Carolina in 2006. We embraced the south with all our might, and were soon eating grits, drinking tea and bourbon in rocking chairs on our front porch, and resting on Sundays – not because it was our Sabbath, but because nothing was open.>> Read More