Here’s an uncomfortable intersection between Jews and food ethics — the Jewish spokesman for food lobby American Council on Science and Health, Jeff Steir, appeared on the Daily Show last week to receive a royal roasting.

I presume the days when people don’t know they’re on a parody show are past, surely Steir knew what he was getting into. Presumably he thought this was the only way to get a hearing out there. But the entire segment me cringe. How embarrassing:

Thanks so much to Jessica Miller for this great cross-post from Jewcy.  Jessica is a former Jewcy Editorial Intern. She currently studies religion and English at Barnard College, right now spending most of her time working on her senior thesis, which involves Sufi saints, Muslim tombs, and the prophet Daniel.

Coming up is a most minor of holidays, Lag B’omer. Call me a curmudgeon, but I intend to spend the evening inside with my windows shut tight. It’s not only that I’m not too hot on sing-alongs around the campfire. At least in Israel, I think it’s time to find a new way to celebrate the day.

First of all, there’s the food: burnt potatoes. On Chanuka, when we celebrate winning a battle or two in a war we ultimately lost, we eat delicious fried latkes and donuts for a whole week. On Purim, to commemorate an apocryphal victory in a far off country, we drink ourselves silly and stuff ourselves with sweets. Granted, the success we celebrate on Lag B’Omer was even shorter-lived than usual. Still, couldn’t we come up with something better than burnt potatoes? (That’s assuming you’re not taking advantage of the break in the seven-week semi-mourning period to get married, in which case the traditional food is a choice of roast chicken, fish or beef entrecote.)

In case you haven’t heard, when the Obamas moved into the White House they started making healthy sustainable food a priority.  Okay, so they do indulge in the occasional well publicized burger, but Michelle has been toiling away in their garden and on Tuesday stopped by Sesame Street to promote healthy food with Elmo.

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Two weeks after the holiday of matza (Pesach) and a month before the holiday of milk (Shavout) comes the holiday of meat. I’m referring, of course, to Israeli Independence Day, which we celebrated last Wednesday.

As on American Independence Day, meat burned on an open grill is the traditional fare. To celebrate in true Israeli style, however, you have to get in your car and drive somewhere else to set up your grill. If you wanted a picnic bench under pine trees or nice bit of green lawn in a park, you’ll have set off early, since two-thirds of the country’s population headed for one outdoor site or another. If you started out after the parks were already full, you likely ended up crouching over a grill on a strip of grass near a roadside, your family stretched out on blankets breathing in the fumes.

Just a strange little pick me up for all you Jew and the Carrot readers out there. This Huffington Post story about a “bull” wandering into an Irish supermarket demonstrates irony just delightfully, yes? My favorite part is how they keep referring to it as a bull though it is, at best, about six months old and totally freaked out. Well, enjoy.

MyJewishLearning is proud to present an introspective, intergenerational, intercultural look at the most Jewish of all Jewish holiday activities: eating.

We all do it, but we do it in radically different ways. And with radically different philosophies (for proof, read some of the comments on this very site). And don’t worry, this isn’t a video about how Jews SHOULD eat, it’s about how we do eat, like it or lump it.

Anyway, check it out and let us know what you think.

The first in an upcoming series of posts about food in London, this photo was taken during Passover. Walking past this kitchen store and admiring the beautiful fittings and accessories, I did a double-take. Notice what’s in the toast rack… Who ever said that English food wasn’t creative?

Thanks so much to Deb Arnold for this terrific guest post.  Deb is a serious foodie living in Seattle, much to her own disbelief. She has previously lived and cooked in New York, Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Deb is a business communications consultant serving global clients, a sometimes writer, an avid traveler, and an unrepentant choir geek. She is also a proud partner at the award-winning Kavana Jewish Cooperative, one of the best things about living in Seattle.

Frankly, I was a little nervous.

I’d come to rely on Walter. He was my supplier, my guy, my dealer, you might even say. Whatever Walter says is fresh, I buy. Whatever Walter puts in my packages for Pesach, I take. Whatever special price he offers, I smile.

One can develop a very deep relationship with one’s fishmonger (way) out here in the Pacific Northwest. Especially if you’re me.

If there’s one thing I love, it’s being a regular, especially if there’s food involved. I even became a regular once at a lunch counter in the Boqueria market in Barcelona (ask Sharon). Two years later, the guy still remembered what I like to drink while I’m waiting for a seat (cava, if you must know).

So when I called to place my gefilte fish order and was told Walter was out for two days, my heart sank. He was the only (half) Jew in the place. Despite reassurances that anyone there could do the job (“we all have knives, lady”) and the shocking news that this was not exactly a novelty item (“we can add you to our list of gefilte fish orders”), I stood firm. I would wait until Walter got back on Tuesday morning and pick up my fish then. “Now I want you to write on my order,” I instructed in my best New York wise guy , “if it’s not Walter, it’s not Passover!” I said I’d be in at 9am.

Thanks again to Dvora Meyers for this great cross-post from her blog Unorthodox Gymnastics.  Her first post can be found here.

Yesterday I went to a b-boy battle held in Washington Heights. It was supposed to be a five hour event and I worried about what I would eat. Normally, I would head out to the nearest bodega and/or food truck for sustenance but I doubted that any market in the Heights (Dominican section, not the Yeshiva University part) would have kosher for Passover fare.

So I brought a box of matzo with me.

As it turned out, I was too distracted during the event to get hungry. Not that a slice of matzo would’ve done the trick anyway since I rarely find chewing on cardboard (even whole wheat cardboard) to be a highly satisfying experience.

But even if I didn’t eat it, I believe I hit upon a brilliant strategy for selling more of the stuff, year round.

Use b-boys to market it.

In the above photo we have B-Boy Meen187 in the first ever breaking ad for Manischewitz Whole Wheat Matzos. (Note the use of Ashkenazis- “matzo” is conjugated to the plural “matzos” instead of “matzot,” with a hard Ttt sound. To read more about Ashkenazis read this archived post.) His hair is carefully covered in the manner of married Orthodox Jewish women everywhere and should appeal to that particular demographic. He even wears an extra head covering, a trucker hat that might also lure the yarmulke crowd.

Thanks so much for this hilarious guest post from author Max Gross.  Besides being a dead ringer for the actor Seth Rogen, Max is a writer for the New York Post and the author of From Schub to Stud. He blogs at fromschlubtostud.com

If you haven’t seen Seth Rogen recently, you might be disappointed.

He looks really, uh, good.

Svelte. Clean shaven. Neat. Not the slobby stoner that schlubs like myself could identify with.

What the hell happened, Seth? (I have a special interest in Rogen’s slovenliness – his appearance in the movie Knocked Up inspired me to write my own treatise called From Schlub to Stud about how we are living in the golden age of slobby man-children.)

But apparently sometime in the last few months, in preparation for his role in The Green Hornet, he dropped what looks like a good 30 to 40 pounds. And I, for one, was worried that his good cheer might be wrapped up in his weight. The thing that was so endearing about Rogen was the fact that he was so unapologetic about his excesses — a little like a young, Jewish Jack Falstaff.

It turns out, my worries are (I think) unfounded. If you saw him on The Daily Show last week, you would note that his good cheer is still in tact. More than in tact — his wit seems as sharp as ever. And Rogen fully acknowledged the 800 pound gorilla in the room: Namely that it is tough for a fellow tribesman to deny himself the pleasures of the plate.

Thanks so much to Ashley Tedesco for this terrific guest post.  Ashley is a student at Fordham University, living the good life in Manhattan. Raised Catholic, she’s been a proud “Jew by Choice” for a little more than a year. She’s a journalism major, minoring in Jewish studies and American Catholic studies, and spends a little too much of her free time reading about Jewish culture, the Pope, and how they occasionally overlap. When not writing for Jewcy Magazine or editing for the Fordham Observer, Ashley can be found hanging out at the Manhattan Jewish Experience uptown or the Bronfman Center downtown.

So I’m a new Jew. I was raised Roman Catholic by an Italian mother from North Jersey—I was fed pasta in lieu of formula. When it comes to the six main food groups, the three most important are pasta, bread, and macaroni & cheese.

In my journey to become better versed in Jewish practice, I’ve tried to reconcile a lot of ideas in my head. I was never raised particularly religious, so dropping the act of going through the motions in the Catholic Church was never a big deal to me. Getting into the habit of Friday night worship competing with plans made by those who pray on Sunday mornings has become manageable as well. I’ve learned lingo and proper behavior, I’ve learned a little Hebrew, and I’ve learned the best way to prove my dedication to Jewish culture. But some things have been harder than others.

This past weekend on National Public Radio’s “Wait Wait… Don’t Tell Me,” Michael Pollan made a guest appearance. Usually, the host of this news quiz show asks the famous person about his or her work, and sometimes the panel of comedians and writers chimes in with a few funny comments. To my surprise, this time around, comic Paula Poundstone gave the guest a run for his money.

Humans the only species that needs experts to tell them how to eat? Au contraire. Poundstone pointed out that she’s constantly telling her dog to get his head out of the garbage can.

Ring Dings possibly not a real food? Poundstone proved that they handily pass the five-ingredients-or-less test, totaling just three: Devil’s food cake, creamy filling, and a rich chocolate outer coating.