Off with the Old, on with the New….Year that is.  And I can’t say I’m sorry to see 2023 ride off into the sunset.  Overall, it hasn’t been a great year.  Two wars are raging, thousands of people have been displaced, natural disasters have run rampant.  2023 saw record-breaking tornado events, wildfires affecting air quality hundreds of miles away, and the hottest year ever recorded.  Here at home, we have a border crisis and a Congress that’s too divided to get anything done.  But I don’t do politics, so let’s move on.

On the bright side, 2023 wasn’t all bad.  Egg prices dropped back to $2 a dozen (not the organic kind), the US government did not shut down (yet), Taylor Swift and Beyonce were everywhere, a 104-year-old-woman went sky diving, proving that wisdom does not necessarily come with age, the COVID pandemic was officially over, and the stock market ended the year on a high.

And, on another high note, it’s time for my annual year-end wrap-up of stupid drug names.  And it was indeed a banner year for stupid drug names.  Of the 55 new drugs approved by the FDA during 2023 only two did not present a phonetic challenge.  Xs, Ys, Zs and Qs abound, as well as consonant combinations that I fear do not exist in any language on the planet.  Choosing a mere 10 for this quiz was daunting.  But I challenge you to try your hand at my selection.  You need not attempt to say them aloud.  To ease you in, I open with a name that is, in fact, a linguistic possibility.

ELFABRIO

1. One of Santa’s helpers named Abrio
2. A new room deodorizer developed in Spain
3. Illegitimate son of Fabio
4. Oh no, not this again!

OJJAARA

1. A really bad Scrabble hand
2. The result of a keyboard that keeps jamming
3. A recently discovered lost tribe
4. B, definitely B

FABHALTA

1. A really cool women’s top
2. An order for Fab to stop, spoken by an Italian police officer
3. An anagram of TABHALAF
4. None of the above

WAINUA

1. A heretofore undiscovered Hawaiian island
2. Something that is a lot less old
3. A path to get to Nua
4. A or B, definitely not C

BRENZAVVY

1. Bren who knows many things
2. A new car model introduced by Mercedes
3. Tonto’s new sidekick
4. I’m getting a headache!

XDEMVY

1. Rating for a risqué demvy
2. The spouse no longer married to Mr. Demvy
3. Vy no longer affiliated with a certain political party
4. Where’s the Advil?

COLUMVI

1. Choices on a Chinese menu that uses Roman numerals
2. Sixth cousin once removed of a once-popular TV detective
3. An old Roman architectural building support
4. I like C for this one

ZYNYZ

1. Five consonants in search of a vowel
2. A new Manhattan zip code
3. A YNY caught between two Zs
4. All of the above

JOENJA

1. Second cousin to a Ninja
2. Joe and Jane, who ran out of space to write their names
3. A little-known holiday celebrated between Purim and Flag Day
4. Is this almost over?

FILSUVEZ

1. What you have to do when the Canal runs dry
2. Zevuslif spelled backwards
3. A note left for Ezra reminding him that his sports utility vehicle needs gas
4. Thank goodness it’s finally done!

And honorable mention goes to Fruzaqla, Bimzelx, Velsipity, and Logtorzi, all of which are causing my Spellcheck a nervous breakdown.

If you have any interest at all, here are the uses for the drugs: Elfabrio: treatment for Fabrys disease; Ojjaara: treatment for a side effect of anemia; Fabhalta: to treat nocturnal hemoglobinuria; Wainua: treat amyloidosis; Brenzavvy: Type 2 diabetes; Xdemvy: blepharitis; Columvi: lymphoma; Zynyz: carcinoma; Joenja: 3-kinase delta syndrome; Filsuvez: epidermolysis bullosa

From my family to yours, I wish you a happy and healthy New Year.  I thank you for your continued indulgence.  I couldn’t possibly be having this much fun without you.  And I leave you with this amusing factoid: today’s date reads like a waltz: 123 123.  (12\31\23).  This will never happen again!
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     Yesterday was the last day of Hanukkah and hopefully the last day that the scent of grease will linger in my kitchen.  Yes, folks, I succumbed once again to that primitive urge to mark the holiday by cooking Jewish potato pancakes, otherwise known as latkes.  But tradition is tradition, after all, and in keeping with the tradition of the season, I offer once again my ode to this delicious, cholesterol-laden treat.





                                                     Fried White Potatoes
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As much as I gripe about the tedium of the holiday season, I must confess that there is one time-honored December tradition to which I happily succumb.  As soon as the calendar informs me that we are about to embark on the eight days of Hanukkah, I am overtaken by a compulsive urge to make latkes.  Completely forgetting the horror of clean-up, I am motivated by visions of the succulent food with the delicious, crispy brown edges.

As an aside, one must always consult the calendar to verify the arrival of this holiday, because, unlike Christmas, it has no specific designated date.  Rather, from year to year, it tends to hover over the month, and its descent is always a surprise.  Not being a student of the Hebrew calendar, its landing always appeared to me as being completely arbitrary, although I’m sure that’s not the case.  But, like all Jewish holidays, it’s never on time.  It’s either early or late.  In fact, I can recall one year, in the not-so-distant past, when Hanukkah was so eager to arrive, it actually collided with Thanksgiving.

But back to latkes.  For the uninitiated, a latke (pronounced lat kuh, with emphasis on the lat) may appear to be nothing more than a fried potato pancake.  But in truth, the little latke is so much more.  It’s a fried potato pancake with a soul.  The making and the eating is a treat for all the senses.  Therefore, once a year, I say throw food caution to the wind, swallow an extra statin, and prepare to enjoy starch cooked in oil.

Actually, as a holiday tradition, it’s all about the oil.  Cooking with oil is a commemoration of the ravaged temple and the miracle of the small amount of olive oil that kept the eternal light burning for eight days, instead of just one.   But it is not my intention here to retell the Hanukkah story.  If one is interested, one can always consult Rabbi Google.  Rather, it is to praise the latke.

Latke.  I even love the sound of the word, which I find somewhat sensual.  Uttered slowly and softly, letting the tip of the tongue rise to plant a gentle caress just behind the teeth, could there be a more loving term of endearment?  Come to me, my little latke.

But like all things Jewish, the proper preparation of latkes is not without differences of opinion.  Traditionalists claim that the only authentic way to make them is to grate the potatoes by hand.  Since I don’t believe that a preferred methodology is discussed in any biblical text, I stand with those who shred by food processor.    The outcome is just as good, and one’s knuckles remain intact.  (Contrary to popular belief, knuckle blood is really not the secret ingredient in a good latke.)

I prefer to get my tactile fix from squeezing the liquid from the shredded potatoes, then combining the other ingredients with my 10 digits.  Want to release your inner child and relive the early developmental gratification of playing with your food?  There’s nothing like being up to your elbows in potatoes, onions, eggs, and flour (or matzoh meal if you prefer).

And what can compare with the aroma of frying the latke?  Nothing, except for eating the latke.  Garnish as you like – apple sauce, sour cream, even caviar.  And voila!  The dull potato has been elevated into a luxurious treat.

And I say fie on the spoilers who attempt to ruin the entire experience by suggesting healthy alternatives.  Like baking, instead of frying.  Or substituting other vegetables for the potato.  A kale and cauliflower latke? Really?

And don’t even think about using a prepared mix!

I confess there is a downside to this otherwise joyous experience.  I must now begin to repair the damage that used to be my kitchen.  But not even the splotches of potato starch that have landed on my floor and counters, and the splattered oil on my stove, can detract from my satisfaction.

And the secondary benefit?  The memory of the experience that comes from the lingering odor of potatoes cooked in oil which will permeate the house long after the eight days have run their course.

And once everything is nice and tidy, I know I will forget the mess and do it all over again next year.  Whenever Hanukkah decides to arrive.