Let Our Peter Zuckerman Go: A Passover Adventure!

Wednesday, 31 March 2010 12:56 | Written by Byron

The following is a true story. It actually happened last night to Peter Zuckerman, above, the famed author and boyfriend to Mayor Sam Adams. It has to do with a Seder dinner being held at the West Hills home of Mother's Bistro chef, and fellow author, Lisa Schroeder and hubby Rob Samples, aka The Schramples. I've heard of people being lost in the West Hills, but this is ridiculous. Photos from the intended Passover dinner destination are at the end of Peter's "story."

Almost Passed Over

By Peter Zuckerman

To the directionally impaired, Portland's West Hills are a maze. Fortunately, I figured I'd made it to the home of Lisa Schroeder. A line of parked cars snaked down the road in front of a gorgeous home, and an open door and a sign that said "Shalom" announced I'd arrived at a Jewish household about to celebrate Passover. I went in.

"Welcome!" a man at the entrance said. "Come on in."

I smiled, shook hands with him and introduced myself.

"Peter!" the man exclaimed. "We're so glad you made it." He gave me a bear hug. I told him I'd brought some flowers for Lisa. He seemed pleased, and he introduced me to a guest.

The guest and I started chatting. "How do you know the hosts?" she eventually asked me.

"I don't, really, but I'm friends with Stephen and Lisa," I said. "Do you know where they are?"

"I'm sure they're around here somewhere. Have you met my daughter?"

I continued chatting with strangers for perhaps 10 more minutes. They asked about my family, and, a little surprised by the question, I told them my sister and brother-in-law had recently moved to Portland and that Sam and I were doing great. I asked them similar questions and nodded attentively, just as they had.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed someone setting another place at the table. Soon, we sat down to eat.

I scanned the seats but still didn't see anyone I knew. Where were my friends? Someone poured the wine, and I realized I had better not have anything to drink.

I stood up. "Um, I think I went to the wrong Passover," I whispered to the man sitting next to me.

I was hoping to sneak out the door before anyone noticed.

Too late. The man told the person sitting next to him, and laughs spread around the table until nobody could talk and everyone was staring at me.

Hiding my face under my hands, I didn't know what to say. The host, barely able to talk through his laughing, thanked me for coming, insisted I take the flowers back, tried to get me to finish the wine and invited me to return for dessert.

I scuttled to my car and eventually found the right Passover. At Lisa's, I drank a lot of wine and stayed for dessert.

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