The Joy of Plant-Based Passover

When I was growing up, our Passover Seder was a production where 50-year-old card tables were pulled out of the depths of the garage and covered in Bubbe's finest tablecloths, couches were pushed to the sides of the living room to extend the dining area, and dishes were planned and prepared weeks in advance. Place cards were thoughtfully laid out to separate grandfathers with differing world views, and kids were put at the end of the table with our very own bottle of Manischewitz wine. It was an open-door event -- not only to Elijah, but to anyone looking to celebrate. But most of all, it was my grandmother and my mother's time to shine in the kitchen, sharing their love for food with anyone who would eat it. The Seder was the event of the year -- until for me, it wasn't.