what's a matzo wit you?

Took Max to The Whistler for dinner not too long ago. Jeff ordered the matzo ball soup. When it came to the table, Max looked confused.

Max: What's that?
Jeff: It's a matzo ball.
Max: What's a mazzo ball?
Jeff: It's well, it's a ball of dough. In soup.
Max: Oh. Can I try it?
Jeff: Sure.

Max proceeded to finish off most of the soup.

At the table behind us a couple both ordered corned beef sandwiches and got snippy with the waitress complaining that the corned beef was "old." The nice waitress offered them a different menu item, but they remained grumpy and declared that they were leaving.

As they huffed across the parking lot to their car, no doubt complaining about their experience...and no doubt still hungry, I looked down at my plate. I'd ordered The Iron Duke, which was basically roast beef, lettuce, onions, and some packets of horseradish. (The menu had said, "covered in a horseradish sauce." Apparently that meant AFTER I opened the packets and covered the sandwich myself?)

I squeezed on the horseradish and took a bite, relived that I hadn't ordered the Reuben as I had initially planned.

Max asked for more matzo ball soup.