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When I was growing up, my paternal grandfather would always make loctas whenever any of his grandchildren were over visiting.

Now, these weren't the potato loctas that you're probably familiar with.

Instead, these were made from matzo meal.

And I have to tell you, we all love them.

We just sprinkle a little bit of sugar.

Well, honestly, a lot of sugar on them, and they be eaten very quickly.

And of course, today, whenever any of us get together, and I sadly have to say that's

mostly via Zoom these days, we all look back on those loquas with great fondness.

But unlike me, most of them never got to experience the

one bad batch that my grandfather made. I would guess I was in my mid-20s at this point,

you know, fresh out of college, and my grandparents were probably in their early to mid-90s.

I remember that it was a beautiful summer day, so I decided to take a ride over to their place to say hello.

And there we were, the three of us sitting under the trees, having a nice conversation,

when my grandmother suddenly turned to my grandfather and said,

Jack, why don't you make Stevie some lotkas?

And as you can guess, a few minutes later, he emerged from the kitchen with a plate of hot

lodkas. I took one bite and I wanted a puke, and I'm not exaggerating here. They really were

that bad. What happened was that my grandfather had reused the oil that he had previously cooked

liver in. Yes, I was eating livered-flavored lottas. Yuck. And of course, I didn't

want to hurt my grandfather's feelings, so I just struggled to swallow every bite, and it really was

a struggle. Well, it was probably about 15 minutes into that plate of Lackas when all of a sudden

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