Let’s face it: I’m a great guy. Intelligent, learned and humble. I might even deign to call myself a talmud chochom. (Not that I would. That would be geiva.) I believe in keeping what the Torah demands of us. Point is, I’m doing just fine with the big guy. It’s the rest of you that worry me. If I have to eat food that wasn’t made by me, vegetables that weren’t grown by me, wheat that wasn’t grown by myself, etc… I break out in cold sweat. After all, I don’t know where your stuff comes from. You’re so frei, you probably even hold by the OU. Your toilet cleaner is probably treif. Your fruit probably doesn’t have a hechsher. I’m so frickin frum, even my plastic disposables have not one hechsher, but two. And they’re kosher for Pesach. And they were made only by people who are certified shomer shabbos. (By made I assume they mean pressed the ‘Start’ button on the machine.) See:
These are what I use only for chicken soups. (The most heimish of all the soups.)
Of course, I have a backup set of bowls that are good for every occasion that involves some sort of modern Jew but excludes Satmar Chassidim. Similar to the lesser ones, these have the added feature of being made in Israel and featuring an Israeli flag even, along with the words kachol lavan which means white *something*.
By now you must be asking “but heiligeh punk. What hechsher is good enough to be allowed into these bowls? And what makes it so special?” Good questions. The only hechsher that I allow to feed me besides myself is also the only one that certifies it’s food “Kosher Perve”. Perve. It conjures up images of food that are not just kosher, but obscenely kosher. Anti-Socially Kosher some might say. Creepily Kosher almost. “Strange man in trenchcoat with one hand hidden”-style kosher. And that’s kosher enough for me. Remember- look for the sticker on your food that tells you it’s pervertedly kosher. Kosher Perve. Accept no substitutes.