To my family, Pesach matzah is a beloved delicacy. My siblings and I fought over and continue to fight over it. Even the tzigekiminer who initially watched on, baffled at our violence, quickly converted to our ways. They starting battling over them as well, even those with machine-matzah minhagim.
Come to the Dark Side; we have matzah.
Any leftovers are lovingly hoarded (in a hiding place that shall remain unrevealed lest Luke discovers it) throughout the rest of the year. Usually around Chanukah-time the last piece is treasured and savored to the triumphal send-off of imaginary trumpets.
Hant matzah is so. Damn. Good.
Here's the thingy: We ain't the only ones to think so. The front cover's of this week's Sunday Review was plastered with this article (and that illustration) by chef and restaurateur Dan Barber, cooing about the tastiness of hant matzah.
Apparently, all the complex laws in keeping the wheat for shmurah results in a yummier matzah.
Can't wait for my rezeveh Shatzer matzahs! Oh, the suspense!