Friday night may have kicked off the 14th Annual Kung Pao Kosher Comedy soiree, but it was our first. Though we're clearly members of the target audience for a December night of comedy by, for and about Jews, we somehow managed never to attend. We were Kung Pao virgins. But no longer.

And though the evening's drawbacks were pretty much what we'd always suspected -- cramped seating, heaping portions of self-deprecation (even at the cocktail show) and the sinking feeling that we might not be subverting the Jews-and-Chinese-food-at-Christmas stereotype so much as living up to it in a way that might make Mel Gibson or David Irving smile -- we're glad we went.

By the time we arrived, the New Asia Restaurant's Cattskillian, communal, cleverly named tables (ours was called "Guilt") were filled with Jews. Those non-Jews in attendance had made the conscious decision to be Jewish-ish for one crazy night -- or at least the duration of the show.

By SFist Karen S., contributing

Longtime San Francisco comedy fixture and Kung Pao impresaria and MC Lisa Geduldig got the show rolling right on time. Geduldig has never been the kind of comic who makes us laugh ourselves sick. But her gently laid-back "everyjew" Grinch-iness, along with the announcement of her Bill O'-swiping campaign to "put the 'CH' back in Chanukah," hit the right note with the audience.

After a few more jokes about or inspired by her mother, Geduldig brought out Stephanie Blum, a perfectly serviceable nice, Jewish comedian from Brooklyn.

The former school psychologist was relaxed and confident, as she riffed on motherhood, her weight and how people think that because she's from Brooklyn, she knows everyone else who lives in Brooklyn. Much of Blum's material veered perilously close to Roseanne in her housewife heyday, but her winning persona carried her through.

Blum's best line of the night: "I can't be bulimic because I procrastinate."

Midliner Dan Ahdoot (a=href www.standupdan.com) -- dare I say it -- probably should have been the headliner. This is not to slight Cathy Ladman, the actual headliner; it's just that Ahdoot, in addition to being very, very funny, displayed the kind of energy that can keep comedy audiences rapt into the wee hours.

Early into his set, he announced, "I'm an Iranian Jew. A classic combination, like peanut butter and cat."

Rather than coast along on a "what's funny about me is that I'm IRANIAN!" ethnic persona, Ahdoot actually delivered on the promise of his jokes. And as clever as his jokes were, his post-punch line mumblings were almost funnier than his punch lines. That's often one mark of a real standup, and not just a person who memorizes a funny routine for the purposes of sharing it later with audiences. (Yes, Dane Cook. We're calling you out.)

Which is not to say that in our post-911 world, Ahdoot avoided any mention of how the Iranian part of his heritage is at odds with . . . us: the United States and Israel. In fact, the evening's edgiest bit was a joke about bus bombing that was, we're not kidding, actually funny. (When we lived in Israel, our 30th birthday was preceded and punctuated by bus bombings. So getting us to laugh about a topic so horrible took talent.)

It takes guts to tell Ahdoot's jokes. But then again, it takes guts to give up medical school for comedy. Not that his father will ever let him forgive him for making the choice. Ahdoot closed with a funny bit about how his Dad keeps parallel calendars of what he would be doing now if he'd gone to med school, and what he's actually doing now following his comedy dreams.

Headliner and standup superstar Cathy Ladman was, we're sorry to report, a bit of a disappointment. Or maybe Ahdoot was just too good.

Ladman covered the classic lady comic bases of men, moisturizer and, well, men. "I just ended a relationship," she quipped near the start of her set. "I got married." (Never mind that she's been married for 10 years. This bit still killed with the mostly coupled-up crowd.)

The tone got lighter and the jokes got sharper when Ladman talked about her adopted 3-year-old daughter. "I'm 51. She's 3. I'm in the PTAARP." Ladman's funniest line – save the closing excerpts from her actual elementary school compositions -- dealt with the fact that she's so exhausted from caring for her toddler, when she laid down on the table for a colonoscopy, she was happy for the nap.

Ladman's material, which included plenty of swipes at the unhandy nature of Jewish men, went over well with the forgiving audience. But considering her reputation and accomplishments (she's written for Wayne Brady!), we were expecting . . . something extra.

Perhaps in this season of Jewish otherness and over-the-top Christmases, a night of jokes, Jews and Chinese food is the most we can hope for. We suspect this is the secret of Kung Pao's enduring appeal: no matter how many shows Geduldig presents or how moldy the comedians (or their jokes), if she throws it, we will come.

Eventually.