Hanukkah

mollygoldberg.jpg I was recently given a gift of an out of print cookbook called The Molly Goldberg Cookbook.  When I first saw it I was amused and when I opened it up, I immediately saw a cabbage recipe I wanted to make. Score! Here was a cookbook that had that “Through The Looking Glass” aspect to it. These were recipes long forgotten, mysterious in their 1950-ness, soon to be resurrected by me!

I had a faint notion of who Molly Goldberg was; however, despite the constant ‘jokes’ in my house about my age I was actually too young to have seen The Goldbergs on TV. It still amazes me that I saw Amos n’ Andy. The premise of this prototype for all subsequent sit-coms was the lives of Jewish immigrants, usually featuring a solvable family or friend-related problem.  Molly, in her infinite “Jewish Mama” wisdom would involve herself in these neighborhood and family dramas dispensing invaluable advice. 

Upon closer inspection of the book, three things struck me.  One, the book was arranged almost like a ‘wraparound’.  That’s a reference to a strip show on TV that had interstitials.  Molly had her ‘bits’ that introduced the story behind some of the recipes. These bits represented a microcosm of cultural idioms and the social challenges and changes that arose from the Diaspora.  The other thing I noticed was that many of the recipes were ‘from hunger’.  An expression meaning, well, lacking in taste or desirability.  The third thing, which reminded me of something my dad said about brisket:  that it killed more Jews than bullets.  Some of the recipes were so BAD for you, its no wonder high cholesterol and constipation plagued my people.  

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box8.jpglaraine_newman_cameo.jpgI’m a California Jew. If one were to compare ethnicity in terms of packaging, we’d be ‘plain wrap’. Both my folks were Jewish, but Mom was an Atheist and Dad, well,  he grew up in the little town of Chloride Arizona and Grandpa Harry was the Sheriff.  Once, when I was a kid, I brought a stray cat into the house. Dad hated cats. The center of his face turned purple with rage. “You git that ornery varmint outta here!”  Get the picture?

Then I met my salt of the earth, “Philly bro” husband who promised his father on his deathbed that he’d have his kids bar/bat mitzvah’d, what the fuck was I gonnna do?

I joined a neighborhood Temple. By the way, our house is literally straddled by Temples. Sephardic (the building and the inside is breathtakingly gorgeous) the Conservative and the Reform. Guess which one we chose? Also, it had a renowned Mommy and Me program.

When we attended the first Shabbat as a family, I was nervous.  I wore a dress. That was me ‘towing the line’. I didn’t know what to expect.  What I liked about our Temple was that it was modest.  Still, I was worried  my uncouth manners would make me an outcast OR get us kicked out.

As Chad and I were hurrying across the street to the Temple, I said “Now look, we’ve got to be really, uh, you know, polite.” “What’re you talkin’ about?” he said. “You’re the one with the sailor mouth.” It’s true. You hang around Comedians long enough….

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sunchokelatkeEating potato pancakes carry many childhood memories for me, especially of summers spent with my paternal grandparents in the countryside of Hungary. I can almost clearly remember myself in the garden right outside the kitchen door, eating them as my mother brought them out, one by one, slathered with jelly or applesauce.

Popular throughout Eastern Europe, potato pancakes are also known as latkes in Yiddish, and are traditionally eaten during the Jewish holiday of Hanukkah. They can be enjoyed as a sweet treat or a savory appetizer when served with sour cream. The purists like them plain, but I can eat them every which way. The key with these pancakes is to eat them as soon as they are fried because they are only as good as they are hot and fresh.

In this recipe I use a combination of shredded root vegetables, such as sunchokes from the Union Square Greenmarket, potatoes, and carrots. All provide a variety of flavor and texture. Sunchokes, also known as Jerusalem artichokes—though they're neither native to Jerusalem nor related to artichokes, are knobby ginger-like tubers with a slightly sweet and nutty flavor.

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cookie.gram.blue white2These cookies I hold near and dear to my being.  When I was with my grandma, I could simply be me.  I could be my sweet self, I could be my bratty self, I could be my intuitive self, and I could be my quiet self. We had a special relationship.  I was the youngest of 7 grandchildren and my childhood was riddled with illness.  

I was ALWAYS sick. I was hospitalized with collapsed lungs at the age of 12 and after 20 days, I was released. It was the beginning of summer and that summer, I mostly spent in the house, in bed. I went into the hospital weighing 77 pounds and came out 25 pounds lighter.

My grandma came over every day and made sure I ate.  She made me all of my favorite foods; her pasta, chicken and dumplings, matzoh brie (a matzoh version of french toast), egg noodles with cottage cheese + salt (I know, it sounds gross-but it is really good), and so much more. These cookies were in our cookie jar everyday and these cookies make me happy.

As I light the menorah tonight, I will light the candles in honor of my grandma, whom I think about all the time.  She gave me a gift, the gift of unconditional love.

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lattladies.jpgFor dinner on the first night of Hanukkah my mother always started with a romaine lettuce salad topped with scallions and Lawry's French Dressing. Then there was a brisket of beef with carrots and mushroom gravy. But the real stars of the meal were the latkes served with apple sauce and sour cream.

My mother's latke recipe was handed down from her mother: grated potatoes, eggs, flour, a little salt and pepper. She'd fry them in vegetable oil and serve them as soon as they were browned. So simple and yet the result was so soul-comforting: crispy on the outside, soft inside, with just the right amount of oil and salt. There are few dishes that are as satisfying as food and so emotionally evocative.

Like most kids, my sister, Barbara, and I waited eagerly at the table. As soon as the plate full of latkes was passed around, we emptied it. I kept count, because I didn't want her to have more than I did. They were that good. When my grandmother was in town, she and my mother made Hanukkah dinner together. Their relationship was competitive to say the least, so there was always considerable discussion about the right way to make the latkes: flour vs. matzo meal; onions or no onions. My grandmother liked to point out that she had given my mother her latkes recipe but my mom insisted that she hadn't remembered it correctly.

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