So-Called "Shabbos Food"

One of the office employees was invited over to our employer's home for Friday night, since she lives in the same neighborhood. While not Jewish, she grew up in a rather Jew-y area and went to public school with lots of Jewish classmates, so she's familiar with our shtick. 

She ended up reviewing the happenings of the dinner with me afterwards, like why it was so quiet after the hand washing. She then hesitantly brought up the disturbing horror of "gefilte fish." 

I explained that the "traditional" Shabbos foods are, in actuality, peasant food. "Where people lived, in land-locked Eastern Europe, everything was expensive or hard to get. Fish. Chicken. Meat. They could only manage to get or afford a little bit. So they stretched it. Fish was mixed with filler. Chicken turned into soup. A bit of meat was mixed with beans and became cholent. But, the thing is, today? We can get salmon. A whole slab of it." 

That's why I laugh when people get defensive of, or even worship, "traditional" Shabbos food. Taste of Gan-Eden and all that jazz. Don't get me wrong, I like gefilte fish. Mmm, on a piece of matzah, munch munch. But is it heilig? Er, no. 

Shabbos food is supposed to be elevated, expensive, right? So it's kinda bizarre when people dine on whole fish during the week, then revert to the Frankenstein peasant loaf on Shabbos. Well, maybe the fine china helps. 

So if anyone has been guilted that they aren't eating the "right" foods on Shabbos, that's bushwa. Shabbos food is what you enjoy, for richer or poorer.

Taste of the Jewish Nation

Continuing on the idea of Jewish food, Padma Lakshmi's "Taste the Nation" had a Jewish food episode circling around Chanukah. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised she focused more on kosher style as opposed to actual kosher food. 

She goes to the Lower East Side, for some reason, and pretty much remains there, despite the fact that the Lower East Side isn't really the New York center of Jews anymore. 

There, she samples the typical fare of lox, cream cheese, and bagels, which seems rather limited. There were latkes, obviously, considering the theme. 

I thought it a shame she didn't head out to Brooklyn to experience the food there. For one thing, Boro Park, Crown Heights, Williamsburg, Flatbush, and Downtown boast a dizzying array of "Jewish food," along with a booming populace to go with it. OK, gefilte fish is not something we should proudly share, but what about a hearty cholent? Kneidlach? Rugelach? Delkalach?

Then the conversation veered away from food. Lakshmi went to visit Ruth, who she sorrowfully describes as a Holocaust survivor. 

I sat up straighter, interested to hear her story. Lakshmi's voiceover explains that Ruth came to the US in 1939, at the age of 11. That left me confused, as the Holocaust hadn't really revved up yet.  

It turns out that Ruth's family fled Europe following Kristallnacht, and for 10 months she was separated from her parents while they worked to get the paperwork to leave. 

Ruth explained how traumatizing that experience was for her, and I don't doubt it. But then Lakshmi prodded her (in an obviously staged way) why telling her story was so important, and Ruth compared her situation to the separation of children and parents at the southern border. 

So now we have made the connection from "Holocaust survivor" to "contemporary hot button issue."  

Umm . . . 

Yes, Ruth and her family were driven out of Europe by the Nazi regime, but in my opinion, but that doesn't make them Holocaust survivors. It makes them very, very lucky that they were not interned in death camps or hiding from SS soldiers in the woods. Ruth was 11 in 1939; chances are, if she would have been deported, she would not have lived. So I'll give her a "refugee" title, but I'm not cool with "survivor."

I was reading Yaniv Iczkovits' book review of Dara Horn's book, "People Love Dead Jews," and my peeve was right there: 

We look for universal lessons in lieu of attending to the actual persecution of Jews.

There is little to no relation of the current policy by the US border to, say, GENOCIDE. I don't exactly appreciate that sort of comparison, Lakshmi. Eating a bagel doesn't make you an honorary Jew of sufficient status to make such a claim.

"Jewish" Food?

Is there such a thing as "Jewish food"? 

I belong to a number of Jewish food groups. Some are more cultural, shall we say, than religious. During the pre-Chanukah season, the page was obviously going berserk for latke recipes. 

One person asked if she could make latkes in the oven. "The point is that they're fried!" she was sternly admonished. Since this was the more cultural page, I was amused. Is this what people think is important about the holiday—frying? The message of anti-assimilation is more vital, me thinks—and relevant.

Potatoes, to begin with, were not around in the times of the Chashmonaim. Chanukah food used to be cheese fritters, but Eastern European Jews only had shmaltz, not oil, to fry with. They therefore couldn't use cheese, so they relied on the sturdy potato that is readily available from winter storage. 

So what we have here is a holiday dish with tenuous ties to the original holiday. Now that we know about smoke point, frying in extra virgin olive oil is not recommended. So, does frying in sunflower oil or butter or shmaltz make something a Chanukah food? Shouldn't we be making more of an effort to consume olive oil, which doesn't necessarily mean frying? (I heartily recommend these cookies instead. Or, even better, good ol' salad vinaigrette.)  

My upbringing revolved around paprikash. The only thing that's Jewish about it is that typical Hungarian paprikash is usually served with sour cream, and the Jewish version is not.  

Jews are a bendy people—that's how we've survived. We learned, as we were shunted from place to place, how to pick up bits and pieces from the current culture around us and make it our own. Like braided challah—it has taken over our lives so much that women think bread HAS to be braided for Shabbos, when, no. That's an echo of a European fad in the 1500s, ladies. If women knew bread for Shabbos doesn't require braiding, maybe they would make it more often. 

I happen to like chremslach better than latkes—and both are fried potato patties. Yet the former is "for" Pesach, and the latter is "for" Chanukah. There's no rhyme or reason to it. It's just that in Eastern Europe, people ate potatoes all the time, and had to make do. 

So no, I'm not going to start deep frying on Chanukah just because "you have to fry" on Chanukah. We don't "have" to, especially if frying makes you nervous (it makes me nervous!) and/or not really worth the work for you.

And lately, my timid tastebuds have been experimenting with more "exotic" options, like tahina and silan (I'm so daring, she said sarcastically). 

It's all Jewish food. There's no right or wrong way of doing it, except if it's treif.

"Healthy" is Relative

"These ices don't even have a lot of sugar," he said cheerfully. "It's only 20 grams. A yogurt has 20 grams!" 

I spluttered in outrage. "20 grams is a lot of sugar! Just because there's 20 grams in flavored yogurt doesn't make it healthy! PLAIN yogurt is healthy!" 

Later: "This non-dairy cheese is made from sunflower oil! Sunflower oil is healthy!" he says cheerfully, while tearing into slice after slice. 

I nearly started crying. Yes, if oil is needed to cook, sunflower oil is a healthy oil, but not to just recreationally chow down. Especially since this guy has no issues with dairy, and could have munched on actual cheese. 

I remember reading about a woman who actually majored in nutrition, but when she graduated she still didn't know what constituted as "healthy." Her courses went into the science and biology of the body consuming nutrition, but not how that translated into a beneficial menu.

Because it's pretty darn hard. Studies come out every few minutes debunking previously accepted "fact." I recently picked up a "healthy" cookbook that had been published in 2000. Inside, there was a brownie recipe with no oil, only applesauce, that I found initially promising. But the recipe called for 2 cups of sugar, which I think is a lot considering the small dimensions of the cake. 

Then I realized that when the book was published, fats were the villain. Later, carbs would become the bad guy. In today's day and age, the recommendation would be to focus more on "healthy" fats to help process sugar better, as opposed to it hitting your bloodstream and causing a sugar high, then crash. 

I've tried to stay current. I'm also aware that some diets are healthy for some people, while some are not for others. Celiacs have to be careful with certain ingredients, diabetics with others, colitis sufferers with others. I myself, following a round of antibiotics five years ago, have a trashed stomach and have to work with around a  low FODMAP diet; then my acid reflux restricts my diet further. But each of those diets aren't necessarily healthy for everyone, only for those with those conditions. 

A diabetic was asking if I ever used monkfruit, but since I am not (BH!) diabetic, I see no need to introduce it to my repertoire. I'd rather use real sugar, and be judicious with it. 

Online, there are always epic battles to the death over what is "healthy." 

"Fruit is a healthy dessert." 

"NO IT'S NOT! Fruit is FULL of SUGAR!" 

"But it's healthy sugar!" 

"SUGAR is SUGAR!!!" 

I can't handle all that drama. 

Personally, I have a few ingredients that I try to stay away from. I learned in my teen years that white flour doesn't like me, so I don't use it. When I learned that non-dairy whip is pure trans fat, I can't even look at it. Even though the various coconut offerings are popular—coconut oil, coconut cream, coconut sugar, coconut aminos, coconut flakes, coconut yogurt, coconut water—I hate the taste of coconut, so no coconut has crossed my threshold. 

They say, "Everything in moderation," For me that means: I don't demonize carbs. I don't demonize fats. I don't demonize sugar. I try to consume them all in moderation, as these three still are necessary for the body (okay, I physically don't need sugar, but mentally I definitely do).  

So I smile wryly and shake my head wearily as someone merrily posts a "healthy" recipe, because for me her offering is not very "healthy." At this point, "healthy" is in the eye of the beholder.  

My Lessening Sweet Tooth

I think one of the first indications I was becoming "old" was when I began to consider some recipes too sweet. 

I used to take a lot of pride in my love of sugar. "Oh, I need my sugar," I would say, and even when I no longer consumed it on weekdays I would still profess my love for it. 

Don't get me wrong, I still like a hit of sweet every now and then, but I've been experimenting with cutting back on sugar in recipes, and I've been amazed how low I can go. 

Take the beloved family bundtcake, which calls for 2 cups of sugar. I read somewhere that one can take off one quarter of the sugar called for in a recipe with no ill effects, and it was a success with 1.5 cups. Then, what they hey, I cut it down further to 1.25. Still excellent. 1 cup did not turn out so good, so I've been sticking with 1.25 cups of sugar. It still tastes really sweet to me, and Ben loves it. 

Then the strawberry fluff (the recipe I posted back in 2014, so freakin' long ago, has been heavily modified since, so I owe an updated one) calls for 1 cup of sugar. I went down to 3/4 cup. Then 1/2 cup. It's so good with a 1/2 cup, I'm not kidding! Half the sugar, and it's excellent! 

I make Busy in Brooklyn's blueberry apple crisp nearly every Shabbos. It calls for 1/2 cup of sugar, but I don't put any in. That's right. I've found if I cover the crisp and bake it for a long time—90 minutes to 2 hours—the fruits caramelize to such an extent that it tastes sugar sweet. (I also halved the oil.)  

And so it goes. I've been cutting back on sugar in recipes left and right and I've been amazed how the results are still plenty sweet. Our sweet registers are really unnecessarily high. 

I'm not claiming that cutting back on sugar automatically makes a dessert "healthy"—but it is certainly "not as bad" as the full amount called for. 

Sugar is a part of our lives. The people need sweet! But we don't have to be SO sweet. (I was watching Sugar Rush with my nieces and I nearly barfed. I'm so old.)  

Experimentation can be daunting, I know. But give it a try. See what happens. Or better yet, if anyone notices.

The Way to the Heart is through the Stomach

I am going to say something now which will, in all probability, be considered controversial. 

Are you currently dating someone but can't get them to commit? 

Bake and/or cook for them.

I "joke" with Han that he would have married me much sooner if I had made muffins for him while we were dating. 

"No, no," he denies, his mouth full of lemon cake. But there is no denying the adoration shining in his eyes. 

I didn't really get into baking until we married. Ma used to hog the kitchen in that regard, and while I would be intrigued by different recipes, she wasn't exactly encouraging. She wasn't that jazzed about potential mess and sugary temptation.

But it turns out that I like to bake. Can baking be a hobby? I don't have many others, so it would be nice to have one. I see a recipe and I itch to try it. I frantically calculate: How much sugar can I shave off? How can I divide it into a smaller pan? What ingredients do I still need for it? I've always sucked at math but now I convert tablespoons to cups with ease.

As I type this, I have a whopper of a burn on my left wrist. Ben has a fascination with the oven so when I have to quickly get something out (it can be just a few moment between moist and dry goodies) I tend to scorch myself. It's fine. It's like a cool battle scar.

So after I started dabbling in baking, I noticed that Han was happy. Very very happy. While I grew up with at least two steady cake options in the freezer, Han did not. That makes him quite appreciative of my homey efforts.

And so we "joke." 

Brownie: "I'd marry you all over again!" 

Blueberry muffins: "I looooove yoooouuuuu!" 

Pesach sponge cake: "Damn, girl!" 

This strategy swings both ways. Han's brother likes to bake too, so he'll be a'wooing with ease. 

Suck at baking? Can't cook to save your life? No problem! Enlist the help of a friend who does like to and make sure to never expressly lie to the object of your affections. "You seem like you could use a home cooked meal." "These were no trouble to whip up."

Hey, just give it a try. Like chicken soup (Han lives for chicken soup) it can't hurt.

Before You Bake . . .

Um, so you know how I highly recommended whole spelt flour? So, er, there's an addendum to that. 

Yesterday, I attempted to make cookies for Shaloch Manos, and I quadrupled my usual cookie cutter recipe. 

It was a nightmare. 

The dough never came together; it remained sandy and crumbly. I tried adding more oil, more liquid, and nothing doing. I attempted to cut them out, and it was horrific. They refused to stay together, falling apart, jagged edges. When I shoved them into the oven and eventually took a peek, I saw in shock that they were foaming. 

I googled "whole spelt cookie cutter" and the few recipes either called for copious butter (I'm currently remaining pareve) or they enthused, "These cookies are deliciously crumbly!" 

Oh. 

So I bolted to the nearest health food store and miraculously, they had the whole wheat pastry flour in stock (I've been having difficulty finding it since COVID hit). I redid the dough, and OMG, it was like silk. It rolled out into beautiful slabs. The cookies held their shape magnificently. I nearly wept.

The whole spelt flour, however, has been performing very well in cakes, and non-cookie cutter cookie recipes. I've even made stunning challah from it. 

So even though I initially recommended it for cookie cutter cookies, I take that back. My first attempts with it went ok but then I hadn't quadrupled the recipe. Those sort of details matter, apparently. Blurgle.

Let's Talk About Flour

I, like the rest of the corona hermits, have taken to baking. When my sister stops by, she asks, "So what treats are in the freezer?" 

They haven't all been successes. The peanut butter cake that I made for Han (I hate peanut butter) is still untouched and taking up valuable space. The sourdough had a flop or three. Plus my "Battle of the Bulge" is a freakin' Waterloo, even with all my healthy swaps. Eh, it's COVID. We're all fat. 

For my cake and cookie needs, I usually use whole wheat pastry flour. The kintz with "pastry flour" is that it contains a lower protein content than regular whole wheat, meaning the cakes and cookies have the "right" texture. Or some such. 

But with the run on flour, I can't find whole wheat pastry flour anywhere. So I needed an alternative. My local store carries Shibolim whole spelt flour, so for the purposes of science I'd figure I'd give it a go. 

Whilst it sat nestled in the pantry, an article popped up in my Facebook feed about the glories of spelt. It claimed that while spelt contains gluten, the gluten strands are very fragile (unlike in wheat, where they are tough and sturdy). Because the gluten in essence falls apart in the stomach, spelt-based goodies are easier to digest than wheat. 

Well, I was out of pastry flour, so let's give it a go. 

1) The Bundtcake

This recipe was supposedly developed by my aunt, but it's near identical to another official recipe, so it looks like took false credit. In any case, the whole spelt tasted the same, but it's darker in color than the white whole wheat flour. 

 2) Lemon Cookies 

Han was quite clear. "Your best batch EVER," he proclaimed. When I asked for details, he said, "The crispiness. There's a dense crispiness." I'm not sure what he means by that, but he's always about texture. 

Personal Observations: Well, I'm not sure if I'm being delusional here, but it does feel easier on my stomach. My digestion, I must confess, has gone all geriatric on me (I can't eat a whole bunch of stuff anymore) so I'm rather in tune when it gets crabby. 

Conclusions: I think I'll stick with it. Some kids may get scared that the Bundtcake is a different color, but I won't tolerate racism in the kitchen.

The Patient Baker

A number of months ago, I began to dabble in sourdough. I've already meddled with homemade sauerkraut, so this seemed the natural next step. 

The premise of sourdough is this: the commercial yeast we use today is a fairly new invention. Before then, "yeast" was simply flour and water that was left to ferment. Then it would be combined with more flour and water in order to make bread. 

That is why, in Mitzrayim, the Hebrews left in such a rush before their bread could rise—bread then needed a long time to rise. The first proof can take twelve hours. 

When one first starts to research, it can be quite daunting. There are words like "autolyse" and "levain" and "oven spring" and "open crumb."  There are calculated percentages for "hydration," down to specifics like "67%." I'm bad enough at math, that was almost enough to completely terrify me. 

I finally had enough with the overly complicated instructions, and decided to go about the simplest methods. It took three weeks, but I finally had a frothy jar of starter. I went with whole grain recipes only, as white flour tends to mess up my stomach. 

The results weren't technically pretty, but they were tasty (even Ben likes it!). It takes time and effort, of course. There's a method called "stretch and fold" when dealing with the dough, directions on how to "develop gluten" or something, then figuring out how to manipulate dough that tends to be very wet and blobby (I'm trying challah next. I'm going to rip my hair out). 

I've joined a number of sourdough groups for further tips to hone my nonexistent skills, as have other newbies who've decided to pick up the hobby now that they've been quarantined. 

Some people are adorable. "My starter is five days old, it's not bubbling, what's wrong?!?!?" Five days? I had to fuss over my initial starter for weeks before it would pass "the float test" (don't ask). 

Sourdough is an old world food. Instant yeast was developed as the world began to speed up. The old world was a slow world, when everything took forever and no one went anywhere. 

Fermentation reintroduced me to the concept of patience. Good things come to those who wait. I sort of learned that after dating for bloody forever, but sourdough helps to reinforce the message. 

I've noticed that the sourdough is easier on my digestion—my stomach feels good after the Shabbos meal, when beforehand it would grumble a bit. Sourdough ferments the flour, which breaks it down better; there's a theory that the instant yeast is the culprit for the modern epidemic of gluten intolerance. 

I froze my starter over Pesach, sticking it on the shelf in the freezer with the whole grain wraps and muffins, and now I'm coaxing it back to life. 

I had planned on making sourdough challah this week, but so far there's only a few sluggish bubbles. It's not ready yet. So I may have to wait until next week, and that's ok. I'm itching to try a new recipe, but one can't force things. It'll be ready when it's ready. 

I can't control that.  

My Take on Lachmagine

As a recovering carbaholic, I try to be aware and limit my consumption of flour-based deliciousness. I currently have a container of leftover roasted potatoes eyeing me hopefully every time I open the fridge. Luckily pasta doesn't have the same hold over me, or else I'd be doomed. How I love cereal.

By the blessing of the Lord above, the man I married shares a similar carb-cautiousness. 

There are some foods he enjoys, however, that involve dough, like lachmagine. But for him, the ikkur isn't the dough, it's the meat. Having fallen hard for spaghetti squash, I believe I came across a recipe for spaghetti squash pizza crust, without the cheese binder that many rely on. 

I did find such a recipe on A Beautiful Mess (omitting the oregano and cayenne, using my own choice of spices), and experimented by making two crusts, one from riced cauliflower and the other from spaghetti squash. I must say, the squash version was much easier to deal with. The edges of the cauliflower crust crumbled, whereas the squash remained firm and intact. 

For the meat topping, I used a recipe that came with the riced cauliflower package, which is by Naomi Nachman. 

Using ¹⁄₄ cup measurements, I made quite many mini-crusts from one spaghetti squash. After baking the crusts, and before putting on the meat topping, I flipped them over. 

The crust was nice and firm.

I opted to make my own prune butter by simmering some prunes with a splash of water. Didn't take long. 

The leftovers kept very well in the fridge for quite a few days.  

Not-As-Horrible Frosting

I had been searching for years. I tried, multiple times, but my attempts were fruitless. I occasionally gave up hope. But now, I have found what I sought for so long. 

I shall start from the beginning. 

Many of us have family recipes that defines their clan. For us, there's paprikash, bundtcake, and Shabbos cake. 

Shabbos cake was my mother's chocolate cake, baked in a massive pan. It would be layered into two rows, slathered on top and in between with pareve whip. It was named "Shabbos cake" since it only emerged from the garage deep freeze for Shabbos. 

It was a happy childhood indeed. 

Then stupid education got in the way. We learned pareve whip is made from trans-fat, the worst of the worst. Since the human body doesn't recognize it, it can't metabolize it, and simply parks it in your thighs and arteries where it remains. It has actually now been banned in new food products.

Good-bye, pareve whip. 

But I needed a replacement, which proved to be nigh on impossible. I tried cashew cream, but the frosting was dingy in color, heavy in texture. Coconut cream seemed the best option, but it tastes like coconut. I hate coconut, and so do many of my family members. Aquafaba wasn't stable enough for my needs; it sort of self-destructs in storage. 

There was one option that I stubbornly refused to attempt because of a rather silly reason: it required a candy thermometer. I didn't want to buy a gadget to take up space for one recipe. Seemed wasteful. 

Until my nocturnal surfing while feeding the baby got the better of me. I bought the dinky thermometer. 

And the results are TOTALLY WORTH IT!!!

I used my first attempt to frost a brownie my sister gave me. Quite delicious. Sadly, she can't find the recipe she used.

I used this recipe for marshmallow frosting, and I was finally able to recreate the Shabbos cake of my youth (my sister made the cake for a family birthday party, I made the frosting).

Yes, I know it's not so pretty, but that's because I need practice. No fault of the frosting.

While the recipe calls for corn syrup, one can use agave instead (I did). Additionally, it is of upmost importance that the egg whites are room temperature. I made one batch will cold whites and the frosting was a failure. After separating the next batch of whites, I waited a half hour and the frosting was magnificent.

Since someone in the audience will jump down my throat, I am not claiming that frosting with copious amounts of sugar is healthy. However, it is certainly better than trans-fat. It's all about compromise.

Fave Recipes VI: Kugel Edition

I'm not really that much of a kugel fan. I can't be in the same room as potato kugel, but that's because I'm a potato monster and can't be trusted to be alone with any spud, in any shape or form. 

Besides for that weakness, kugels in general tend to be a lot of work. There's usually a lot of sautéing involved, then there's baking time, which can take up to an hour. 

But if I have time, or if I am making something for others, or simply get a culinary bee in my bonnet (happens often) I cheerfully delve in. 

The fun thing about kugels is that they are open to interpretation. Many such recipes tend to be vague outlines for me. If they call for breadcrumbs, I usually use oat bran instead and even then I cheat (I mean really cheat). If they ask for mayo, I omit it and put in an extra egg instead. I never, ever, use soup mix (I'm very sodium conscious; too much salt, and I'm thirsty and retain water like mad). 

Additionally, I like to take a kugel recipe and make them in muffin tins. My sister found cute little ceramic bowls in Amazing Savings and bakes kugels in them. The individual portions are so pretty, and packing away a half-filled baking dish can be a pain (the foil always falls off). 

• Cabbage Kugel 

I love, love, LOVE sautéed cabbage (it's a Hungarian thing). I used to make it every day for my high school lunches, I was that devoted. 

To be frank, though, I usually end up eating this by my sister's house. I just don't have the heart to sauté up all that magnificence and then add eggs and whatnot. I'd rather eat it straight. Mine. All MINE! 

True to type, I messed around with a few recipes. Most call for sautéing an onion (along with the cabbage), salt, pepper, a little sugar. Three eggs or so (I find that to be the kugel minimum) and maybe a little something flour-y. I usually opt for oat bran (gotta be a killjoy!) instead of breadcrumbs, as previously confessed.  

I believe for the below, I used pre-shredded coleslaw mix (a lifesaver).

• Broccoli Kugel 

I was really shocked when Luke, who's not exactly the healthiest eater, cheerfully plowed through these. 

I got a recipe from my sister but I changed it considerably. I bought frozen chopped broccoli, so mashing wasn't an issue. 

I sautéed an onion, added the broccoli, then after it defrosted,  some minced garlic gloves, salt and pepper. Then once it cooled off a little, three beaten eggs.  

Into the muffin liners they went, and baked on 350° until firm. 

 

• Butternut Squash Kugel by Miri Rotkovitz 

This is one recipe I didn't alter at all (except for omitting the pecans). It was an absolute HIT. I made it for the first time (a risk, I know) when Han and I hosted Shabbos guests for meal. They loved it too. 

I went with this recipe after some research because it was the least "sinful." She uses a small amount of maple syrup, instead of copious quantities of sugar. The flour and oil was the least amount of any recipe I came across. 

I sprinkled some with cinnamon. A lovely pairing. 

Then I had the ingenious idea to top the blech-warmed kugelettes with a scoop of vanilla ice cream (the pareve one from Trader Joe's is aaawesome) and my my my. 

Han fell so hard for these that he was hoarding them. He couldn't stand the idea that the fridge may no longer contain them. It's definitely in his interests to keep me alive, cackle.

Chicken Soup

Ma would make a big batch of chicken soup and freeze portions for a few weeks. I used to use her ancient pot (below, on left) but I became exasperated how quickly I needed to allot a Sunday to make another one. So off to Amazing Savings, and I got myself this baby (on right).

I don't make soup exactly how she did. Well, her method was always changing. My brother-in-law's friend was scandalized that she didn't use leek, so in leek went. My sister's sister-in-laws were laughing she didn't put in a tomato, so in went a tomato. Then she heard somewhere about chucking in a golden beet for color, and it does add a lovely shade. 

I've messed around further with the method. My sister, whose brood are deadly serious about chicken soup, has had to hone her skill finely. She simmers it overnight, so I now devote an entire day to its construction. 

I read in an article about browning the chicken before adding in the water for deeper flavor. Cool. 

But I added my own step to cut back on the necessary skimming of gunk: I pre-boil the chicken in the smaller pot for about five minutes—not too long. Then my soup is a lot cleaner. (It's naaaasty what's left behind!)

I personally love the vegetables from the soup (my in-laws considerately keep it for me). I use not only the aromatics (onion, celery, carrots), I gleefully add parsnip (not too many, Ta's not crazy about the flavor), turnips, and rutabaga (oh, rutabaga, mmm). 

My niece commented that my soup tastes like Ma's, and her mother said that's because I use dill. 'Cause I love dill. 

Ma used chicken legs, but for all that merciless simmering, I use chicken bones. I add turkey legs too, but keep on the skin because that's where all the fabulous collagen is. 

For seasoning, I definitely undersalt (still can't escape Ma's high blood pressure, even though she ain't here no more). Peppercorns, red pepper flakes, garlic cloves, bay leaves, fresh parsley, and again, fresh dill. Mmm. 

Straining is vital. Cheesecloth! Or at least use a fine mesh strainer. 

Behold, nine to ten weeks of golden joy. I try to let it cool as much as possible before pouring it over into plastic, then into the freezer it goes.

TGI Chanuka

• The fascinating history of latkes (they weren't always potato, people!) from Poppy and Prune; and
  
• "The Hypocrisy of Hanukkah." It is quite ironic.

Jacques' Poached Salmon

Ma was the master of pan-cooked salmon. I have observed her making it for a number of years. I wrote down her recipe too. 

But I can't do it. 

"I overcooked it again," I wailed to my sister. "I can't do it!" 

"I can't do it either," she commiserated. 

Fish is a delicate creature. One second, it is raw; blink, it is overcooked. I was desperate for a method to consistently grasp that small window of soft, almost creamy succulence.

After overcooking the salmon Ma's way three times, I gave up. Recalling the delights of poached salmon, I researched like mad. All roads lead to Jacques Pépin, of course.

Most poached salmon recipes call for twenty minutes of cooking. I learned from Jacques that salmon slices only need—get this—FOUR to FIVE. Then, by keeping the lid closed, the residual heat steams out any lingering rawness. 

The results? Soft, almost creamy succulence, every time. 

I use this method whenever I poach fish, even classic white fish (but that's another post).

The irony is that I discovered this recipe during my engagement, when Han was coming for a Shabbos. But it turns out he's not a fish fan, excepting these (whereas Ta considers canned fish "cat food"). 

Poached Salmon à la Jacques

Salmon in 6 oz. (or so) slices

1 onion, sliced into thick discs

1 carrot, chopped in half and lengthwise

1 stalk celery

1 sprig of fresh thyme or a few sprinkles dried

2 bay leaves 

1 to 2 tablespoons lemon juice 

1/2 cup white wine

1 to 2 cups water 

salt and generous amount of black pepper (1/2 teaspoon, says Jacques) 

1. Combine all the above ingredients, except for salmon, in a pot. Bring to boil. Simmer for 20 minutes or so.

2. Ensuring the flame is on a low simmer, place the salmon on top of vegetables (the onion in thick discs is helpful for this). Close pot and set a timer for FOUR (4) to FIVE (5) minutes, depending on the quantity and size of the fish. DO NOT LIFT LID. 

3. When timer rings, turn off flame. DO NOT LIFT LID. Set a timer for TEN (10) minutes. 

4. When timer rings, LIFT LID. 

5. When cool enough to handle (or even before, if one has seared out sensation from their hands), transfer to a container and strain in the broth. Cover and chill. 

C'est magnifique.  

Too Above, Too Beyond

I've become rather attached to a Jewish cooking group on social media. They've been very helpful, really. While the majority of posted recipes do not pass my self-defined "healthy" criteria, they've provided plenty of inspiration and options. 

As the "fun" parshios have swung back, the feed is cluttered now with women posting their "parsha desserts." Cakes covered in blue fondant and animal crackers. Rainbow blondies. Star cookies. Some breathtakingly elaborate. 

Group members tend to post what they made, which can give others much-needed ideas when they're tired of making the same chicken for supper three nights in a row. But there was some backlash to all the parsha postings, to the point that the administrator gave everyone a scolding. If you don't want to make it, then don't make it!, she said. That doesn't mean you have to be snarky and disapproving!  

Am I the sort of gal who'll spend my Friday carefully crafting a "mabul cake"? (I still don't know what that is). No. Not me. 

I do think it's an excellent idea to get children excited about the parsha. However. However: 

I'm pretty stressed on Fridays. I pride myself in not overdoing things, but after hitting the stories at 7:30, cleaning chicken, and praying I don't burn the broccoli again, I can get pretty busy. I'm also unwilling to do certain things, like stay up past my bedtime, to make a special something for Shabbos that, chances are, will not get the reception I was expecting for so much effort. 

Cooking for Shabbos can be overwhelming. When one is overwhelmed, one can get . . . testy. Maybe a little yell-y. So if any wife, mother, or daughter lost it because of the complicated desserts that are being made in the name of Torah, IT WASN'T WORTH IT. Because no matter how "ooh, aah" that confection is, people would rather not get their heads taken off. 

 

So if all of those mothers made multi-colored challahs with a smile on their faces and a song in their hearts, kol ha'kavod! You are amazing. But if one cross word was uttered, one irritated look flashed, because they took on more than they should have—

It missed the point. Buy the cookies instead.  

Toasted

You know those ginourmous chocolate-nut platters that people send that never get touched? 

So I had a pile of walnuts sitting in my fridge. They had a minty (blah) flavor after being parked in the platter for too long, but I didn't have the heart to throw them out. I thought to search how to get the stale out. 

Via sixburnersue

Just bake 'em for a few minutes. Which I did. 

The results were . . . OMG amazing.

When I told my sister, she laughed. "Duh! I made a salad once with toasted nuts. Everyone was like, 'WHAT is in the dressing?' and I said, 'It's the nuts,' and they didn't believe me." 

Now I toast the walnuts even when they're fresh, to put in brownies or muffins or to munch on. 

TGIF

• A Mexican Rosh Hashana

The One, the Only, BUNDT CAKE!

This cake guaranteed my survival in elementary school. Knowing that I, and I alone, had access to the recipe, my classmates knew they needed me alive. 

In fourth grade I decided to be generous (I don't know why, they didn't deserve it) and brought in individual baggies, each containing a sacred slice, to be given out on my birthday.  

When I carried in the brimming bekelah and silently tucked it into my cubbie, the class was buzzing. "Is it . . .?" "Do you think . . .?" "It IS!" "Morah, please, can she give it out now?"

Because of me, there were 10-year-olds who knew what a Bundt pan was. 

The current version is not remotely similar to that original, however. Over the years, an enterprising aunt experimented to make it "healthier"; less oil, less flour, and so forth.  

The version that remains a constant presence in my freezer is adored by child and adult alike, excepting Luke, who boycotted it since 1997 once orange juice was removed from the ingredient list. 

The below picture is not of a standard Bundt pan, and there is good reason for that. When the family fridge was updated to a side-by-side, the new freezer could not accommodate the Tupperware that contained the typical Bundt shape. Therefore, Ma bought a loaf pan version of the Bundt style. I think I prefer it, actually. Slicing is much easier. 

I will suggest that you peruse the notes on the bottom. The below recipe is when it is done with standard white flour, but the notations will explain the alterations necessary for whole wheat pastry flour (Arrowhead Mills is best).

Remember: With great power comes great responsibility. 

Bundt Cake

6 eggs

2 cups sugar

one tablespoon (heaping) vanilla sugar
Splash vanilla extract

1 cup oil*

2 cups flour**

2 teaspoons baking powder***

Beat the eggs, sugars, and vanilla. Beat in oil. Add dry ingredients, but mix only until just combined. Spray bundt pan generously with baking spray (like Baker's Joy). Pour over into a bundt pan, leaving about a third of the batter in the bowl. 

Add the remaining batter:

1 tablespoon cocoa

2 tablespoon sugar

2 tablespoon warm water****

sprinkle vanilla sugar 

Taking the new chocolate batter, pour along the center of the cake.

Bake at 350 degree oven (or 310 convection) for 45 minutes to an hour, depending on the oven. Check with a toothpick. Allow to cool before removing from pan. If it was well-sprayed, the cake should fly out no problem. 

*Half of the oil in cake recipes can be replaced with unsweetened apple sauce. By happy chance, the snack packs are usually exactly 1/2 cup. (I get mine from Trader Joe's.)

**The recipe above is for regular white flour, but for years it has been made with whole wheat. Not any whole wheat flour; specifically, Arrowhead Mills Organic Pastry Flour. In my experience, it is the lightest and fluffiest.

***This is very important: When using whole wheat flour, omit baking powder. That was learned the hard way. ("Why is there cake all over the oven?") 

****I've been remiss when doing this recipe, as I haven't added the warm water to the chocolate. Oops. But everyone still loves it. I've even just added cocoa, no sugar either. No complaints so far. But if one is not a fan of chocolate (!) feel free to skip this step.  

Final tip: In my family, cakes live in the freezer (I don't like cake at room temp. Feels unnatural). My nephew refers to it as "cold cake," a term Han lovingly adopted.
 
If you also like your cake frozen, here's a little secret: If you take the cake out a little bit early, the center will remain divinely gooey. Then, when frozen, it's like there's an ice cream center. Not too early, mind. Keep an eye on it from the 45 minute mark.

Guacamole

I don't really understand guacamole. There are too many foreign flavors. Cilantro? Lime? Raw onion? I prefer parsley, lemon, and my onions caramelized. 

I made it once for company in my single days. It was politely neglected. 

Yet for Han's sake, I decided to tackle it.

My one criteria was that the recipe call for dried cilantro. I abhor the stuff, and have no use for it after taking what I need. Lord Byron provided one.  

I halved the recipe, and based on Han's suggestions put in less onion (I prefer the milder shallot), and all the juice from one lime. I omit the red pepper flakes. My new delightful discovery is sun-dried tomatoes from Trader Joe's—that place is freakin' magical. Magical!  

Avocadoes soften freakishly fast at room temp, but stay inert in the fridge. So I buy them when they are very, very green, and take them out a day or two before I plan on making guac. 

Han has claimed this guac is just as good as store-bought. (Sing-song) naaaaaaiiiiiiled it!  

*Notes: I had rescued a sad avocado from my sister's fridge but didn't have any lime or shallot. I used lemon juice and scallion instead. Han still enjoyed.