May 21, 2012

Feasting on Jewish Diversity

by Claire Rosenberg, Staff Writer
February 17, 2011

I can tell a lot about a Jew based on what they eat, and it’s a point of pride for me, an ability I’ve honed over time. Do you eat bacon, egg and cheese on matzoh during Passover? I’m guessing you grew up Conservative, but with the exception of two days in September, probably haven’t seen the inside of a synagogue since your Bar or Bat Mitzvah. It’s that long standing tradition of Jewish guilt making you eat your bacon on unleavened bread during the holiday. Is kugel the only casserole in your repertoire? Your family is probably Eastern European in Origin, and even if I’m wrong, I’m guessing that you’ve got (or had) a pretty strong relationship with Grandma.  If you favor savory kugels, chances are your family has roots in Sephardism, and if it’s sweet puddings you favor, I’m retracing my steps towards Europe. It seems that everyone eats latkes during Chanukah, although the topping of choice is another clue I can use. Sour cream is DEFINITELY Russian in origin, apple sauce generally denotes German origin, and I tend to consider sugar an American habit.

 

I’ve got a little bit of everything in my own Jewish genealogy, and it shows when my family comes together for a meal. The stereotypical Ashkenazi classics always have a place, ranging from noodle kugels and latkes, to matzoh ball soup.  Just as often though, they are accompanied (or preceded) by Israeli salad, homemade falafel, and vinegared eggplant. That would be my Sephardic and Israeli lineage making an appearance at the table, and speaking to the origins of my family. I’m fairly certain that bagels with cream cheese and lox are a creation of the New York Jewish Community, although smoked fish and dairy are reminiscent of Russian and Scandinavian culinary traditions as well, so it’s definitely conceivable that Jews brought those flavors to New York with them. In that vein, where on earth does tsimmis come from? My mother has made the classic mixture of carrots, raisins and cinnamon for as far back as I can remember, and it always makes an appearance on our Passover table, but why? Jews are traditionally known for our pound-packing comfort dishes (typical of a people dispersed mainly into cold countries worldwide) but vegetable side dishes that predate our return to humid Israel? I’ve always found something to be suspicious about the origins of the dish.

 

The truth about Jewish food, is that it is something different to each individual, tied to their own experiences as a Jew, whatever those may be.  Personally, when asked to name foods that I associate most strongly with being Jewish, I’d name falafel (adamantly claimed by many Arab countries as well) jelly fruit slices (something that filled my Grandmother’s candy bowl when I was a child) and those Sunkist fruit gummies often pelted at B’nai Mitzvah celebrations. Having spent a decent amount of time in Israel, I’d now count the chocolate rugelach from Marzipan Bakery in Jerusalem among my top choices, although they are a more recent entry on my culinary timeline.  Based on the versions I encountered growing up, I’d always believed rugelach was intended as a stale-tasting, crusty, parve, kiddush-filler, not the transcendental experience it can be when purchased at Marzipan. Like most successful Jewish foods, these are guaranteed to promote those all-important Jewish-Baby-bearing hips. Another edible firmly tied to my Jewish experience at this point, is the flatbread once made by my Madrich (counselor) outside a Bedouin tent in the middle of the Negev desert during my semester at Be’er Sheva University nearly 6 years ago.  Nothing could be simpler, yet it brought me to feel a connection to my biblical ancestors as I never had before, cooking over an open fire in the sands where they once lived and ate. It is possible to make this bread in your own kitchen as well, although you will have to work a bit harder to imagine the biblical connection. If you are ready to bring the desert spirit into your own kitchen, this is the recipe taught to me that fall night beneath the stars:

 

Ingredients
1 cup flour (white or whole wheat)
1 tbs zataar (An Israeli spice available at Middle Eastern stores in the United States, you can also replace it with a bit of oregano if necessary)
water

 

Directions
1. Heat a skillet over high heat. Combine flour and zataar, and begin to add water one tablespoon at a time, until you have a dry but uniform dough. You want this to stay together, but it should NOT be sticky.
2. Press the dough out into a flat sheet with your fingers. It should be just about as thin as you can make it with no holes, and toss on the heated skillet.
3. After about a minute, flip over and cook another minute. Remove from heat and enjoy as you wish.

 

I’ve never tested this recipe on an electric range, and cannot speak to how that would result.  I must also caution that a skillet overturned on an open flame should never be left unattended, because that mistake can lead to a quickly spreading fire, something I’ve unfortunately had a bit of experience with.

 

If there is any place that has successfully brought together numerous culinary traditions, it is Israel. Within a five minute walk of the historic Western Wall, one can get a Yonkers Bagel with cream cheese (and lox) while their friend enjoys a falafel, and they can both share a Snapple, delivered locally from the Israeli distributer. The first red and blue icee machines recently made their way to the holy land as well, widely available wherever hummus is sold…a combination I’m still a bit dubious about. As strange as it may sound for these foods to be enjoyed together, that is what Israel is all about---perhaps it’s not a melting pot at the American level, but it does bring together Jews from all over the world, with widely varying traditions and recipes; to create one people,  both in food, and in spirit.

 

On several occasions, I have been fortunate enough to enjoy a Shabbat meal in Jerusalem’s old city, hosted by Reb Chayim, a well-respected presence in the community. His meals are festive events, often seating 50+, and are open to anyone who happens to wander in, although reservations in advance are appreciated. The food is plentiful, and for the most part, “traditional”. A whole fish served for good luck often appears on Friday evenings, and there are always several varieties of kugel and cholent for Shabbat lunch, in addition to the requisite chicken and potatoes. There is one additional course at Reb Chayim’s that may surprise you; as it did me on my first attendance. Reb Chayim always gives the same lead-in: “When I was a kid, my mother always told me that I can have whatever I desire in life, but that there can’t be any candy at the table. So this is in her honor”. Trays covered in candy, chips and popcorn emerge at this point, so that everyone might attempt to spoil their appetites between the fish and the main course, a tradition at this particular Shabbat table. I doubt that my great grandmother had m&ms before her cholent, but I’m certain she DID have a guilty pleasure of her own, because like (turkey) bacon on matzoh, aren’t those guilty pleasures what Jewish eating is all about?

 

 

 

Claire Rosenberg is staff writer for the New Vilna Review. She is also a Jewish semi-professional living in Connecticut, where she teaches, writes, does yoga, and runs the occasional 5k. She spends the majority of her time these days applying to Masters Programs in Israel and creating recipes to post on her vegetarian food blog, www.bokchoybohemia.com.
 
Copyright Claire Rosenberg/The New Vilna Review 2011.