When I was a child, too young to understand the difference between the Days of Awe and the Day of Atonement, my only clue that the High Holidays were coming were the religious smells wafting out of our kitchen.
My parents were first-generation American, their parents born and raised in the Jewish ghettos of Russia and Poland, in cities whose names have changed and borders shifted. When I asked my grandparents about our roots, they sadly recounted that neither their family nor their village was there anymore. During those difficult times, the dream of living in America was the light that kept their spirits alive.
My grandparents arrived with a few prized possessions carefully tucked inside old trunks. But their best possession was in their heads: the rich heritage and tradition of celebrating Jewish holidays – what to wear, how to pray, and most importantly, what to eat. Today when I watch my parents prepare for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, it’s as if all the relatives I never met are in the kitchen with us. “Add a little more sugar. Don’t you think those onions are browned enough?” “Forget the olive oil; during the holidays we use schmaltz.”
These experiences are aptly described by Nancy Ring in “Walking on Walnuts” (Bantam Books, 1996). Maybe it’s universal among Jewish women to embody all the matriarchs who came before us. And nowhere is it more obvious than in our cooking, especially the traditional dishes that have been handed down l’dor vador, from generation to generation.
As our family’s reigning matriarch, my mother Celia, has her phone ringing off the hook every time the High Holy Days come around. “How come my brisket is so dry? “Why is my kugel so tempera-mental?” “Why doesn’t my tsimmes taste like yours?” But the latest questions aren’t from one of our future matriarchs. The inquisitor is my father, Milton, with queries about, of all things, horseradish. Because he loved the rich, acrid flavor of his mother’s horseradish – in addition to drowning chicken, fish and brisket in it, he actually eats it plain or piled on matzah – he wanted to learn the recipe. And Celia was only too happy to tell him, as that will assure his help in the kitchen.
On Rosh Hashanah, they will work side by side peeling, grating and seasoning the piquant root until they get it just right; then on to the tsimmes, kugels, gefilte fish, schmaltz, chopped liver, and finally the dessert. Milton affectionately refers to Celia as “chief cook and bottle-washer.” Even though in his heyday he was a very successful businessman, he almost revels in his culinary capitulation to his wife. It seems that as their marriage surpassed golden – last year they celebrated their 60th – a new and wonderful relationship has developed. But the last thing my brothers and I ever thought was that it would develop in the kitchen.
Even though I’ve moved out, I am with them in spirit as they go about their coveted High Holiday ritual. First the house must be immaculate, the china, crystal and silver sparkling, then the decision of whether to put a plastic cover over mother’s best lace tablecloth must be made. “Take off the plastic,” I implore, just as I did as a child, when she had plastic covering the sofas and I longed to sit down without crunching. I have since learned the heartbreak of wine stains on lace, so I try to let my manners get the better of my mouth.
Celia will then begin compiling recipes, even though she has made each dish at least 50 times and has them virtually perfected. But she likes the security of the food-splattered card on the counter, and when no one is looking, she’ll throw in something new, something not even her mother or mother-in-law would have dreamed.
On the day before Rosh Hashanah, she and Dad will make the rounds – first to the kosher butcher to buy the pinkest brisket, the liveliest liver, and a fat chicken from which to make broth and her prized schmaltz. Then to the Jewish baker for the round challah with raisins, the Middle Eastern market for fresh spices, dried prunes and the best-looking horseradish root. And finally to the Farmer’s Market to pick out the most pleasing produce. By the time they finish with the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker, I am exhausted just watching them.
Celia’s brisket and carrot tsimmes is the family favorite; from my youngest daughter, Alyssa, to my dad, we unabashedly ask for thirds. It is overshadowed only by Milton’s horseradish (chrain) which my parents pass around in tiny jars, watching religiously that everybody replaces the top. “You expose it to the air – you may as well throw it out!” they warn.
Since Celia is a perfectionist, one year she’s positive her potato kugel is too dry, her chopped liver too bland, her tsimmes too sweet. Another year, she slyly admits she got it just right. Of course, to us, no matter how she gets it, it’s delicious, and we love watching her beam at the kudos as the plates are passed around. Now that we can include Milton in the compliment, it makes celebrating these Days of Awe an ancestral event. In the best sense!
Mama Celia’s Brisket and Carrot Tsimmes
Although we take large helpings of this delightful dish, it is really considered a side rather than a main dish. Some things not in the recipe that sometimes appear on our plates: pumpkin, apples, raisins, dried apricots and items I’m not even aware of.
1 pound brisket, with a small amount of fat left on
2 onions, sliced
5 cloves garlic, chopped
2 sweet potatoes, peeled and grated
5 carrots, peeled and grated
2 white potatoes, peeled and grated
1 parsnip, peeled and grated
2 stalks celery, diced
1 cup pitted prunes, soaked in water (reserve water)
Kosher salt and pepper to taste
1/2 teaspoon paprika
Lemon juice
1 teaspoon brown sugar
In large Dutch oven, heat oil over medium heat, add brisket, turning it to brown; add onions and garlic, cook a few minutes until golden. Add enough water to cover, bring to boil, reduce heat to low and simmer two hours. Take brisket out of pot and place on cutting board; slice into 1/2-inch pieces, return to pot. Add remaining vegetables, prunes, (including the water they’re soaked in) salt, pepper, paprika and lemon juice. Sprinkle brown sugar on top. Bake in preheated 375-degree oven an hour longer. Meat should be so tender it can be cut with a fork. Serves six.
Papa Milt’s Horseradish
My mother’s purism has been passed on to my dad. While others add sugar, salt, even mayonnaise or whipped cream, our chrain is plain, so we get the true taste of the root. They even disclaim beets, which can be added for color, preferring the root’s natural whiteness. They love to remind me that white signifies the purity of this holiday. Although it tastes best – and strongest – right after it’s made, it will keep for several weeks in the refrigerator.
1/2 pound horseradish root, peeled
2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
Cold water
Soak horseradish root for an hour in cold water. Grate by hand or in food processor until fine, adding just enough water to grate smoothly. Add vinegar and mix until very smooth. Place in a tightly covered glass jar.
Mama Celia’s Potato Kugel
Schmaltz is rendered chicken fat. If you don’t want to make it yourself, most kosher butchers carry it.
3 new potatoes, peeled and grated
3 russet potatoes, peeled and grated
Lemon juice as needed
1 large onion, grated
1 parsnip, peeled and grated
2 stalks celery, minced
2 cloves garlic, pressed
3 eggs, beaten
1/3 cup matzah meal
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon paprika
1/4 cup vegetable oil or schmaltz
Pinch of cayenne
Place potato mixture in large cola
nder; rinse with cold water to remove excess starch and moisture. Sprinkle with lemon juice to prevent discoloration. Transfer mixture to clean bowl. Mix together vegetables, eggs, matzah meal, salt, paprika and cayenne. Fold in oil or schmaltz. Place mixture in oiled, 9-inch square glass baking dish. Bake at 375 degrees for 30 to 40 minutes or until golden brown and crisp at edges. Serves four to six.
Grandma Fradel’s Holiday Chopped Liver
The traditional method is to chop the liver and onions in a wooden bowl, and real bale-boostehs (excellent homemakers) insist this is the only way to make it. If your food processor beckons, be my guest. This dish tastes best when made with schmaltz but vegetable oil may be substituted.
1 3/4 pound chicken livers
Vegetable oil or schmaltz to sauté
2 onions, sliced
2 cloves garlic, roasted
6 hard-boiled eggs
1/4 cup schmaltz or oil
1/4 cup chicken broth OR 1/4 cup kosher red wine
Salt and pepper to taste
Sauté onions in oil or schmaltz until light golden brown; add liver. Continue cooking until onions are crispy and liver is medium rare. Remove and cool. Place mixture in wooden bowl to chop or in food processor with garlic, eggs, schmaltz, broth or wine, salt and pepper. Serves eight to 10.
Schmaltz
Before you scream in horror, according to a 1977 report in Poultry Science, chicken fat is not saturated like other animal fats. It is composed of 1/4 to 3/4 unsaturated fatty acids, making it closer to vegetable oils than to other animal fats.
1 pound fatty skin and chicken fat (from 3 pound chicken)
2 cups onions, peeled and chopped
1 potato, peeled and chopped
Cut fatty skin and yellow pieces of fat into small bits. Place them in a heavy pot; cover with cold water. Cook, uncovered, until almost all water has evaporated. Lower heat, add onion and potato. It is finished when onions and potato are nice and brown and grieben (fat pieces) are crisp. Let pot cool, strain into a clean jar to separate schmaltz from grieben. It may be stored in the freezer. Makes 3 cups. Adapted from “Cooking Kosher” by Jane Kinderlehrer (Jonathan David Publishers, 1983).
Poached Pears
We serve fruit and other sweet foods during the High Holidays to symbolize a universal hope that life will be sweet in the coming year.
4 large pears (about 2 pounds) ripe, but still firm
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1 vanilla bean, split and scraped, OR 1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cinnamon stick
2 cups sugar
8 cups water
1 1/2 cups white wine
1 lemon, thinly sliced
1 orange, thinly sliced
1 piece star anise, or whole anise
2 cloves, whole
Leaving pears whole, core and slice bottoms so they will stand. Peel pears, careful to leave stems intact. Place pears in bowl, cover with water, and add lemon juice. Place all ingredients except pears in soup pot; bring to boil. Add pears to liquid. Reduce heat to simmer. Cover pears with a piece of parchment paper cut to fit inside pot, with a hole cut in center to allow steam to escape. Cook until a paring knife or skewer can be inserted into pears easily, about 15 minutes. Strain.
Store pears and cooled poaching liquid separately in refrigerator. To serve, spoon some of syrup onto a serving dish, place a pear in it. Serve warm or cold. Serves four.
Adapted from “Walking on Walnuts” by Nancy Ring (Bantam Books, 1996).
