No word yet on popular dishes like narwhal casserole, moose milk ice cream, or boar sausage, but it seems like things are going to get a little tough for Israeli residents with a taste for the "exotic": 

"Knesset members are intensifying their objection to the proposed ordinance presented to the Knesset on Monday, which sets customs rates, exemptions and merchandise tax. As reported on Thursday, the ordinance includes unique items, and especially non kosher ones.

Among the items listed in the ordinance are pig meat, meat from horses, donkeys, rabbits, hares, whales, dolphins, seals, walruses, reptiles, crabs, oysters, octopuses, and even snails. Authorization of the tax rates for the list items is none other than Knesset Finance Committee Chairman Moshe Gafni (United Torah Judaism), a detail that has raised quite a stir within the legislature."

(Via)

If you're like some of us, you are busy finding that perfect costume to wear to your Purim festivities.  But what of finding the time to bake the little triangle cookies we all love to munch on?  

Thankfully, you don't really have to worry, since there is no shortage of bakeries across the USA that sell the jam-filled delectables.  Only five of them have made our distinguished list of the Top Five Best Hamantaschen Bakers in America.

1.  Moishes, New York, NY

Is it wrong to call this East Village institution the "Hamentaschen Mecca"?  If so, I'm sorry.  But seriously, I'm assuming that Moishe and his bakery might have been opened around the time of Queen Esther.  They have the palm-sized cookies, but I'd suggest skipping those, and getting a mixed pound of the little chocolate and the raspberry for thirteen bucks. 

2.  Bleeding Heart Bakery, Chicago, Il.

In a city that knows food, Bleeding Heart stands out as one of the best bakeries in the Second City with a mission "to use local, sustainable, organic ingredients and to make you the best damn cakes and pastries you have ever had!"   On top of that, they also make hamantaschen that carry a personal story for owner Michelle Garcia:

"My mom taught me how to make them when I was really little. I was adopted by a catholic family, but my father is believed to be Jewish, so my mom was trying to teach me about my birth family, but bond with me as a mother at the same time."  

Bleeding Heart makes strawberry, raspberry and apricot for $1.00 each.

3.  Diamond Bakery, Los Angeles, CA

If anybody tells you that LA doesn't know Jewish food, please feel free to tell that person they're a schmuck, and give them directions to the Mid-City West institution, Diamond Bakery. 

While the place is known for challah and rye, the secret gem of this "old world" bakery is the hamantaschen.  While they come in poppy and apricot flavors, the bakeries lovely 'taschen slinger, Gloria, swears that the prune really are the best.

4. Arizmedndi, San Francisco, CA

What can be more Jewish than a cooperative bakery named after a labor organizer?  A place like Arizmedni could only be from San Francisco, but they also have a location in Oakland, meaning that these are the people to go to when you have a bad case of the Purim munchies, and really want a $4.50 mixed bag of cherry, fig, and apricot.

5.  Lipkins, Philadelphia, PA.

Philly will not take a backseat to New York in terms of food your Bubbe made, and while The Big Apple has Yonah Schimmel's world famous knishes, I've been told by native Phillies that Lipkins beats the New York institutions.  One of those friends of mine also went on to say that "Lipkins has by far the best hamantaschen in the entire state."

A bold claim.  Anybody from the Illadelph want to argue with that?

Finding myself single yet again, I've realized it's time to focus on self-improvement. This means both, as my sister put it, "not dressing like a lazy hooker" and returning to my favorite diet so I can get back down to my goal dating weight of 110 pounds (just at the weight limit where I can still be checked in as baggage on domestic flights).

Coming from a long line of giant fat people and a long history of a variety of eating disorders, it should come as no surprise that I have extensive experience with diets. Only one (aside from the anorexia/bulimia two-for-one special) has ever rendered halfway decent results, and thusly I plan on returning to this one immediately. 

My choice to opt for a rigid diet as opposed to just trying to eat well was prompted in part by a recent trip grocery shopping. Whenever I unpack a bag of groceries, I am forced to realize that I really only buy two categories of food: non-food and cry-for-help food. Non-food consists of Single Jewish Girl staples such as miso soup packets, celery, non-fat yogurt and diet soda. I usully get a good two to three bags of that stuff; it's food that allows you to go through the motions of eating without actually having to consume anything. Then I get a bag or two of cry-for-help food, which is essentially the stuff you eat when you get back from a horrible Jdate or have had a bit too much to drink and you're having a I-want-to-destroy-my-body-so-I'll-have-an-explanation-for-why-no-one-loves-me. This consists of... pretty much all the food I was raised on: ice cream, mac and cheese, deep fried lard wrapped in bacon dipped in sugar, etc. It gets hidden behind the non-food in the fridge in case people come over, of course.

It's depressing to purchase these items, and more importantly it's expensive. That's part of the beauty of my diet plan... it's entirely free (for me)! It's way cooler than Atkins and South Beach combined, and it's twice as effective! I call it... The J-Diet. It's a real breakthrough, and I ultimately plan on writing a book about it just as soon as I'm emaciated enough for the jacket photo.

What's so amazing and unique about The J-Diet is that you can eat whatever you want, whenever you want! The only stipulation is that someone you met on JDate buys it for you. Sound too good to be true? It isn't. I went on the J-diet for 4 months and lost 30 pounds! (This was back when I worked at Bergdorf's, where Russian aestheticians reminded me daily that "food is how the sadness gets in.).

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The first time I tried it, I was in a group.  The second time, it was with a married man.  The last time, I was alone and loved every minute of it.  It had started while I was doing my shift at my local food co-op when the seasoned staffer asked for a volunteer to stock the meat cooler.  I figured I could handle meat, so I jumped right in.  As the burly bearded man told me what we had to put out, he got an excited twinkle in his when he breathed, “oh, and we have duck bacon today.”

Sure, I had heard of turkey bacon, beef bacon, and even lamb bacon but never duck bacon.  “Is it any good?”  I asked my curiosity piqued by his tone while the slim rectangular packages were placed into the cooler.  After my shift was over I did a little shopping and found myself back at the meat cooler.  I thought of a friend who loves duck, so why not try this?

So we arranged a brunch.  A few friends over on a sunny winter weekend to sample a tasty new treat.  We cooked up a batch of the duck bacon and placed tiny pieces on crackers.  I had even bought a duck liver pate (pork-free) that we smeared on tiny wedges of toast.  There were many other delicacies that afternoon, but for the meat eaters of the group all anyone remembers was that taste.  Squares of thin sliced smoked duck meat fried in duck fat – all that salty, smoky soaked in silky tender duck fat.  What flavor!  Bursting from each cracker.  Why aren’t more things cooked in duck fat?

A few days after the brunch, a friend was home sick with a cold.  And what’s that saying? “Feed a cold, starve a fever.”  And what clears a stuffy head better than duck?  There was some left over after the brunch.  I brought a loaf of fresh bread and we soaked up the duck fat and sprinkled the bread with garlic powder.  And to make things even more treyf my friend had some leftover macaroni and cheese.  It was the most decadent meal I think I have ever cooked.

By the end of the week, I was hungry and alone.  My boyfriend was at work and there was little in the house to eat.  A few potatoes, onions and the rest of the duck bacon.  I didn’t know if could top the ecstasy of the last time I had eaten the duck, but I roasted the potatoes and cooked the onions in with the bacon and tossed in the potatoes until they were coasted in the silky duck.  I was glad I was alone, because sometimes it's just better when you are alone with duck juices dribbling down your chin.

I don’t know if there is a food more naughty to kosher keeping Jews than pork – although technically it is no more a sin than any other prohibited food.  Yet, bacon gets many Jews really riled up (read the comments).  So all this talk of bacon feels a little scandalous even if duck bacon can be kosher (okay, not eaten with mac n’ cheese).  But the really naughty here is how amazing duck bacon really is.  To paraphrase Stephen Colbert, “Was that bacon, or did an angel just give birth in my mouth?”

Oh yes, I will be looking for duck bacon again.

For the second time in the past year, I tracked down Natalie Portman at a public appearance in New York City and asked her about connections between her Jewish faith and her vegan diet. After the world's most famous Jewish vegan took the topic in a different direction in April, I asked her a much more direct question as part of The New York Times' Arts & Leisure Weekend on Saturday night.

While performing my journalistic duty as a Jewish-vegan blogger, I learned several fascinating things. First, Natalie loves the name "heebnvegan." (I somehow managed to maintain my composure when she said this.) Second, she apparently remembers our initial encounter. Third, she sees her decision not to take animals' lives for food as the core of her Judaism. Finally, she thinks vegetarian food in Israel and California is excellent, but unlike the world's second-most famous Jewish vegan, she finds New York vegetarian food disappointing.

Below is a transcript of our conversation during the Q&A portion of the event.

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Israel's top politicians are up in arms after the catering for cabinet meetings was switched for healthy cuisine. Starting this week, pastries and cakes were removed from the menu at daily conferences:

Government ministers were shocked last Sunday to discover that their usual cabinet meeting breakfast of burekas puff pastries, rugelach and croissants was replaced with granola, vegetables and yogurts. Juices were also replaced for water.

The person responsible for the new diet, which caused an uproar among the ministers, is Cabinet Secretary Zvi Hauser, who said he got the idea from Yona Bar-Tal, the President's Residence's deputy director-general.

"I reached the conclusion that the ministers should have a healthy menu with as little dough and fat as possible. Currently they are accustomed to get burekas puff pastries, sandwiches and cakes.

"We did away with juices and replaced them with water. We completely removed the burekas, rugelach and cakes. We put in yogurts with granola, fruits, vegetables, whole wheat bread, low-fat cheeses and other healthy foods," he said.

(Note: The East Coasters among us know what rugelach is - sugar filled deliciousness. Burekas are Ottoman-descended puff pastries stuffed with cheese or savories that came to the country via Turkish Jews. For obvious reasons, Israelis are not generally big fans of bacon and ham at breakfast.)

All this would just be a funny quirky story if not for the fact that most of Israel's Hebrew-language dailies ran a paper on the story today. That's because several cabinet members essentially used the change of menus as an excuse to troll for votes:

Several ministers welcomed the change for obvious health considerations. Agriculture Minister Shalom Simhon noted, "Finally we have a cabinet secretary who recognizes the true value of Israeli agriculture and the land of milk and honey."

The eating habits of politicians are fair scrutiny for the Israeli media. Former Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon suffered a massive stroke in 2006 that left him in a semi-vegetative state. His legendary love of unhealthy food is believed to have been a contributing factor.

 

This post originally appeared on True/Slant and is reprinted with permission.

In the second installment of his new cooking video series here on Jewcy, JDub's Director of Events Adam Teeter shows you how to make delicious latkes - one batch out of traditional potatoes, and the other out of zucchini and squash. This post includes special cameos from The Macaroons and, of course, Hanukkah Harry.

 

 

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Every once in a while I feel sorry for myself because my kids won’t eat my lovingly prepared meals; for comfort, I seek out one of my fellow moms, specifically those with teenagers. Invariably they look at me with a withering ‘well let me get you the violins and a stiff drink fast, your poor thing’ stare, reminding me that I am a mere amateur at kitchen rejection. When I hear their tales of trying to feed their teens, my load somehow seems lighter, more manageable. Snarky, picky, and sometimes downright nasty, it is no easy task to manage teens at the table.

Enter Rozanne Gold and her new book, Eat Fresh Food: Awesome Recipes for Teen Chefs. I sat down with the author and discovered that the book’s appeal to teens is as organic as its recipes. Gold recently adopted a teen-ager and for the past few years they have been coming together as a family, in and out of the kitchen. Her daughter was one of five teen chefs engaged to prepare and test each recipe. Their collective industry and obvious enjoyment is evidenced throughout the book with hands-on pictures depicting their efforts.

“Something a little quirky is that everyone, everyone is talking about childhood obesity and overeating and diabetes and getting back to the table – no one wrote a book. Someone forgot to write the book.” She correctly assessed that the literature includes many books about cooking, kids, and healthy eating, but few if any that feature well known chefs who have cross referenced their work with a nutritionist in order to serve the teen audience. This gap as well as her family changes prompted her to write the book and have nutritionist Helen Kimmel review and validate the recipes. Coupled with her teen chefs’ participation and stamp of approval, the book has a tremendous sense of leading-edge authenticity.

“I like being the first to do things”, says Gold. A food pioneer, she graduated from Tufts and and did graduate work at NYU. With no formal culinary training, Gold beg, borrowed, and stole experience, and at 23 became the Executive Chef at Mayor Koch’s Gracie Mansion. “I catered the first seder ever at Gracie Mansion. It was a great experience. The Mayor told me to put Perrier (instead of seltzer) in the matzo balls which I had never done before. I did a traditional seder for his family. Holiday favorites included anything with garlic, as well as brisket with vermouth, onions, and a bay leaf.” Many books and restaurants later, she has become a well-known force in the food world. Just this week, she broke boundaries by having her book referenced in the New York Times' Health blog, as well as featured in the Science section for its unique approach.

Gold does admire others in the industry attempting to improve school and home meals for children, including Bill Telepan, Ann Cooper, and Lynn Fredericks. But for this book, she felt she had to pave a new path. “Setting criteria for what eating fresh food means was a process. Working with the nutritionist, we definitely decided not to go the route of calories or counting, but to come up with some broader way of expressing healthy food. The original title was Ketchup Ain’t A Vegetable,” laughed Gold. “I’m not doctrinaire about this at all. There is so much discussion about good food and bad food. My solution, my definition is eat fresh food. Which is also a way of saying no processed food or very little processed food. That became my benchmark. The basis of every recipe is that a vegetable or a fruit has to be the star of the dish. You will find this in every recipe. That is my bottom line. The fact that there is very little meat in there is cognizant of the fact that kids are serious about wanting to be vegetarians; 80 – 90% of the book is suitable for vegetarians.”

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Bubbe Wendy's Hanukkah Latkes (Fancy Wendy's Hash Browns)
by Erik of Fancy Fast Food, with assistance and a little bit of hand modeling from me

Hey everybody, it's Hanukkah! It's Chanuka! No matter how you spell it, it's time for the Jewish festival of lights -- eight crazy nights of dreidels gone wild, a time when latkes are as abundant as old yentas around a mahjongg table. But you don't need to be Jewish to partake in Hanukkah traditions, particularly the gastronomic treat of latkes (or lattkes). No matter how you spell it, "latkes" is Yiddish for fried pancakes, typically of the potato variety -- making it oddly similar to McDonald's hash browns. However, Bubbe Wendy has guilted us into using her Fancy Fast Food recipe ("If you just want to use McDonald's hash browns, then I guess that's fine by me..."), so here goes. Oy...

Ingredients (from Wendy's):

• 8 orders of hash browns (for the eight nights of Hannukah)
• 2 baked potatoes (with packets of sour cream and "Buttery-Best Spread")
• 2 orders of mandarin oranges
• 1 small soft drink
• 1 bottle of water
• packets of Sweet & Sour Sauce
• packets of sugar
• packets of salt and pepper
• a pinch of Jewish guilt (may be substituted with Catholic guilt)
• organic chives (for garnish and a touch of irony)

Latkes are traditionally served with apple sauce or sour cream. We already have the latter, so we're going to have to make the apple sauce. Unfortunately, Wendy's sells no apple products whatsoever, so we'll have to get creative.

What are apples? They are a kind of fruit that are sometimes sweet, sometimes sour, and so naturally we will start with Sweet & Sour Sauce. To add a fruity pulp to it, we'll add the mandarin oranges -- but that's fine; Bubbe Wendy moved down to Boca.

Put the manadrin oranges in a food processor and purée them, then strain out the extraneous juice. Mix this pulp in a bowl with the Sweet & Sour Sauce. The color is a bit intense to look like real apple sauce, so scoop out some baked potato (minus any chives) and mix it in -- the French call potatoes "pommes de terre" (apples of earth) so we'll go with it. Mush and whisk it all until it sort of looks like apple sauce; add sugar until it's as sweet.

Next, the latkes themselves. Take all the mini hash brown nuggets and mush them with your hands. Touching them, you'll realize they are all too greasy for things to stick together, so we'll need to make a batter to work as a binding agent.

Put one baked potato, minus the skin, into a food processor and add about a quarter cup of water. Hit purée and voilà: batter! Add this potato batter to your pile of hash browns and mix thoroughly in a bowl. Add salt and pepper as desired.

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With eighty degree days and no sign of chill in sight, Thanksgiving seemed a far-off option in a country that is more familiar with religious Pilgrims than the sort that settled New England. But left to some homesick Americans with a penchant for good wine, the holiday can turn into much more than the one celebrated in the good ole US of A--the one preceded by a large parade and capped off with black Friday.

Twelve Americans and one Israeli gathered in a lovely apartment in Jerusalem as the weekend began in the holy land. Two poets, four rabbis in waiting, a computer engineer, a photographer, a teacher and a few visitors began the evening, not with the carving of a bird or the giving of thanks, but with the popping of some bubbly. The notion of this meal was not to follow the dictates of tradition but rather to create something new: five courses, each paired with a specific wine, and lemon sorbet to cleanse our palettes in between.

The first course, appetizers enjoyed before setting down at the table, included veggie antipasto and veggie chopped liver. They were accompanied by a bottle of Cava and a bottle of Brut. These were my favorite wines--cold, sparkling, the perfect start to a fascinating meal.

Everyone found their seat, finished off their Cava and moved onto the second course. In an effort to not leave tradition completely in the dark, one of the guests prepared a honey sage cornbread--in my opinion, a modern American classic. Sweet, savory, amazing. This was served with a carrot soufflé--the recipe of a guest's aunt and the perfect retake on the sweet potato marshmellow combination that often graces Thanksgiving tables. As we were now seated at the table, the cries of "Pimp your dish" began--a chorus that followed us through the night and necessitated that the cook give the origins and secrets of his or her recipe. This course was served with Chenin Blanc.

Before moving on to course three, we were served lemon sorbet to make sure our palates were clean and prepared to best enjoy what came next. The third course included a stuffing recipe out of Long Island and a gourmet macaroni and cheese. The mac and cheese truly shamed Kraft--big shells covered in mozzarella, cheddar, and gruyere with tomato slices for color. Sauvignon Blanc, a few rounds of Johnny Appleseed, more sorbet and on to course four.

The fourth course was the real meat of the meal, minus the meat. Salmon done in a cumin rub, sour cream mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli and homemade cranberry sauce. Any other night, this would be the entire meal. On this Thanksgiving, this and some Tempranillo equaled just the fourth course.

With all of the savory food dispensed, we moved on to the best and most important course--dessert. Pumpkin cheesecake bars, chocolate pecan pie, pumpkin pie, dark chocolate truffles and Malbec to boot.

I walked in knowing only the hosts and two other people. I walked out with a handful of new friends, a full belly and real inspiration--this was not a Thanksgiving without thought or hope. This group of temporary expats really redefined the notion of Thanksgiving for me; each course was given its time, its wine and its appreciation. There were true thanks given at this meal--for the food in front of us, for friends new and old, and for the ability to celebrate the holiday despite our proximity to New England. 

Holiday accommodations span far wider than hotels and motels.

Whether a host, guest, family member, friend, neighbor, colleague, or otherwise, the holidays are a time when we are all brought together under many circumstances, and required to deal with each other in ways unlike most other days. It brings out the best and worst in everyone. For me, it often feels like these decisions define me. I have always struggled in balancing truth with tact, and tend to be either far too blunt and direct or completely spineless. And of course I also struggle with wanting so very much to accommodate without compromising my principles or even identity.

An example from my own experience. One Passover, a couple showed up, stoned, and presented me with a cake. Not exactly the Elijah I was expecting. And this was a real, Italian bakery, flour and butter laden, gorgeous cake. I had no idea what to do. Part of me was humiliated, because they know I am observant. Part of me was terrified not to be a gracious host, or to spoil the otherwise wonderful occasion. Part of me (a really big part of me) wanted to slap them silly. So what did I do? I put it out on a non-Passover plate and kicked myself for the rest of the holiday. Not my greatest moment.

There are other dilemmas. What do you serve for Thanksgiving? Do you send holiday cards? Do you attend Christmas parties or invite non-Jews to your Chanukah gatherings? Is a cookie exchange acceptable? Do you nibble on the catering at the company holiday party? I feel like November and December are fraught with these kind of decisions. And while the actual choices are very important, often the process and conversation are equally if not more significant. If you refuse that holiday ham, can you do it in a way that does not offend? How do you not break bread without breaking faith? What can you offer to mitigate your refusal?

I'd like to hear more of your stories. How do you accommodate for the holidays?

JDub's Director of Events, Adam Teeter and his fiancee Naomi are planning their wedding - and their new life together. Naomi was raised in a kosher home, and so Adam has decided to learn to make some great kosher recipes. He's starting off with a very Thanksgiving-appropriate recipe: parve mashed potatoes. It's perfect to serve with turkey, and delicious to boot:

 

I love cooking big dinners, especially when they come with interesting dishes or new culinary challenges.  Thanksgiving has been a favorite of mine for a long time, since I have in part not been celebrating the Jewish holidays for all that long.   Even when I was college, I was whipping up elaborate meals despite limitations on space (one year it was a dormitory kitchen in the basement of the building) or even supplies (I forgot to buy aluminum foil so I improvised by covering my chicken, not a turkey, in applesauce, which by the way kept the meat moist and gave it a slightly sweet flavor).

Living in New York City poses its own set of challenges and provides a certain range of advantages.  I mean in New York, you can get anything and usually get it delivered (at least in Manhattan).  I’ve found that mostly to be true – that is, until I tried to serve venison for Thanksgiving.

A couple of years ago I decided that Thanksgiving was all about traditions.  Whether or not the legends of Pilgrims and Indians were anything like what we used to represent out of construction paper, glue and paper bags, my Thanksgiving table was going to be full of indigenous and local produce.  That was remarkably easy to procure in New York City.  I ordered my Heritage Turkey at The City Bakery and gathered my veggies at farmer’s markets.  But venison is hard to find in NYC, and the clock is always ticking.

Perhaps here is where I should point out that I start planning for this holiday weeks in advance.  I am totally a list maker and once the menu is set, I plot and plan on where and when I will procure what is required.  I dash around the City often picking up specialty items from various locations.  My grocery list is set by date and location.  But, even with the best of planning, there are always obstacles.

I had previously found venison at the 125th Street Fairway market, but around Thanksgiving they don’t restock specialty meats (like game) to make room for more turkeys.  This year, I played phone tag with “Raymond”, the Meat Department's manager, for a week until he rudely told me no, they didn’t carry venison and would not special order for me despite previously telling me that he would do so if I would only call back later.  Apparently, this is a stressful time of the year for Meat Department managers.

Not having much luck with any other grocery store I called, I made my case to the next obvious choice – Facebook.  “Mia Rut still needs venison. Fairway has been giving me the run around for a week only to hang up on me now. Very annoyed,” said my status update.  Remarkably there were some good suggestions, including one from my uncle the hunter, who kept a bunch of venison tucked away in his freezer.  Too bad he didn't live any closer.

So the search continues.  Time is running short, my money is running out and I think that our menu may have to be adjusted.  However, despite the lack of deer meat on our table, we have a slight variation to our theme this year.  We typically host a Thanksgiving Shabbat dinner, foregoing a big meal on Thursday in favor of a more communal Friday night (friends often share Thanksgiving with family, but will come over for Shabbat dinner the next night).

This year we are shaking things up by using traditional Thanksgiving ingredients placed into a traditional Ashkenazi Shabbat dinner - traditional flavors presented in surprising ways.  So instead of matzo ball soup and gefilte fish we are starting out with fish consume.  I even started testing out the more experimental dishes, and thus far they have had rave reviews.  Everything is homemade, even the cranberry pasta for the kugel (use cranberry juice concentrate instead of water) which was another feat of scouring the city for a pasta machine (that didn’t cost an arm and a leg). But feel free to weigh in how this menu sounds:

Corn Bread Challah
Fish Consume
Cornish Hens Roasted in Acorn Squash
Butternut Squash Gravy
Seared Venison Sashimi
Cranberry Sauce Kugel
Chestnut and Sage Stuffing in Baked Apples
Roasted Pumpkin in Soy and Crushed Sesame
Green Bean Gelee
Mashed Japanese Sweet Potatoes with Kimchi
Tzimmis Sorbet
Shoo-Fly Pie
Chocolate Cake

t's sort of funny when two worlds collide unexpectedly, especially when one comes to the aid of the other. Take for example my recent search for the perfect milk alternative. I don't dislike good ol' cow's milk, nor am I allergic to it. But as an observant Jew, I often find myself at odds with the fridge staple, usually after I've just enjoyed a delicious turkey sandwich. I am what some would call a Fleish-a-phobe: I rarely eat meat if I can avoid it out of dread for the five hours and one minute to follow, when I will be barred from my favorite treats: ice cream, chocolate, cheese, milk-based pie, the list goes on.

And so I've spent some time searching for that perfect alternative, that wondrous, dairy-free concoction that will replace milk in my cookie recipe and help me whip up the perfect pareve pumpkin pie. Recently, my best friend and I (with both health and Halacha in mind) unofficially took it upon ourselves to taste-test every non-milk available to us, from various brands of soymilk to the less orthodox (and rarely Kosher) hemp milk, with varying results.

Soymilk is chock full of protein and readily available (call me crazy, but I don't think the taste is that bad, either), but it's also full of added sugar and contains estrogen. You know what they say about too much female hormone... Rice milk was the best tasting, but full of empty carbs and calories. Almond milk was pleasant and nutty, but was (as all nut products) high in fat. (Plus, as this website states, although almonds are among the most healthful nuts out there, the amount used in the milk is so small "you're better off just eating the nuts"). I like to point out that real milk isn't without its problems (hello, cholesterol), but two foodies can dream, can't they?

A fourth, hemp milk seemed the healthiest: filled with Omega 3 fatty acids, high on the protein, but it proved near impossible to find Kosher. On the day I finally saw that the strange mark on one box was a legitimate Teudah Kashrut, I snatched it off the shelf, never mind the eight dollars a carton.

We found it quite good, definitely a few steps up from the starchy powder my friend had been mixing into his drinks for a protein boost (he'd once remarked to me that it tasted like sawdust), and I happily realized that it had virtually no aftertaste: it was just like rice milk! And one look at the ingredients told us why. The second ingredient was rice milk, and it had brought so many empty calories with it. So much for the cannabis smoothie.

Aside from our dilemma, we grappled with the idea that we may just seem a little, well... nuts to be searching so seriously. I got a few stares from my family when I announced that I'd found hemp milk Kosher. Why did I care so much? Use plain soymilk in baking and be done. Who likes the taste of that stuff anyway? (I countered with something like "I shamelessly enjoy the taste of soymilk, and this argument has been milked to death anyway," pun totally intended.)

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It all started with an excessive amount of cabbage. One of my housemates wanted to make a pretty and delicious green and purple cabbage salad for a dinner party she was attending. “Why are your cabbages so big in this country? In South Africa we have little cabbages!” True, even after making her salad a few times we still had a lot of cabbage left over.

Then I got cabbage in my CSA share – two heads of it. “How do you feel about sauerkraut?” I suggested, thinking about my own German heritage. “Or kimchi?” was her suggestion. Now we started getting excited. She pulled out her Ball Blue Book Guide to Preserving, which was a rather comprehensive collection of pickles (although no kimchi). So several kimchi recipes were consulted online and we got to work.

Big canning jars were purchased along with some chili paste, fresh ginger, scallions and lots of salt. The cabbage was washed, sliced and ready to wilt. “It says to let the salted cabbage to sit for several minutes to let it wilt, but it’s been twenty minutes and it’s not wilting.” This was us looking at our bowl of crisp and fresh purple cabbage sparkling with salt. About an hour later the outer edges appeared slightly limp. The cabbage was then firmly packed down into the jar it’s salty cabbage juices covering the leaves. We jerry-rigged a cover and some weight to press the cabbage down firmly into its own brine. “Fermentation is usually complete in three to six weeks,” she read. “Weeks?” Oy this was a lot of work for a little sauerkraut. And neither of us knew how the purple cabbage was going to work – especially since it had been so reluctant to initially to wilt.

The kimchi, on the other hand was remarkably easy. Let the cabbage soak overnight in a water and salt mix. Rinse then mix in a blend of chili powder (although I used paste) salt, sugar, ginger and scallions. Instead of chopping I simply threw the spice mixture in my food processor making a nice even and smooth paste I massaged into the dry cabbage leaves (using a glove since the chili can burn your skin). I packed the kimchi into jars and let it sit on our kitchen counter.

And a few days later, bright and shiny with flecks of red in a hot and tangy liquid, the kimchi was ready and remarkably delicious and was quickly eaten. The purple sauerkraut continued to sit on the counter. It smelled bad (as sauerkraut does) and overflowed its jar a few times (making a big purple mess). Occasionally we could see some bubbles from the fermenting process, but other than that there was great skepticism in the house whether or not this was going to be successful.

More kimchi was made with the next week’s CSA cabbage. While picking up that week’s share I traded some other veggies for more cabbage. “What do you do with all that cabbage?” I was asked. Good question, what does one do with lots of kimchi? We brought out the bamboo steamers and made dumplings. We made sushi. Not authentic Korean foods, but delectable. And there was more cabbage. And beets. I forgot to mention the beets. There were also lots and lots of beets. Pickling spices simmered on the stove with a stick of cinnamon in apple cider vinegar. Cooked beets and this tangy brine were poured into more jars. The fridge was starting to get full.

Shabbat dinners began featuring our pickled goods. Kimchi on a Shabbat table? Why not. We brought jars of beets as gifts to dinner parties. Then the sauerkraut was ready. It didn’t taste anything like the mushy stuff that my mom would cook on New Year’s Day with pork loin. I never liked sauerkraut. It was offensive I couldn’t imagine putting it in my mouth and dripped its rancid liquid everywhere. But our purple sauerkraut was still crisp, had very little liquid and very little smell. It gleamed like strips of scarlet silk on our Shabbat table. The beets were like deep rubies and the kimchi was just fun and exotic.

I love cooking. I love cooking for other people. Being unemployed gives more time than I would have if I were working. So I feel like I can try new things. Although pickling is a way of preserving fresh foods, it has also been preserving my sanity as I have tried to find a new job.

Andrew Shapiro is a composer and songwriter based in Brooklyn. His lush, ambient electronica (think Sigur Rós meets Cocteau Twins meets Philip Glass meets Depeche Mode - or something like that) has been played all over the radio in America and Europe, and has recently received airplay on L.A.'s uber-tastemaker station KCRW.

His new album Numbers, Colors and People, produced by longtime Philip Glass producer Michael Riesman, has been receiving great reviews. One says the album is "like Keith Jarrett performing Philip Glass," while another says the album is "the best album to listen to after sex!"

Shapiro is about to begin his fifth season playing his piano music at a McDonald's in downtown Manhattan. Yes, you read that correctly. This McDonald's has a grand piano, and the unlikely juxtaposition of a cutting edge composer playing in a fast-food restaurant has captured the imaginations of New Yorkers, tourists, and the media. The Village Voice even named him "Best Pianist at a Fast-Food Restaurant."

Shapiro plays at McDonald's (located at 160 Broadway) every Sunday from noon-4pm, continuing through June, 2010.

I spoke with Shapiro about his McDonald's appearances and his new album.


Tell me about the album. It's different from your previous work isn't it?

Right, because I've never done an album of solo piano music before. I've been composing and performing piano music for a long time, but on the recording end of things I've been more focused on a lot of electronic stuff. Piano music is much more pure for me-there's nothing in the production chain that gets in the way. And since none of the pieces have any vocals or lyrics it's a pretty different thing, too.

How did you come up with the title "Numbers, Colors and People"?

Well, it came about because the pieces are all titled one of those things: a number, a color or a person. Titles like "No. 12" or "Left Hand Etude No. 2" or my favorite piece on the album "Mint Green." which is vaguely about my obsession with mint chocolate chip ice cream [laughs]. And then the people are people I know, friends that I made these sort of musical portraits of. I suppose the title is a pretty utilitarian sort of thing, like an early Talking Heads title or something.

How do you write "musical portraits" of people without using lyrics?

It sort of just starts off with a feeling that gets it going. I wrote the song "Katz" for a friend's 40th birthday. And so I was thinking it might be interesting to have the piece be 40 measures long. And then it became 41 measures because, you know, the whole "one candle for good luck" thing. And so then what came out in the music -the textures and melodies- were just musical emotions that reminded me of him. "Riggs," named after Ian Riggs, a longtime musical collaborator and friend of mine, came about from when we were talking about how we both really love the song "Bring on the Night" by The Police. I was listening to it after we chatted and I started thinking about how I could create a new song based on that song, as if I could just superimpose some new music right on top. So I guess the music we liked in common was the source. And then "Gosia" came from me just wanting to write something after meeting a woman on a train when I was on tour in Poland. She's amazing. She was coming to the performance a couple nights later and so I wanted to write a piece of music and dedicate it to her.

How did the McDonald's gig start?

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I am a huge fan of all things Bravo, but as a diehard foodie I cannot resist Top Chef. For its first couple of seasons, I sat on the couch in my parents' Kosher home and imagined how buttery scallops probably tasted and how decadent a slice of kobe beef must be for one who gets to savor each bite alongside a creamy risotto. I pretended to understand the slimy texture of an oyster and fabricated a childhood Hawaiian vacation to relate to Padma's insistence that the back of her throat itched due to uncooked taro in Season Two. I blindly chose chefs to root for and never took the judges' words with a grain of salt. Not knowing what most of the ingredients tasted like with an upbringing of cholent and bagel brunches, I watched in awe as none of the contestants acted like using monkfish, alligator, or bull's testicles in their cuisine was an oddity. In fact, Padma proudly admitted to having tried bull's testicles a couple of episodes ago - nobody was surprised.

Talk at the dining table turned to nether regions once again this past Wednesday night when Natalie Portman joined the cast as a guest judge for this week's elimination challenge. The chefs were told that they would be cooking for an elite table of eaters at Chef Tom Collichio's Craft Steak. Then, Tom dropped the inevitable twist - the chefs would be cooking for Natalie and her friends with her dietary restrictions in mind, parameters which the chefs treated like a gastronomical catastrophe. No she is not lactose-intolerant nor is she a celiac - Natalie Portman is a vegetarian. Yes, kosher Jews - Natalie is just like you, my parents and almost thirty million other Americans; when she goes out to eat she spends more time searching the menu for an item she can eat rather than enjoying her meal. As a viewer, I thoroughly enjoyed the judges and Natalie's herbivore-inspired dinner complete with phallic references, common ingredients and downrightgirl talk. Unfortunately, it seemed as though the majority of the Top Chef contestants had never encountered vegetarianism before as most of them struggled to cook sans meat. In fact, the chef who claimed he knew the most about vegetarian dining was the one sent home for his insistence that a leek could imitate the consistency of a scallop.

Some, like kosher-keeping JDub Records CEO Aaron Bisman, questioned why the chefs chose to focus mostly on vegetables rather than utilizing more hearty grains and soy proteins like seitan and tempeh in their dishes. I assumed there was more to this than the fact that the first elimination this season was due to the use of seitan in a dish. I consulted food blogger and Top Chef connoisseur Erin Phraner of FoodnFemininity.blogspot.com to understand the episode's lack of tofu. She explained that part of the challenge was to cook using only what was in the Craft Steak kitchen; in other words, what would soy be doing in a steakhouse?! This may also be the reason behind why contestant Eli, the show's resident Jew, was the only one to get close to using meaty veggies in his use of lentils. Erin was dead on - the Craft Steak menu features a variety of vegetables but barely any grain dishes and no soy products, Eli may have been the first to find and finish the lentils which left the challenge loser, Mike Isabella, and runner-up Jennifer some leeks and baby eggplants to work with.

Natalie's visit to the Top Chef kitchen may have been a feat in honor of veggies across the nation, but it definitely was for kosher viewers who could identify every ingredient and imagine the taste of every plate for the first time in the show's history. Being Jewish herself, Natalie Portman was the first to succeed in getting the chefs to compete in a challenge analogous to the Project Runway unconventional material challenges. Thanks, Natalie - while designers on Project Runway have forever been constructing dresses out of car parts and cornhusks, we needed you to get acclaimed chefs to leave their shellfish in the kitchen and serve up some dishes that any mashgiach would deem parve.

“It is early, and I need carbs. You can quote me on that,” said Lilit Marcus, Jewcy’s Editor, this morning as I walked in (late) for the 9:00 AM sessions at the J Street Conference. “How can there be 1,200 Jews in a room and no bagels?”

Apparently Lilit is not alone in her bagel angst. Amy Spitalnick, a J Street staffer just tweeted, “That's because you can't find a good bagel in DC!” Is that true? Could DC, the epicenter of world power, be lacking in chewy crunchy bagel goodness? This apparently seems to be the case - at least here at the Grand Hyatt.

If food (and alcohol, but it is a little early for that) is a social lubricant, shouldn’t there be a good nosh while people mill about networking and figuring out how to create peace in the Middle East? However there is coffee, tons of coffeefor those who need some morning caffeine (there is decaf, although we have yet to see anyone partake).

The sessions and speakers are pretty amazing (so far, although I couldn’t find the one I wanted to attend this morning) but they are not so fun when your stomach is rumbling, and I don’t drink coffee. However, I am apparently alone in my coffee aversion. Check out this video of Rabbi Andy Bauchman (filmed by his daughter Audrey) and what he had to say about the conference coffee.

Update: Day 2 of the conference featured bagels. Maybe this blog post had something to do with it?

Here's some photo evidence:

Bagel goodness

I've been running the blog savethedeli.com for nearly three years, and in that time I've received hundreds of random emails and comments from deli lovers all over the world.  Some are often compelled to write because of something I posted on the blog, but often they just want to share their memories.  I love these emails.  They're an unfiltered look into the brains of deli lovers, and to conclude this sweet run on Jewcy, I'm going to share the highlights with you.  Behold...the mind of deli's faithful (punctuation and spelling has been left intact...or lack thereof):

"finally this is where my digestive system longed for"

"What in the hell has brought about the alleged mass exodus of delis from Brooklyn?   When I left there, fifty years ago (40 of which I have lived in rural isolation in southern appalachia), there were multi hundreds, many of them superb.   We just took them for granted, like the automat, and "the papers," i.e., the News and the Mirror."

"I live in Montreal and I cant find a decent kosher smoked meat sandwich for the life of me. What I have is a 1000 variations of coucous. You can die from that Moc/Israeli garbage...Give me flanken or give me death. If there is any women out there who can cook up a mean flanken, give me a buzz. Flanken Now!"

"I am 11 years old and working on an important  history project--my topic is Schwartz's in Montreal.  I found your web site while doing my research.  Your writing is really interesting and I wanted to let you now that I believe in Save the Deli!    I hope you will write back -- its okay with my mom that you send your reply to her email."

"I live in Midland, Ontario (close to Barrie) how do I find real chopped liver in this part of the world?.  For a guy who lived almost next door to the Carnegie Deli in NY for twenty years I feel like I'm in no-man's land."

"i live in south florida since streits no longer makes old fashion farfel i am looking for a place that does make a farfel  product similar to theres
i would appreciate any information you may have concerning the above
thanking u inadvance"

"what is the origin of a deli sandwich being accompanied by a pickle spear?"

"I wonder if anyone can answer this question.  About 35 years ago I bought a 5 pound kosher salami.  It has been hanging on the wall for all this time in a room that is usually between 65 and 75 degrees.  There are no signs of deterioration, although, of course, it is knarly and wrinkled as an aged salami would be.  I have no intention of cutting into it, but I am curious if anyone knows or has opinions about how safe this 35 year old salami would be to eat."

Delis are funny places. Have you ever sulked out of a delicatessen feeling like the world is hopeless?

Heartburn...sure.

Twelve pound heavier...of course.

Shortchanged...often.

But I defy you to walk into a Jewish deli and walk out frowning. Because delis are comedic petri dishes, a place where the shtick seems to grow within, cultured and fed by schmaltz both metaphorical and literal.

Comedy in Jewish delicatessens was a natural thing. Considered that most Jews in the early 20^th century saw the deli as a safe refuge outside of synagogue and the workplace, it was probably a wonderful place to vent. Where better to gripe about the uppity rabbi or your sweatshop foreman than over pickles and a knish at the lunch counter? Where better to unleash that classic Yiddish sarcastic wit, full of double entendres, punch lines, and reverse wishes, than in the neighborhood deli.

Deli humor comes naturally, and seemingly out of nowhere. First, it's inspired by the setting; bright, boisterous, loud places. Second, it's encouraged by the service; quick, sharp-witted waiters, who aren't afraid to tell the customer what do order. Once loosened up, the final blow is delivered by the food: large, sloppy portions with funny sounding names (kreplach, kishke, kugel) that defy any pretense of formality.

The very atmosphere of it seems to say "It's ok, you can be a little loud in here, and don't worry what everyone else hears, they're in on the joke."

The result? Geniuses, like deli regulars Sid Caesar, Woody Allen, and Larry David. The gold of Milton Berle ("Anytime someone goes into a Jewish Delicatessen and orders a pastrami on white bread, somewhere, a Jew dies."), and the quips and stories of Damon Runyon, who wrote that there are two kinds of people in this world, "Delicatessen people, and those I don't associate with."

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Once upon a time, the delicatessen was the third pole of Jewish American communal life. The other two were the synagogue, where people prayed twice daily, and the bathouse, shvitz, or mikveh, where the men and women gossiped, bathed, and bonded. Considering that the synagogue was separated by sex, as, naturally, was the bathhouse, the delicatessen was the one spot where community socialized as one. It was open to everyone from the pious to the sinners, the machers and pishers, criminals and politicians.

In communities like Boston's Dorchester and Mattapan neighborhoods, delis like the G&G Delicatessen were de-facto community halls. It's where people went to plead to those in power, where the humble and the exalted could meet equally over a bowl of soup. The Irish had their pubs and the Italians their cafes. We had our delis.

Somewhere in the past decades of post-war evolution and assimilation, the deli lost its place as a locus of the community where it was based. First, communities moved, and quickly. Some happened because of the housing opportunities in the suburbs. Others because of white flight, and the deterioration of American inner-cities.

People went from living within shouting distance of each other ("Heloooo Mrs. Goldberg") to having miles of property separating them from their neighbors. While once dozens of small delis served neighborhoods like Brooklyn's Flatbush or Chicago's Maxwell St. Market, now one or two giant delis could cover forty square miles of suburban residents. Supermarkets edged out Jewish delis for prepared foods and lunch meats. People grew afraid because of diet trends: first fat, then cards, now salt. Sushi came and captured the mouths of young and old.

When was the last time you ate at a deli? I'm guessing it was a while ago.

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I'm often asked what was the highlight of writing my book Save the Deli. What's the best Jewish deli I ate in; where did I discover the tastiest pastrami sandwich; who is the most interesting deli owner I met? So far, no one's asked me about my worst experience...the low point of Save the Deli.

It occurred as I drove between Kansas City and Denver in the middle of February, 2007. I wanted to sample fast food's take on Jewish deli and so I'd pulled over for lunch at an Arby's and ordered their version of a Reuben sandwich. On the menu picture, it looked to be the most perfect Reuben ever...thick slices of swirly marble rye, moist pink meat folded gently like fine satin drapes, a corner of Swiss poking over the edge with its telltale holes, a little garnish of sauerkraut and a few droplets of Russian dressing. Peeling back the paper wrapper, I saw an entirely different sandwich. The intricately layered folds of corned beef were in fact a squished pink mass, still sizzling from a nuking in the microwave. My crisp marble rye had become two slices of good old-fashioned white bread with some food dye. The sauerkraut limped sadly into the oozing mass of processed "Swiss"; a slice of white American cheese poked with decorative holes...about as Swiss as a North Korean watch. It looked small, dismal, and loveless. The only thing abundant was the Russian dressing, which oozed out of the sandwich each time I pressed down.

I raised the sad sandwich to my lips and bit in.

Nothing.

I tasted nothing.

Here's what 308 grams of nothing tasted like; bread that was made from flour so milled, bleached, treated, and packed with preservatives for an extended shelf life that it had the texture of a foam mattress. The cheese was a saline mix of melted plastic and sugar. The sauerkraut could have been shredded newspaper. I tasted the water that had been injected into the corned beef to increase it's yield, the pasty skin from the vacuum tumbler, and the overly salty brine that permeated it. It was corned beef only in name. I doubt it even came from a brisket.
As I drove west into dark clouds, sleet turned to slush, slush to freezing rain, freezing rain into snow, until the whole of I-70 became a blinding white panorama. I saw an accident emerge from the weather and slammed on the brakes. My car slid sideways at 55 mph and then careened off the icy road. Right before I slammed into a snowbank (harmlessly), my obituary flashed before my eyes: "Jewish deli expert found dead with a digested Arby's Reuben sandwich."

I recovered from the accident, but that sandwich haunts me to this day.

David Sax is the author of Save the Deli: In Search of Perfect Pastrami, Crusty Rye, and the Heart of Jewish Delicatessen. He is guest-blogging on Jewcy this week, and this is his first post.

I get asked about Jewish delis dozens of times a day from people all over the country, and the world. They ask about the best places for corned beef, or knishes, or matzo balls. They inquire about delis that they once ate at, whether in New York or Newfoundland, and whether they are still around, still tasty, still lorded over by the funny waitress with the beehive hairdo. I was recently even asked which Jewish delicatessens have gay owners (my answer: None that are out enough for me to mention).

The one question that gets me most often is the simplest. What is a Jewish Deli? The answer should be simple, but it's not. Because a Jewish delicatessen means certain things to certain people, and other things to others. It varies by city, country, and religious orthodoxy, and what suffices as sufficient to one eater may not be to another. It's as intricate a question as "What makes a Jew?", but without the foreskin to prove it.
I first got asked this in January 2007, by a United States customs officer, at the frozen border separating Ontario from Michigan.

"Where are you headed?"

Well, I'm driving around the country for two months, researching a book.

"A book about what?"

About Jewish delicatessens.

"You mean like Italian delis?"

No, no, Jewish delis. You know, corned beef, pastrami, etc...

"Like Irish delis?"

No, Jewish.

"You sure it isn't Irish?"

I'm sure.

"Whatever. Enjoy your stay."

Fact is, we Jews don't have a monopoly on deli. The word "delicatessen" itself is French/German, and every culture, from the Italians to the Vietnamese, have their own place that sells sandwiches, cold cuts, and pickled things.

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As I was writing Jewish Cooking Boot Camp, the subject of my book often came up in conversation. Inevitably the person asking would have some sort of recipe suggestion. But with those requests came something else... family traditions. As I met and spoke with people all around the globe I started to collect all the fun, funny, silly, sentimental and downright crazy family traditions that people would tell me. I loved them so much that I ended up putting out a call via Facebook and E-mail for even more. They came pouring in.

In today's world the image of the Jewish family, and the traditions they celebrate within their home, is rapidly changing. Some families stay true to what we embrace as "classic" - my friend Avi still bakes challah every Friday for Shabbat with her twin daughters - but that doesn't hold for everyone. Instead of a holiday dinner, my friend Jill and her family took a Yiddish lesson. Creative? Yes. Traditional? No. But they had a blast. And as a family that's not necessarily "religious" it was a perfect way to recognize a holiday and spend it together.

As part of my research for the book I spoke with a rabbi named Rachel Greengrass. I met her when she stopped by my daughter's "Tot Shabbat" and I knew she would be the perfect person to contribute to the book. She's friendly, approachable, and young...and she did not disappoint. One the main points she talks about in her portion of the book is that fact that being creative and making new traditions IS traditional. She and her husband practice what she preaches - one of her traditions is to drink four shots of vodka made from grapes instead of wine at her seder.

Many of the other family traditions were just as unique. From my friend Aleesa, who celebrates the joys of matzo ball soup with a song that her late grandfather made up, to my mom's good friend Dee, whose niece has kept a 25+-year list of everyone who has attended every seder they have ever had. There's Jodi, who had to hide TWO afikomens from her ultra-competitive brother; Stacy, whose mom reenacts the Passover plagues with live table theater and rubber bugs; and Israeli-born Efrat, who teaches her Miami-born children holiday songs in English, Spanish and Hebrew.

My own family's tradition is my mom's Jell-O mold. Every year she would serve it and every year my cousins and brother and I would laugh and mock her choice of side dish. In an effort to entertain us even further she began finding funny shapes to "mold" her mold with. There was the turkey, the Star of David, the heart... and many more. Today it still remains the butt of every holiday meal joke. But we wouldn't have it any other way.

What's the craziest Jewish holiday tradition you've heard? (Who knows? There may be second book...)

One of the greatest things I discovered as I collected family traditions (see yesterday's post) was the diversity of Jewish families that are out there today. My own Eastern-European family acquired a Brazilian infusion courtesy of my husband and in-laws, leading my friends to dub our daughter "the Jewzilian." Our holiday celebrations now routinely include cachaca (a particularly potent sugarcane alcohol) and have increased in decibels from merely "loud" to "eardrum-shattering." On the flip side, my Brazilian-born father-in-law now regularly uses the word "machetunim" and has developed an obsession with mandelbrot.

One of my best friends, Susie, has the distinct pleasure of being nicknamed the "Jewmaican," as testament to her Jewish father and Jamaican mother. Her family regularly celebrates Jewish holidays with the traditional...rice and peas? It may not be Jewish traditional, but it's Jamaican traditional. They fused their cultures to create a tradition that recognized all aspects of their family, and I love that.

Food truly is a great connector. It connects us not only to other cultures but to our own as well. As most of us know, the Jewish religion emphasizes the act of inviting people into your home for meals. I can't even begin to tell you the amount of non-Jewish friends I have who were just as excited as my tribe members about JCBC. I mean, is there really a better comfort food than matzo ball soup?

One of the most powerful stories in the book comes from Nancy Ratzan, an incredible woman who is the current President of the National Council of Jewish Women (and who happened to write a beautiful foreword for the book). In her position she often travels around the world, meeting with other religious and political leaders. In 2003 she found herself in rural China, investigating the role the UN plays in Chinese family planning. As she went door-to-door in an area where the annual family income is less than $300, she was invited into a multi-generational home of a local family and asked to stay for lunch. Though she politely declined, they insisted she stay to taste a bite of their freshly baked food. With her first bite, Nancy turned to the translator and had him explain that it tasted exactly like the popovers her Eastern-European Jewish grandmother used to make. Through the translator she exchanged recipes with the Chinese grandmother. They were the same.

If that's not an incredible connection, I don't know what is.

 

In honor of my "Jewzilian" family, our favorite drink...

Caipirinha

Makes: 1 drink

1 lime

4 teaspoons sugar (or 2 1/2 packets Splenda or other artificial sweetener)

Ice cubes

Cachaça (or Vodka)

 

 

TIPS:

• Cachaca is very easy to find these days (51 and Leblon are both good brands) and comes in Kosher form for those who need it.
• If cachaca's not for you just sub in vodka (also easily found in kosher varieties) and your caipirinha becomes a caipiroska.
• You can use anything from a tumbler to a highball to a goblet to make this drink, but be sure your glass has a thick bottom and plenty of room for ice.
• Caipirinhas (and Caipiroskas) are best when very cold, so as your ice melts, continue to add more ice to keep your drink cold.

 

1. Cut the lime in half lengthwise and squeeze the juice from each half into a glass, using a lime squeezer.
2. Take the remnants of the lime and cut each side in half and then into thirds, and add them to the glass.
3. Add the sugar or Splenda. You can add more or less sugar depending on personal preference.
4. Use a masher or wooden spoon to mash the sugar into the lime wedges as you stir.
5. Eyeball the amount of liquid now in the glass, and add a little less than that amount of Cachaça.
6. Use your masher to continue mashing the ingredients while stirring.
7. Fill the glass with ice and let the drink sit for a few minutes to chill.

As I mentioned in my last post, I was never great in the kitchen. In fact, up until I moved in with my husband my cooking skills rarely ventured outside the realm of grilled chicken and salads. But having someone to cook for inspired me to try my hand at a serious dish. In other words: Mimi Chicken. (Disclaimer: Mimi Chicken is actually more like "Spanish chicken," but we named it for a friend who handed over the recipe).

The recipe is well... let's say it's not for the beginner. But I've always been one to challenge myself, so off I went. At the time, my husband Gil and I were living in an an old building, the kind where the apartments are still huge but the neighbors were rarely under the age of 70. I spent hours chopping and prepping and simmering, then covered the pan and left it to cook. Long story short... I burned the ever-living bleep out of it. It was literally black. Needless to say, we ate pizza that night. I soon realized that my old apartment and old neighbors came with equally aged burners, one of which had no setting other than "high." So I tried it again. This time I accidentally added four times the amount of tomato paste and ended up with chicken that was more Italian than Spanish. Sigh.

The third time wasn't a charm, but it was better. And the fourth was better than the third. Today I can make Mimi Chicken in my sleep. The lesson in all of this? Not everything is going to be perfect on the first try. The biggest step is to jump in and give it a shot.

For this Shabbat, try something small (Kugel is very, very easy- see our tutorial on You Tube!) and see how it goes. One the greatest motivators in the kitchen is confidence. The first time you make something that garners rave reviews or second helpings I can assure you, you'll be hooked. My best advice for the novice? If you're going to someone's home, bring a dessert. It's a great excuse to bake a cake (nothing wrong with cake mix- you can add things like instant pudding or orange juice to liven it up), and if you're feeling inspired, try something from scratch such as mandelbrot or a classic honey cake. There can never be enough desserts. The key word here is TRY. Because even if it's not "Top Chef"-worthy, the time, effort and love that you put into your dish will come through. And that's what it's all about.

With that, I challenge Jewcy readers to tell me their best kitchen disaster story and then make an attempt to start over with this New Year. I'll even provide the recipe! (I know a great honey cake.)

 

HONEY CAKE

Ingredients

• 3 1/2 Cup presifted all-purpose flour
• 1 Tbsp baking powder
• 1 Tsp baking soda
• 1/2 Tsp salt
• 3 Tsp ground cinnamon
• 1/2 Tsp allspice
• 1 Cup vegetable oil
• 1 Cup honey
• 1 1/2 Cup sugar
• 1/2 Cup brown sugar
• 3 large eggs
• 1 Tsp vanilla extract
• 1 Cup brewed coffee at room temperature (instant works fine)
• 3/4 Cup orange juice
• 1/2 Cup sliced almonds (optional)

Steps

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F.
2. In a large bowl whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, and allspice.
3. Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients and add the oil, honey, sugars, eggs, vanilla, coffee, and orange juice
4. Use an electric mixer on slow speed to mix everything together.
5. Using cooking spray, grease a 10-inch Bundt pan, a 9 x 13-inch baking dish, or three 9-or 10- inch loaf pans (whichever you prefer).
6. Spoon the batter into the pan and sprinkle the top with almonds (optional).
7. Bake 50 to 60 minutes or until the cake turns golden brown and springs back when gently pressed.
8. Let the cake sit for 20 minutes, then loosen the sides and invert it onto a wire rack to cool completely

Andrea Carneiro is the author of Jewish Cooking Boot Camp: The Modern Girl's Guide to Cooking Like a Jewish Grandmother. She is guest-blogging this week on Jewcy, and this is her first post.

It was about eight years ago that I came to a shocking realization. I didn't know how to cook. Not boiling-some-pasta-cooking... I mean real cooking.

I was living in a tiny apartment in New York City and spending every spare moment either working or flying home to get a dose of sunshine. Being that my hometown happens to be Miami, those trips were rarely solo. They soon became group vacations, the highlight of which was my parents' annual Chanukah party, always attended by my two best friends (both New Yorkers) and a slew of revolving guests. One night, as Ellen, Jill and I sat watching my mom fry up her famous flourless latkes, Ellen spoke up. "Roz," she said to my mom. "We all have absolutely no idea how to cook Jewish holiday food and someday we're going to have to do it on our own."

We were silent.

"We need a Jewish cooking boot camp," she continued. And an idea was born. We figured it would be 3 days, would cover all major holidays and dishes and come complete with syllabus. From cabbage soup to nut cake we would learn it all. We laughed... and then we moved on.

But as the years went on I realized that there were many, many other young people who went through years of Jewish holidays inhaling brisket, kugel, latkes, honey cake and rugelach...without ever knowing how to make any of it themselves. Wedding seasons and bridal showers and housewarmings came and went and the Jewish cookbooks I found were too religious, too advanced, or too boring. They didn't speak to my generation or my lifestyle. I wanted something that was fun, stylish, informative and interesting. So I created it. I added Cliffs Notes to avoid the humiliation of Googling "Rosh Hashana," a hip-hop Chanukah playlist (thanks Rosenberg brothers!), wine pairings, and even a Purim-inspired Caipirinha.

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Earlier this week, I was still recovering from the swine flu but dragged myself to my office only to find it had been cleaned out. Feeling nauseous anyway, I sat down in my boss’ office and numbly listened to her words. So sorry…it’s the economy…you did a great job…no funding for your position…blah blah blah. Huh? Did my job just dump me with the “it’s not you, it’s me” break-up speech?

So instead of a morning of dull research and nursing a cup of tea wondering if I was well enough to be in the office that day, I was packing a box of my personal items and officially joined the 9.6% of the New York City population counted as unemployed. The rest of the day was kind of a blur. I recall a tremendous outpouring of support and suggestions. Friends sent job postings and made suggestions for networking opportunities. My boyfriend came home early from work to find me in his sunny kitchen hammering away on my laptop looking for job leads.

What a way to start the New Year! Soon the anxiety soon began to creep in. How long can I afford my rent? Where will I live? Just the day before I was planning a trip to Tucson to see my sister and her new baby due this fall. Can I afford it now? My boyfriend and I had been planning on going to Sukkahfest – is that the best use of my (now much more) limited resources?

That and so many more questions were swirling around in my head. But I found myself in my comfort zone, my (boyfriend’s) kitchen, and hungry for dinner. Since I had been sick we were pretty low on groceries, but there were enough odds and ends to pull together some pasta, a basil-kale-chicken stock-raw cashew pesto (with a clove of fresh garlic, it was incredible). But the real comfort food were the black bean brownies.

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I like food.  A lot.  Since my son's initial appearance, my wife Amanda has been watching an intense amount of Food Network (great to watch in short bursts, when you don't have the time or energy for a full show commitment) so I've been exposed to Chopped, Paula Deen, Ace of Cakes, UnWrapped, and The Next Food Network Star. It's taken quite awhile for me to appreciate watching food as much as I enjoy eating it, but thanks to Top Chef: Masters, I think I am finally there.

The fitting label for these shows is Food Porn.  For me, though, its not just Porn; it's Food Voyeurism.  As a keeper of kashrut pretty much my whole life, I have never tasted a scallop or a lobster tail.  I can only imagine a cheeseburger, let alone one with bacon, fried in chorizo fat.  And i find it hard even to fathom the consistency or taste of sea urchin.  And yet I am captivated by these shows and the food in large part because of how they peak my imagination (and test my OCD-like commitment) for hitherto unknown flavors.

This week's Top Chef Masters finale was a celebration of food and the chef's preparing it.  No nasty curveballs, nothing tricky, simply a chance for the 3 finalists to showcase their skills, passion, and food.  It was exciting and moreso than when watching past shows, I found myself wondering: what does that taste like?  Where can I eat THAT?  Why DON'T I eat sea urchin?  Mexican chef Rick Bayless‘ winning 27-ingredient Mole dish brought me to the height of food jealousy.  It wasn't even really unkosher. (ingredient-wise. At least I don't think is was.  He's keeping the recipe a secret.)

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Last night I went to hear Joel Salatin, of Polyface Farms in Virginia, speak at a benefit for the Hollywood Farmer's Market, one of my favorite farmer's markets here in Portland. Salatin is featured in Michael Pollan's book, The Omnivore's Dilemma, and more recently in the film Food, Inc. (BTW, if you haven't seen the film, go, this minute, and take everyone you know, even if you have to drag them kicking and screaming).

Salatin is a self-described "Christian-libertarian-environmentalist-capitalist-farmer," which gives you some idea of his philosophies and approaches to, well, just about everything. His talk was about food safety, specifically how governmental approaches to it are not only not making our food safer, but are also marginalizing and criminalizing small farmers who raise animals on a non-industrial scale. I didn't go to Salatin's lecture expecting to learn anything new; I've read several of his books, including Everything I Want to Do is Illegal, and I also know a bit about this subject from other sources and from my work in the food sustainability world. I went to experience Salatin himself. And he was definitely worth the price of admission.

Salatin is, among other things, an entertaining writer, with a love of language that pays homage to his Southern roots. In person he is even more so. I felt like I was in a tent camp revival meeting gettin' some old time religion. Salatin exhorted, he roared, his energy couldn't be contained on the small stage, he overwhelmed the levels on the rather feeble amplification system he was using. It was a pleasure to hear him trace back the history of our attitudes towards food safety, going back to Pasteur and germ theory (Salatin's redux on Pasteur's approach is that germs are out to get us, so we have to destroy them before they destroy us). Instead of trying to regulate deadly bacteria out of existence, Salatin pointed out, we should be creating environments where salmonella, E-coli, campylobacter, listeria, etc. can't thrive. In other words, outlaw feedlots and other concentrated animal raising operations that feed animals things they were never supposed to eat and that make them sick (corn, in the case of cows), force animals to live hip deep in their own feces, with no access to the outside (in the case of factory poultry) and no ability to move about freely. If the USDA outlawed these kinds of operations, the proliferation and spread of these dangerous germs would be drastically reduced and our food would be measurably safer. That, along with the myriad ways government bureaucracy sets up obstacles for small farmers who want to raise animals sustainably and in a manner designed for their maximum health (not to mention ours), was the gist of Salatin's talk.

I didn't agree with everything Salatin said. He's a true libertarian as far as his contempt for anything governmental is concerned, and he believes the free market and capitalism are a sufficient corrective to industrial food abuses (He cited Upton Sinclair's The Jungle as an example; after it was published in 1906, sales of meat products dropped by 50%). I'm way too much of a socialist to ever buy into that point of view, and my contempt for capitalism is almost as deep as Salatin's is for government. But it was great to sit in a room with over 250 like-minded folks (many of them young farmers) and share a sense of purpose, to renew our individual and collective commitments to raising,  buying, eating and advocating for good (and I mean that in every sense of the word) food. And it was balm to my spirit to hear Salatin describe that commitment as "noble and righteous." Amen to that.

 

This post originally appeared on The Jew & The Carrot and is reprinted with permission.