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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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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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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Jon Gosselin (basic explanation for those of you lucky enough not to know who he is: he and his now-estranged wife had twins and sextuplets, then they got a show on TLC called Jon and Kate Plus Eight, then they split up and Jon started dressing like an overgrown frat boy and dating Kate's plastic surgeon's daughter. You're welcome.) recently gave an interview to ParentDish.com. There was quite a bit of Jewish talk, since Jon's girlfriend, Hailey Glassman, is a member of the tribe. Most of the quotes were so hilarious/embarrassing that we've decided to let them speak for themselves:

This is the first year I will celebrate Chanukah. Hailey is Jewish. Everyone in my life is Jewish now, my attorney. I love it. I'm now half Jewish and half Korean. The family values are great.

I just went through Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur and learned about the new year and every Friday is the Shabbat dinner. I love challah bread. I'm learning about Jewish food, going to Zabar's. I love that place. I'm learning about kosher and when not to order a bacon, egg and cheese and make an ass of myself. Hailey makes fun of me. My mom came to the city on Yom Kippur and asked where all the traffic was. I got from the West Side to Midtown in five minutes. She wants to come to the city every year on Yom Kippur.

I talked to Rabbi Shmuley [Boteach] a couple of times. He has nine kids. I was really nervous dating a Jewish girl. She's like the best girl ever. All my friends are like 'I'm so jealous' and I'm like, 'Stay away, she's mine.'

I have a therapist. But hanging around Jewish people you don't need to talk to anyone else. My parents and grandparents are divorced and I want to break the pattern. I have Hailey and Mark Heller, my attorney, my therapist. They're all Jewish. I watch them and I confide in them, especially Hailey. She is my best friend. She'll tell me if I do something wrong. God has put these people in my life for a reason. My inner circle is Jewish. I only care what they think.

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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Last week, Janna Gur, author of The Book of New Israeli Food, posted some insightful and entertaining stories about her book.  In light of this week's holiday bonanza, Janna has graciously provided us with some of her new Israeli recipes to help spice up your meals. Enjoy, Jewcers!

Flame-Roasting Eggplants

Roasting eggplants on an open flame can be messy but is definitely worth the effort as the smoky aroma adds immensely to the taste.

First line your stovetop with aluminum foil. Place a whole eggplant (or more than one if you are confident) on a rack over the open flame and roast, turning occasionally, until the skin is scorched and blackened and the flesh feels soft when pierced with a wooden skewer or a fork. The eggplant can also be broiled in the oven, or grilled on a charcoal barbecue. Cool slightly  (to avoid burning your hands) and peel, carefully removing every last bit of scorched skin, or cut in half lengthwise and scoop out the flesh with a wooden spoon.

Ideally, roasted eggplant should be served shortly after roasting, and seasoned while still warm to ensure optimal absorption of every spicy nuance. But if you need to store it for later, drain the roasted flesh of excess liquid, cover with oil and refrigerate. Season before serving.

Eggplant and Tahini SaladRoasted Eggplant with Tahini

This classic combination always works. Use best quality tahini.

Add ½ cup raw tahini seasoned with 3-4 tablespoons lemon juice, 2 cloves crushed garlic, 2-3 tablespoons chopped parsley, a pinch of salt and freshly ground black pepper to the flesh of two roasted eggplants. If the mixture is too thick, add water gradually and stir to desired texture. Sprinkle with toasted sesame seeds or pine nuts before serving.

Roasted Eggplant with Pecans and Blue Cheese

This union of particularly strong flavors produces a delicious sandwich spread. Add about ½ cup crumbled blue (Roquefort style) cheese and ½ cup toasted chopped pecans to the flesh of two roasted eggplants.

Romanian-style Roasted Eggplant Salad

Don't be alarmed by the amount of oil. The eggplants love it, and so do the Romanians.

Add ½ cup oil (the Romanians insist on strongly flavored sunflower oil, preferably unrefined), at least 3 cloves crushed garlic, salt and freshly ground black pepper to the flesh of two roasted eggplants. You may also add two grated onions and/or two peeled, grated tomatoes. To keep the texture pleasantly palatable rather than muddy, mix the oil with the other ingredients by stirring gently with a wooden spoon. 

Last week, Janna Gur, author of The Book of New Israeli Food, posted some insightful and entertaining stories about her book.  In light of this week's holiday bonanza, Janna has graciously provided us with some of her new Israeli recipes to help spice up your meals. Enjoy, Jewcers!

Citrus Semolina Cake

Semolina cakes are found throughout the Middle East and are popular in Jewish Sephardic kitchens. Called basbousa, safra, tishpishti or revani, they can be filled with dates, garnished with almonds, and can even be made with ground walnuts instead of, or in addition to, semolina. These crumbly dry cakes are doused with syrup immediately after baking, making them moist and very sweet.

The following is a slightly unorthodox version that contains freshly squeezed orange (or tangerine) juice and citrus marmalade, and is prepared with separated eggs for a light fluffy texture.

Ingredients (for a 25x30 cm/10x12 inch baking pan):

Citrus Semolina CakeCake
6 eggs, separated
100 g (3½oz, 1/2 cup) sugar
100 g (3½oz, 1 cup) ground coconut
140 g (5 oz, 1 cup) sifted flour
270 g (10 oz, 2½ cups) semolina
25 g (1 oz, 1½ tablespoons) ground almonds
20 g (2 small sachets, 4 teaspoons) baking powder
240 ml (8½ fl oz, 1 cup) oil
360 ml (13 fl oz, 1½ cup) freshly squeezed orange or tangerine juice
2 teaspoons grated orange zest
240 ml (8½ fl oz, 1 cup) orange or lemon marmalade

Syrup
1 cup sugar
1 cup water
Crushed almonds or coconut flakes for garnish

1. Preheat the oven to 180°C (350°F).

2. Using an electric mixer beat the egg whites with the sugar for 8 minutes until they hold stiff peaks.

3. Combine all the dry ingredients in a bowl: coconut, flour, semolina, ground almonds and baking powder.

4. Beat the egg yolks in a separate bowl, gradually adding the oil, juice, orange zest and marmalade.

5. Stir in the dry ingredients slowly until combined well. Gently fold in the peaked egg whites.

6. Pour the batter into a well-greased pan and bake for 30 minutes, until the cake turns golden and a toothpick comes out dry with a few crumbs adhering.

7. While the cake is in the oven prepare the syrup: Bring the water and sugar to a boil and simmer for 20 minutes. Cool slightly.

8. Take the cake out of the oven and pour on the syrup evenly. Cool completely and garnish with almonds or coconut.

Last week, Janna Gur, author of The Book of New Israeli Food, posted some insightful and entertaining stories about her book.  In light of this week's holiday bonanza, Janna has graciously provided us with some of her new Israeli recipes to help spice up your meals. Enjoy, Jewcers!

Traditional Couscous Soup

This is the vegetarian version of the exotically fragrant Moroccan soup that is served with couscous. Use the same procedure to prepare couscous soup with chicken (see below)

Ingredients (serves 6-8):

1 cup chickpeas, soaked in cold water overnight, rinsed and drained
4 carrots, cut into 2-3 large chunks
4 medium potatoes, quartered
1 large onion, quartered
Salt and freshly ground white or black pepper to taste
Small pinch of saffron or 11/2 teaspoons turmeric
200 g (7 oz) pumpkin , cut into 4-5 large  chunks
4 courgettes (zucchini), cut into 3-4 large chunks
Half a green cabbage, quartered
4-5 stalks celery stalks, peeled and cut coarsely (save the leaves)
1/2 kg (1 lb 2 oz) instant couscous

Traditional Couscous Soup1. Put the chickpeas in a large saucepan, cover with water and cook for about 30 minutes. Drain, pour in 2 liters (2 quarts) of water (to prevent the soup from becoming cloudy later on), and cook for another 30 minutes, until the chickpeas are tender.

2. Add the carrots, potatoes and onion, season with salt, pepper, saffron or turmeric and cook for 45 minutes until the vegetables are tender.

3. Add the remaining vegetables (except the celery leaves) and cook for 15 minutes, until tender. Taste and adjust the seasoning. Add the celery leaves and cook for another 15 minutes.

4. Prepare the couscous according to the manufacturer's instructions.

5. Place a heap of couscous in a deep dish. Arrange the vegetables on top  and ladle the soup around and over the couscous.

Red Couscous Soup

When adding the pumpkin, cabbage and courgettes (zucchini), add one small can (300 g, 1012 oz) of tomatoes in tomato  paste and continue according to the recipe.

Spicy Couscous Soup

Add 1-2 tablespoons of filfel chuma (p. 296) or harissa (p. 298) towards the end of the cooking cycle.

Couscous Soup With Chicken

Add 6-8 chicken drumsticks for the last 30 minutes of the cooking cycle.

Ears, Hats, Puns?: cookies. yum.As if we needed another reason to love a holiday that encourages us to drink heavily, Purim (coming up on Thursday night) is also the time of hamantaschen, those deliciously filled, triangular cookies that have inspired years of debate. Growing up, most of us were fed (and happily consumed) the lip-smacking lie that we eat hamantaschen because Haman, the villain of the Megillah, wore a tri-cornered hat. Why is "eating Haman’s hat" considered an appropriate way of celebrating his demise? And what's with Hebrew hamantaschen being called Oznei Haman, or Haman’s ears? Haman had triangle shaped ears, or maybe a tri-cornered hat, and so we eat poppyseed cookies? What’s the story?

Haman: a realisitic depiction? Not so muchA surprising amount of scholarly research has been conducted on the subject of hamantaschen (also spelled hamentaschen, hamantashen, and hamentashes). Philologos at the Forward does an excellent analysis of the etymology of both hamantaschen and Oznei Haman. Apparently hamantaschen are a comparatively old tradition, dating at least to the middle ages, and in Yiddish the precise translation is "Haman’s pockets." No hats of any shape are mentioned at all.

Oznei Haman originated as a completely different kind of delicacy popular in the Sephardi community, made out of twisted strips of dough flavored with citrus rind and deep-fried in oil. Oznei Haman seem to go back at least as far as the Spanish Inquisition, and actually have some textual basis. There’s a Midrash that says Haman’s ears were twisted as part of his punishment, so eating a commemorative pastry makes a certain—though small—degree of symbollic sense. It’s not clear when Oznei Haman became synonymous with Hamantaschen, but probably within the last century.

Last year I posted my hamantaschen recipe and noted that the Swedes have a suspiciously similar cookie, called Napoleon’s Hats or Napoleonhattar, which are traditionally filled with almonds. That actually makes a certain degree of sense: Tri-cornered hats were popular in Napoleon’s time.

The Seforim Blog has an incredibly comprehensive and amusing list of sources that discuss hamantaschen, going as far back as the 13th century. It also summarizes a number of rabbinical explanations for why we eat hamantaschen, including that hamantaschen is a pun on Haman tash—Hebrew for Haman was weakened, and that we eat the pastries because the filling is hidden inside in the same way that the miracle of the Purim story was hidden.