A Taste of the East

I feel like I'm constantly ranting about how people always equate Jewish food with Eastern European food: matzoh balls and gefilte fish, bagel and lox.  I didn't try matzoh ball soup until college, was introduced to lox at a weekend sleepover in elementary school (and thought it was really weird; I've come around), and have yet to meet a gefilte fish I want to eat.

So, I wanted to share some photos from an event I participated in September.  Having had so many "yes, I'm Jewish, and no, I never tried matzoh ball soup until college" conversations, I jumped at the chance to demo a traditional Iranian Jewish recipe at A Taste of the East, a night welcoming Rosh Hashana -- the Jewish New Year, with flavors from The Middle East and Mediterranean.  It was a night of dinner, music, and storytelling, all celebrating the culture of Sephardic Jews.

LISA GRISSOM

I performed one of three demos of Sephardic Jewish food.  Orly Olivier of Petit Takett made Tunisian harissa, and Deborah Gorman of Sorbabe made bourekas–Turkish-Greek cookies filled with ground walnuts and dipped in a sweet syrup.  And I made faloodeh sib–a refreshing combination of rosewater and shredded apples that is the traditional Yom Kippur fast-breaking food among Iranian Jews.

LISA GRISSOM

LISA GRISSOM

It was a great time. I'd never done anything like this before, but cooking and chatting in an industrial kitchen with these ladies was a treat and an education, and sharing my family recipes with a warm, interested crowd, while being schooled on some foods that were new to me, felt wonderful.

NICOLE YOUNESI

As people milled through the space, I stood at a table decorated with black and white photos of my grandparents and shredded apples against a box grater, and then added sugar, water, rosewater, and ice to perfectly balance the rosewater's intense aroma with just the right amount of sweet.

30 YEARS AFTER

I had a couple friends, a few cousins, and my parents in attendance.  I was really happy to have these familiar faces in the crowd when we arrived at the storytelling portion of the evening.  I spoke about my uncle, a distinguished physician, affectionately known by his grandkids as "Lulu", who would leave Yom Kippur services at the synagogue early to go home and prepare faloodeh sib for his family. I wasn't the only one tearing up as we remembered this sweet man.

Recalling old memories of food and family, as we make new ones with new friends.  More of this, please.

Mom's Polo Shevid Baghali in Lucky Peach

Those hands belong to my mom, Violet.  She is halving baghali, fava beans, for one of my favorite dishes of hers, polo shevid baghali.  I am beyond thrilled to report that I got to cook this dish with her, and interview her about her own food memories, for the Lucky Peach website's "We Love Mom" column.  I've loved Lucky Peach magazine since its inception, but always had a problem with the boy's club vibe that came off its mostly male, mostly restaurant chef writing.  This column is the opposite, as it celebrates traditional home cooking (though many of the moms, and other parents, profiled are far from traditional), and paints a broad ethnic picture of American kitchens today -- all with adorable old-school pictures of the writers and their moms.  Suits me just fine; happy to be a part of it.  Check out my story here!

Scenes from an Iranian-American Passover Seder

I failed to take my good camera with me to my parents' house last night, but I had to share some quick phone snaps.  It occurs to me how unfamiliar a lot of people are with the Passover dinner that I know.  Nary a brisket, matzoh ball, or jellied, goopy ball of gefilte fish in sight.

Important distinction, in extremely broad strokes: there are two ethnic/geographic groupings of Jews: Ashkenazi and Sephardic.  The former originate in Eastern Europe, the latter from the Middle East and the Mediterranean.  Quick and dirty rule of thumb: Ashkenazi = white Jew, Sephardic = brown Jew. (Obviously, there are also Jews in Africa, East Asia, South Asia, and pretty much everywhere else.  But for the purpose of this post, Ashkenazi is the mainstream, and Sephardic is how I'm distinguishing myself from it.)

Jewish food as its known in most of the United States has nothing to do with what I grew up with.  Bagels and lox, pastrami on rye, knishes and the like all come from the Ashkenazi tradition. As a Sephardic Jew, and specifically an Iranian one, my cuisine matches where I come from: more spices and fresh herbs and vegetables, lots of sweet and sour flavors from using fruit in our savory dishes, and at this time of the year, the best distinction of all: unlike Ashkenazis, Sephardic Jews eat rice during Passover. Because we might starve otherwise.

Here are a few shots from my parents' house last night.

Fresh almonds to greet guests.  Green and fuzzy, crunchy and tart.

Each year for Passover, my mom buys the best nuts she can find, and washes, salts, sun-dries, and roasts them herself.  I've never had a better hazelnut (or forty) and I'm not above cherry-picking for them, especially if my sister is looming over my shoulder.  Last night, my mom served a mix of pistachios, hazelnuts, and almonds in this gorgeous silver bowl from Iran, inherited from my paternal grandparents.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, my Auntie Mohtaram, my mom's oldest sister prepared nargesi -- an eggy casserole of fresh herbs and tiny meatballs* -- as her daughter, granddaughter, and great-grandson looked on.

Three kuku sabzis, on deck.  Among Iranian Jews, you use kuku sabzi -- a bright herby frittata with crisped edges -- for a memorial blessing.  Passover corresponds with the anniversary of the death of my maternal grandmother, so we remember her each year with kuku sabzi.

Whereas Ashkenazi Jews use horseradish as their bitter herb, we have a bitter lettuce (though admittedly this year's romaine was not the most bitter choice).  Where Ashkenazi Jews dip parsley in saltwater, we dip the pale inner stalks of celery into vinegar.  Our haroset recipe, long ago handwritten by my paternal grandfather for each of his kids, is a balanced blend of several nuts, fruits, spices, and wine.  Though we no longer grind meat at home, my dad pulls out the hand-crank meat grinder every year to give the haroset its perfect texture. And yes, Maxwell House hagaddah.  I mean, come on, we're still Americans.

Oh, we also run around the table whipping each other with scallions.

The full dinner spread -- almost.  You'll note that we're not even done setting the table, and there is already tahdig -- the crispy saffron rice from the bottom of the pot -- in people's plates. We really are polite people; it's just that hot of a commodity.

However you're celebrating, and whether you're celebrating, here's to expanding our worldview and eating well -- and at best, both at the same time.

--
* Note that Iranian Jewish nargesi, for whatever reason, is totally different dish rom the Muslim dish of the same name, though the latter looks delicious as well. 

Black Eyed Peas at Sabzi

As Sara over at the beautiful blog Sabzi is swamped with grad-schooly things right now, she asked me to write a guest post, requesting something Iranian Jewish and wintry.  This black eyed pea recipe resembles what Iranian Jews eat on Rosh Hashana, but also calls back to the tradition of black eyed peas for the New Year in the US south.  And a big pot of beans simmering away is imminently wintry.  Head over and check it out; hope it helps keep you warm.

Matzoh Brei, Liberated

When I think of matzoh brei, I imagine Rob Reiner and Nora Ephron sitting at a table, arguing about the "right" way to do it. One argues vehemently for jam, the other is resolute about salt.  One knows for sure soggy is the only way, the other stands firmly behind crunchy.

How to prepare matzoh brei is one of those food questions that brings out strong opinions, like who makes the best pastrami in the city (though we know they're looking in the wrong city), or whose grandma makes the best babka.  These inarguable opinions are rooted in childhood nostalgia.  And when it comes to childhood nostalgia for matzoh brei, I have none.

Matzoh brei is a breakfast food that's a cross between scrambled eggs, French toast, and something unlike both of those, because neither has hard wheat crackers mixed in.  I was first introduced to it by the same grade school friend who taught me about lox and Thanksgiving candied yams.  And like those two, I thought it was super weird, and also delicious.


Because I don't come from a heritage of matzoh brei, I don't have to decide between sweet or salty:  I choose both.  Unfettered by tradition, I go with simple flavors and quality ingredients: lots of butter, farmer’s market eggs if i have them, real maple syrup, Maldon salt.  Something hoydel-doydel humble maintains its comfort, but picks up grown-up flavor.

I'm curious how others make it.  How do you like your matzoh brei?

Matzoh Brei

This is a super simple recipe, so you can go crazy with variations.  A friend adds lox and dill with delicious results.  I can imagine it'd be great with some of that Hebrew National beef salami that was a Passover staple in my childhood home, or, well, sausage.  Sometimes I fry it in olive oil instead of butter, mirroring the amazing olive oil/maple syrup flavor combo of the best granola in the world.  But most times, simple is best.

Per serving:
1 egg
1 Tbs milk
1 matzah
3 thin slivers of butter
Flaky salt
Maple syrup

Beat the egg with the milk in a small bowl.  Run the matzah under water to moisten on both sides.  Break into bite-sized pieces, and mix into egg mixture.  Let sit for a few minutes.

Heat a sliver of butter in a small non-stick pan over medium-high heat.  Add the matzah mixture to the pan, and stir over heat to make sure all bits are cooked through.  After a couple minutes, add the second sliver of butter and mix through.

Serve on a plate, with a third sliver of butter, drizzled with maple syrup and sprinkled with salt.

chicken soup for the working girl's soul

A need took over me to make chicken soup.  I have never made chicken soup.  I don't even like chicken soup all that much.  But, I had to heed the need.



I went to some respected sources.  Claudia Roden gave me the Platonic ideal of Ashkenazi Jewish chicken soup.  I read a delicious-sounding French-Jewish recipe with fennel and leeks from Joan Nathan.  And from Tamar Adler came inspiration to keep it simple and elegant.  But the two recipes that most directly drove my own came from the web:  Smitten Kitchen's deeply chickeny broth, and Chez Pim's whole-chicken-in-a-pot incarnation.

I picked and chose some ideas from each.  I wanted to get as much chickeny flavor into my broth as possible without using a crockpot or discarding meat (Smitten Chicken's recipe cooks 3 pounds of wings in a crockpot for 8 hours, then throws them away).  And I didn't want to spend 3 hours making broth and soup on the night I was going to eat it.  That just won't work.

So I came up with a chicken soup recipe that's compatible with a 9-to-5, but doesn't compromise on deep, rich chicken broth.  To do so, I broke the recipe up into 3 stages.  I limited my broth to chicken and onions, like the Smitten Kitchen recipe, but boiled only for an hour, not to overcook the meat, like Pim.  I chopped vegetables one night, simmered broth while I got ready for work the next morning, and put it all together that night in about 45 minutes.  That final step involves steeping the bones in the broth to get maximum flavor out of them -- a tip I picked up from Pim -- then adding vegetables, chicken meat, and noodles to your broth to make the finished product.  You can split up the stages however you want -- just make sure there is time for the broth to chill thoroughly, so that the fat hardens on top and you can remove it easily (if you choose).

Even with a plan, I was nervous.  I don't come from chicken soup heritage.  This is all new to me.  Would it actually work?  But I went with it.  Dare I say that boiling chicken is an exciting endeavor?

You can stand and watch as the broth comes alive: chicken pieces bobbing around under the surface, little lakes of oil animating and changing shape in response to steamy bubbles.  But really, chicken broth is an exercise in stepping away and letting go.  You trust chicken and water to mediate their own relationship, and sure enough, at around the fifteen minute mark, you catch a whiff of what generations of grannies have associated with nourishing their families and warming them to the bone.  Just like that, the broth gradually takes on that pale yellow hue.  Chicken broth is happening.

And soon, so will chicken noodle soup, the real deal.  Turns out you don't have to be a grannie to feed the need.


Chicken Noodle Soup

Makes 6-8 servings

I should mention the turmeric.  It's not at all traditional, but it's a tip from my mom that I chose to adhere to:  it adds subtle flavor and bright yellow color, and is very good for you.  Omit it if you want, but it's not a bad addition.

1 onion chopped
1 cup chopped celery
1 cup diced carrots
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tablespoon olive oil
8 cups water **
1/2 tsp ground turmeric, optional
1 3-pound chicken, cut into parts *
1 package dry egg (or other) noodles
2 tbs rough-chopped flat leaf parsley
salt and pepper to taste

* notes on chicken: I used an Empire kosher chicken, cut into 8 pieces, figuring that if I'm going to make an age-old recipe, I should stick with the grannies on this.  This affects seasoning:  kosher meats are salted.  As it stands, fluctuations in water level as the broth boils down mess with the broth's saltiness.  So, season to taste, and season at the end, remembering that you can always add more salt, but you can't take it away if there's too much.

** notes on water: My pot is not so big, so in the initial broth stage, I only had about 4-6 cups water.  After I removed the large chicken pieces, I was able to pour in more water with the bones.  The amount of water is not hard and fast:  your soup will be good, even if you fudge that number a bit in either direction.

Stage 1: Prep 
10 minutes, active

Chop onion, carrots, and celery.  Chill until Stage 2.  Store onions separate from carrots and celery.

Stage 2:  Broth
2 hours total
20 minutes active
1:20 inactive
20 minutes active



Add onion, garlic, and oil to large pot or Dutch oven over medium heat.  Cook, stirring occasionally, until onions are translucent.  Increase heat to medium-high an add chicken pieces to pot, tucking them into the onions so they have some contact with the bottom of the pot.  After a few minutes, add water, enough to cover chicken.

Increase heat to high, cover pot and bring to a boil. (Remember, this is a big pot with a lot of stuff in it.  This can take around fifteen minutes.)  After the boil, reduce heat to low, place lid askew on pot so that there's an open sliver where steam can escape, and simmer for 1 hour.  Occasionally skim off foam from surface of broth.

Turn off heat.  Remove chicken pieces from broth.  Working carefully so as not to burn your fingers, separate bones from meat.  Wrap bones in a piece of cheesecloth and tie off with string or twine, or place them in a strainer (the idea is to be able to easily remove them from broth later).   If you like, remove skin (I removed it -- the broth was so fatty already that I didn't need more fat) and discard.  Store chicken in fridge until you're ready for Stage 3.

Chill broth, still in pot, thoroughly.




Stage 3: Soup
45 minutes total
20 minutes active

[Note: you can divide this stage further, doing the thirty minutes with bones in one step, then just cook the pasta and heat the chicken through before serving.]

Defat broth:  Now that the broth is thoroughly chilled, you can easily remove the fat, which has solidified in little pools on the surface of the broth, with a large spoon.  Remove as much or as little as you like (I removed most, left a bit).  Discard fat, or not.

Place carrots, celery, and bone bundle in pot, bring to a boil.  Lower heat to simmer, and cook for about 30 minutes.  In the meantime, cut or shred chicken into bite-sized pieces.  In the last 10 minutes of simmering, add chicken and pasta to pot.



To serve, add a balanced amount of solids and broth to each bowl, and garnish with chopped fresh parsley.

I Heart The Gorbals

There's a part in Jesus is Magic where Sarah Silverman, trying to counter the stereotype that Jewish women aren't sexy, sultrily describes slipping into a slinky negligee, then breaks into a ridiculous, flailing "hoydel-doydel" song and dance.

Can you think of a more hoydel-doydel name for a restaurant than The Gorbals? The whatnow?

The Gorbals is the new restaurant of Ilan Hall, former Top Chef winner and Scottish-Israeli New Yorker. When I first heard the name, I had to snicker at his folly, but when I read about the restaurant's namesake -- the neighborhood in Scotland where Ilan's dad grew up among a diversity of poor, outcast immigrant groups -- its unsexiness became lovable. Then when I heard what the restaurant would be serving: "old Jewish food date-raped by bacon," I was totally smitten. Admittedly, my fascination is more about cleverness than deliciousness; after all, Ashkenazi food doesn't exactly strike me as haute cuisine, but then again, Ilan won Top Chef -- obviously he knows some things about food.

This place is not open yet (though according to Eater LA, it should be opening within the week), but apparently there was a preview a few nights ago. Manischewitz flowed and irreverent bacon-wrapped matzoh balls rolled. And, thank goodness, Ilan's beautiful bubbe was in the house.

[photo nymag.com]
--
The Gorbals is at 501 South Spring St. downtown. Opening soon.

Sunday is made for genmai-cha

Today I got an email from the editor of the Shofar, an Iranian Jewish quarterly that my dad has a hand in publishing. She wants me to contribute something to their winter issue, which is very exciting. I started to reply, but quickly realized it's not going to be a one-liner. I put on some hot water, and pulled out a couple cookbooks. It was time to do some research.

Let's face it: this isn't a coffee home. The coffee I make in my little French press never comes out as good as I'd like, and the stupid Senseo I got for 'free' is a swill-machine that ust takes up precious counter space. We do tea really well though. Today was the day for genmai-cha: a nutty-tasting Japanese blend of green tea and toasted brown rice. I have a fancy tin of the stuff I was given as a gift -- really great tea from an Australian company called Tease. Perfect after a night of over-imbibing, I boiled some water and poured it directly over the leaves. I'm always skeptical that the leaves, toasted rice grains, and twiggy bits will actually settle to the bottom and let me drink in peace, but they always do.

Then began the 'quick reply', which was in fact a deliciously satisfying archaeological dig through many topics and many media, just what I love. Pore through old interviews from the cookbook, looking for Hanukkah-related recipes. There are none. Find an old sufganiyot recipe, get reminded of its symbolism -- doughnuts fried in oil to symbolize the ancient miracle of one day's oil lasting eight days. Take a couple sips, burn tongue, call Violet and Saeed to ask if there are any Persian fritters that would be suitable for Hanukkah. Settle into bed a little deeper. Find the recipe for zoloubia -- fried funnel-cake-like sweets doused generously in a honey syrup, in Najmieh Batmanglij's New Food of Life. Hmm. Kind of a stretch though. Ooh, there's a page on the winter solstice feast. Carrot brownies? Fascinating. Whoa, carrot pudding. Saffron pudding. Crap, I digress.

Pour more hot water over the now-soggy leaves. Pull out my beloved Book of Jewish Food; consult. Claudia Roden has never let me down, and once again, she holds the answer: apparently Egyptian Jews eat fritters called 'zalabia' at Hanukkah time. Zoloubia is not a stretch at all. (And for Russian Hanukkah, you douse a sugarcube with brandy, set it on fire, and throw it in your tea. Not even remotely relevant, but rad!).

It comes to this: All I want to do is sit on my bed and read Claudia Roden and write and pour glass after glass over my soggy tea leaves, but alas, errands call. All I did was answer one email. How is it already noon?!