The Celebration of Small Packages

Years ago I worked at an organization where the mission was all about electing women to state and federal office and it followed suit that the majority of the staff were women (with several feminist men sprinkled in for diversity). Although my job took me to all parts of the country - sometimes from one coast to another in one week - and I spent most of my time on the road, this was one of the most supportive, fun, dynamic places to work. Everyone who worked there was dedicated to the mission of the organization, passionate about the cause and absolutely committed to the role they played in the outcomes. 

Which also made it one of the most competitive places I’ve ever worked. And this was never more evident than at THE Cookie Exchange which took place right before the holidays. 

Those participating – and if you didn’t participate it was like you forfeited the biggest game of the season – would file into the conference room with their containers full of goodies. The truth is, I don’t even remember how the actual exchange happened but I do remember everyone tasting each other’s cookies, giving their polite feedback and words of encouragement and then ranking the cookie on a secret list in their heads.

To this day, I fear the rugelach I brought to the exchange were a big flop. You know when you look back at minor (or major) moments in your life wishing you could travel back in time with the knowledge or tools you have today so you could be more successful?

The little package of goodies, that comes directly from our friend Amy's kitchen in Michigan and arrives at our doorstep before the holidays, is that secret weapon I wish I had during THE Cookie Exchange. For some the end of Thanksgiving marks the beginning of the holiday season. But for me, the holidays don’t start until that package arrives.

Amy always includes a variety of biscotti, a little package of coffee grounds, chocolate gold coins and other candy. It's always the biscotti that we tear the package open for and eat as an appetizer for dinner.

Based on her biscotti alone, I believe Amy to be an excellent baker. Growing up, she claims she wasn’t a very good cook nor was her mother, “who was an artist and expressed her creativeness through calligraphy and Judaica instead of dinner.” “However, I started to teach myself after the 1980 election” when the Congressman she was working for lost in the Reagan Republican wave. “I felt like it was time to create something tangible to make me feel better and I started to cut out recipes and bake things to give away to friends.” So was born the Great Biscotti Mailings (GBM). The GBM’s started before things like Facebook and other social media and Amy sent them out each year as a way of keeping in touch with people she doesn’t see that often and letting them know she’s thinking of them. The GBM's have grown over the years and to this day, “with every address label, I think about the people I am sending to and it makes me happy.” Maybe as happy as receiving them makes us feel. 

Although the biscotti flavors change every year and are always delicious, the cranberry and pistachio ones that arrived this year were particularly wonderful with the savory of the pistachio, the sweet tart of the cranberry and the licorice taste of the aniseed. So, I asked Amy for the recipe. 

As I was baking the biscotti, my mind wandered and I started thinking about THE Cookie Exchange. How I wish I had this recipe – and the others below – back then.

I would have won.

The Celebration of All Things Fried

Earlier this week marked the beginning of Hannukah. The eight crazy nights stretched through this week and end right before Christmas. My kids look forward to two things during Hannukah – gifts and latkes.

Golden brown latke's ready to eat

Latke’s are traditional potato pancakes that are eaten this time of year along with sufganiyot (jelly doughnuts) and all other things fried. Personally, that’s what I think is cool about this holiday. Don’t get me wrong, the meaning behind the holiday is pretty amazing – good over evil, resources lasting longer than expected, hope and faith persevering in the presence of certain darkness (literally and figuratively) with a few miracles sprinkled in for good measure. 

So, what do we do to commemorate the occasion? We eat. But better than that, we are told that we must eat fried food to remember the miracle of the oil in the ancient temple that lasted a full eight days as opposed to the one day that was expected. As one of my girlfriends said to me when I told her about Hannukah and the foods that we are instructed to eat, “an entire holiday about fried food? Where do I sign up to be Jewish?” Wait until I tell her about Passover when we’re commanded to drink 4 cups brimming with wine.

This year for Hannukah, my daughter had to write an essay about our holiday food traditions and bring in a little taste of that food for everyone in her class. This meant that in the first 2 days of Hannukah, between her class project and the family dinners, I made so many latke’s that the fried smell permeated every inch of my house and won’t dissipate until next Hannukah. The city might end up rezoning our house to a fast-food location because you can smell it down the block.

Although latke’s aren’t hard to make, they are labor intensive and make me very grateful for modern day kitchen tools. Over the years, I’ve learned a few tricks which I wanted to share with you along with our family recipe and an alternative version. 

And yes, I fry them. Because every other time of year, I feel guilty for eating french fries, or justify that swiping them from my kids plate “doesn’t count” or I have to count every calorie, point or whatever when I eat fried food and hash-browns are reserved as a hangover indulgence. So this one time of year when I don’t have to feel guilty for eating fried food and in fact, it’s a way of commemorating my heritage well then, I'm going to take full advantage of it and own it. 

The Celebration of Nani

When my husband and I lived in Washington, DC, newly married, without children and a lifestyle that felt a lot like an episode of Seinfeld, Indu, the mom of our dear friend, Sujata, and her grandmother, Nani, were in town. As Sujata recalls “Nani, and my mom, wish that I liked to cook or even had an interest in it.” But I suspect Indu and Nani gained as much pleasure knowing how much Sujata enjoyed their home cooked meals. Sujata told Indu and Nani that Richard, our friend Shara and I wanted to learn how to make Indian food. The result was an afternoon cooking lesson led by Indu comfortably assuming the celebrity chef in residence role in a kitchen that had never been used.

The strictly vegetarian menu was an explosion of spice balanced with a little sweet and textures like a creamy black bean dip.  Indu patiently described all of the ingredients, let us sniff the spices and showed us some time-saving short-cuts (see tortillas in recipe below). Sujata remembers that Indu “brought her masala tin with all the spices. I wasn’t cooking but hanging out with the dearest people in my life, waiting for food and watching them make it!”

All the while, Nani was sitting on the couch with a shawl over her shoulder, crocheting with a grin on her face and I now wonder what she was thinking. The world had changed drastically since Nani, Indu and the family, who came from the Sindh province in Pakistan, left their home to make their way to India when the British left in 1947 and Pakistan was created. “Most Hindus in Pakistan made their way to India during one of the deadliest migrations in history. My family ended up in Mumbai after a few stops. Once my mom married and moved to the US, Nani would visit us time and again and for the last 20 years of her life, she basically lived full time in the US dividing her time between the homes of her three children.” And here we were, over 50 years later, with her daughter, Indu – an accomplished and well-respected OB/GYN in Memphis (who went bungee jumping in New Zealand but that’s an entirely different story), teaching Indian cooking to her grand-daughter – an equally educated and accomplished woman in her field to Jewish friends who had many common interests in the middle of Washington, DC.  

Indu’s cooking skills were taught to her by Nani, who I suspect learned them from the women who surrounded her. Even as Nani got older, she was a great cook and loved to make sure her family was eating enough, eating well, and eating home cooked meals. Towards the end of Nani’s life, she requested the foods of her youth – especially the sweets – that brought her comfort, happiness and memories from her own childhood.

The recipes that Indu sent me actually started with a cooler filled with Sindhi delicacies delivered from Indu’s kitchen in Memphis to my doorstep. She did this so I could “know what the food is supposed to taste like and look like.” Not until Sujata told me that most Westerners are familiar with Indian food from the North, “with a few Southern Indian specialties like dosa – it’s next to impossible to find Sindhi food like Dal Pakvaan anywhere outside of private homes, and even most of my Indian friends have never had it.”

These dishes are special because they are so unique and like all mom cooked meals across every culture and that are passed down, for Sujata, these are comforting when she’s sick, are served at family celebrations, synonymous with home, a connection to her heritage, and a physical reminder of her Nani.