The Celebration of a Good Story and Its Power

Passover is my favorite Jewish holiday. What’s not to love? It’s your religious duty to drink 4 brimming glasses of wine (and it no longer needs to be the sickly sweet Manischewitz kind), you eat a huge meal … while reclining and it’s a mitzvah (good deed) to welcome all those who are hungry or don't have a seder to come join in yours. The modern day interpretation of this is inviting those who don’t celebrate Passover into your home to share in the meal and retelling of history. 

Ingredients for ceviche

But more than anything, I love the story of Passover. Sure, it’s the story of triumph over evil, perseverance in the face of insurmountable odds, it’s about faith and a plan that’s bigger than all of us and it’s about community and our place within it. It's about challenging ourselves to think about the 21st century things that enslave us and fight for our freedom. But every year, I discover something new in the unspoken words within the story that stick with me. Recently, I learned that the correct translation of “go in peace” is actually, “go towards peace.” I think essentially this is what G-d and Moses were aiming for with the Israelites - go toward the land of milk and honey that will give you the peace you need to live as you want to live. The year that I learned that Miriam, Moses sister, led the Israelites in the dessert with singing, dancing and a knack for finding water helped me feel closer to the story (up to that point, I had only heard the voices of men in the story). Or last year, when I realized that Moses didn’t just lead the Israelites out of slavery, he organized them, shaping them into a nation. He made them realize their own power, gave them confidence to use their voice and guided them when they were going astray. These are the discoveries that fill your spiritual cup to the brim. 

Salmon Ceviche

But, here’s what I don’t love about Passover … the desserts. For all that is good in baking, ending a meal with a processed coconut macaroon that comes out of a can and has no expiration date, is not satisfying. Come to think of it, I also wasn't that fond of the 1st course. I have distinct memories of gefilte fish coming out of a jar and my grandmother asking for more jelly on her plate. Or, as my brother and I called it, “snot.” Although I like gefilte fish, minus the snot, it’s not my favorite part of a Passover meal.

It wasn’t until we started the “Functional Friends Seder” with dear friends in Washington, DC that I started experimenting with different options at the Passover table. While I started with dessert, my girlfriend who organized the Functional Friends Seder and was on the same quest to re-invent the Seder meal, started with the main dish. She created a delicious Moroccan Pastille – filo dough filled with cinnamon and spice infused shredded chicken, baked then topped with more cinnamon and powdered sugar. Delicious? Yes. Kosher for Passover? Absolutely not. 

My grandmother

I made a rich, decadent and totally satisfying flourless chocolate cake that was kosher for Passover. I also searched for recipes to replace gefilte fish yet stay in the same theme. I found a salmon ceviche recipe in Joan Nathan’s book JewishCooking in America and it was a hit. The spice of the serrano chili’s mixed with avocado, lime and tomatoes reminded me of home and the fresh salmon felt like it belonged on the Seder table.

Several years later, my husband and I spent Passover with my family in Paris. I watched my cousin as she made what was essentially matzo meal beignets drizzled in a fresh orange juice and honey simple syrup. It was a recipe my grandmother made in Algeria for Passover and having lived with my grandmother for several years, my cousin learned it from her. 

When I asked my cousin for the recipe she quickly rattled if off to me ... in French. It was at the moment I realized that as decent as my French is, my ability to understand numbers, measurements in grams and then convert them to ounces was non-existent. I thought the memory of this sweet, yet citrusy, dessert was permanently exiled to the place in my brain reserved for delicious food memories never to be heard from again.

Sfereet

Then, while reading The Book of Jewish Food by Claudia Roden (yes, I read the cookbook, it’s that good of a read), I discovered my grandmothers recipe and in measurements I understood without having to translate. I was thrilled when Roden gave several variations of the recipe from throughout North Africa. In Algeria, the recipe was called “Sfereet.”  The sweetness yet airy and light texture of this dessert mingled with the slightly acidic flavor in the syrup makes this the perfect end to a spiritually and belly filling meal. Until next year.

The Celebration of No Assumptions

Tuna Romanoff Casserole straight from South Texas

Sometimes, women’s recipes of celebration take a decisively Americana turn circa Betty Crocker 1950’s. At a recent book club, the conversation turned to family recipes, things we loved that our mothers cooked as kids and how those meals still mark occasions when we get together.

I’ve known Elma, our hostess, for years. As one of 6 children who was raised in a small South Texas border town in the 1970’s and 80’s, I always assumed Elma was raised on Mexican food prepared from recipes that were passed down by generations of women with a pit-stop on Elma's family table on the road to the next generation. I was wrong. Like, really wrong. 

Elma said that she “had my fill of traditional Mexican dishes at my grandparents house on the weekends. But, at dinner time in my childhood home, American food ruled. When my parents married, my Mom could not cook at all. Nada. Not even make coffee.  She learned to cook from the 1968 edition of the Better Homes New Cookbook.That red and white checkered cookbook (and later other Betty Crocker cookbooks &recipes) became the heart of our family meals. We ate spaghetti, crispy tacos, hamburgers, hot dogs, mac & cheese, meatloaf, sausage & sauerkraut, scalloped potatoes, and LOTS of casseroles.” Because let’s face it, when you need to feed a crowd – Eight.People.Every. Day. - you need a rotation of simple dishes and a casserole is the perfect one dish meal.

So, when a new casserole was introduced into the rotation, it got noticed. At some point, Elma’s mom added tuna casserole – and for some reason called Tuna Romanoff – to the rotation. No one knows where the recipe came from and I quizzed Elma about why it’s called Tuna Romanoff. That remains a mystery. But what is known is that Tuna Romanoff quickly became a favorite and one that all of her siblings thought was the jackpot of the dinner carousel. 

Now, when Elma and her siblings get together, and with the addition of husbands and children, this is a big group, it’s the meal that binds the family together. Although the spouses think “we are totally weird and don't get how we could go so crazy over a tuna casserole. For us, it is comfort food which brings back heart-warming and joyful family memories.”

Elma made me promise I would make this if she gave me the recipe, and I did. With our little family of four, this was a huge hit with very few leftovers.

The Organization:

Elma, her husband, James (my brother from another mother), and several of my friends sit on the board of Avance. Avance is a national organization with local affiliates that give predominantly Spanish speaking parents tools for parenting and provide early childhood development and family support. Avance helps parents "play an important, proactive role in counteracting risk factors that lead to school underachievement." They provide parenting classes, ESL and give parents necessary resources. With early childhood development, Avance helps pre-k aged kids be school ready to ensure they succeed once in school. They help kiddos with things we take for granted like being reading ready, knowing their letters and numbers while giving them the confidence to be in school full time. I've been to several Avance events and am so impressed with the organization, it's effectiveness and the parents who participate in the programs. But more importantly, seeing these young children brimming with so much confidence and the seeds already planted in their minds that they can achieve anything makes supporting Avance as fulfilling as the most delicious casserole. 

The Celebration of Southern (the first of many posts)

Sarah in the center, my sister in law at left and
my husband at right - a little before I met him. 

“She must be a nice Southern girl with a name like y’all.” 

Those were Sarah's, my husbands grandmother, first words when told my name and that Richard and I were dating.  I only met Sarah a few times and on one memorable occasion, she told me to come into the bathroom after I knocked to say goodbye. She popped her head out of the shower - with a cap over her head and covered only by the shower curtain - and directed me to "take good care of my grandson." She passed away shortly thereafter from cancer but through the years, I feel like my relationship with her has deepened through the many family stories and memories that are shared whenever a group – small or large – get together. And when my husband’s extended family get together, it’s a large group.

My mother in law (bottom left) with just
a few of her cousins.

Sarah, her four siblings and their children, including my mother-in-law, grew up in Macon and Atlanta, Georgia. Helene, my mother-in-law grew up surrounded by a large, gregarious, tight-knit, Jewish family with most of her cousins within driving distance and as some of her closest friends. My mother in law has always had a confidence about who she is and an ability to see humor in most situations which I think is the product of being deeply rooted to a family that encircled the children in safety and shielded them from the times that were changing rapidly.

Although all of Sarah’s siblings – and many of their spouses – have all passed away, they created a glue that has bonded their children (my mother in law and her cousins) through the years and despite geographic distances. Many of them came this past summer when my in-laws celebrated their 50^th Wedding Anniversary. Or as I re-named it, “Mike and Helene’s Wedding Weekend Part II."

There was a Friday evening dinner (the rehearsal dinner) and Saturday bar-b-que lunch (the brides lunch), the Saturday party (the wedding) and a Sunday brunch (the brunch). The Saturday bar-b-que lunch was your typical Texas bar-b-que with all of the fixins but many of us didn’t really touch the coleslaw that should be renamed Soup of Mayonnaise. 

My in laws when they first met.

The only coleslaw I really enjoy is Grandma Sarah’s slaw – a vinegar based slaw that has a little sweetness from sugar, pops of flavor from the different seeds used in the marinade and the crunch of the cabbage. This simple yet satisfying dish was one of the first I was introduced to in my husband’s family. And now, this is the coleslaw that everyone in all of our extended families make from California to Florida. Whenever it’s served, if someone related to Sarah is nearby, there is always a story or two told about Sarah and you can almost feel her scooching her chair up to the table and joining us.

And that’s what the entire 50^th Anniversary weekend felt like. The generations who weren’t physically in the room could be felt moving around us sharing in the roars of laughter at the telling of family stories, old jokes and recounting of family gossip. The cousins drank each other up faster than they could get another cocktail or say “come give me some sugar” to the younger generations in the room. After explaining to my children that "give me some sugar" isn't an ingredient to another recipe, I realized that through the shared memories of the cousins that weekend, once again, Grandma Sarah and her siblings were encircling all of us and giving us a little sugar of their own. 

Grandma Sarah

*When I highlight an organization in my blog posts, I try to focus on those that work in communities to help women and children.  Sarah, a disproportionate number of her siblings and others in her family, fought cancer and many didn't survive. So for this blog post, I'm highlighting the American Cancer Society, headquartered in Atlanta, GA. The ASC helps people get the support and information they need, fights for people to have access to quality health care, provides research and helps find cures.

The Celebration of The Soup Quest

I used to hate soup. Sure, I loved chicken soup made with homemade chicken broth filled with carrots, bits of onion and fluffy matzah balls sitting like an island in the middle of my bowl. But, that was reserved for special holidays served only a few times year. And, I somewhat enjoyed my mom’s pistou soup but mainly, I liked the French bread and the pesto-like topping. 

In my mind, soup that you ate for an everyday meal came from a can that made an odd burping noise as you dumped it into the pot and the most you added was a cup of water. All I tasted was salt, preservatives and the texture was like gelatin in my mouth.

Then, I moved to the East coast and was desperate for a food that could warm me from the inside out during the harsh winters or one that could cool me off during the oppressive summers. My quest lead me into some of the top restaurants in the city to a few chain restaurants and many lunch dives where I finally discovered fresh tomato basil soup made with a hint of cream and served with French bread. This launched my love affair with soup. But, I was still naïve in the many ways soup can be served until a trip to Spain opened my eyes (or stomach) to how satiating a gazpacho made with ripe, fresh vegetables can be.

Once we moved back home to Texas, I went in pursuit of the perfect bowl of chicken tortilla soup and the slightly different caldo. Caldo – the Mexican version of chicken soup - combines a hearty chicken broth with cooked, earthy vegetables, fresh cilantro and onions added in. In my neck of the woods, the two soups are very similar although tortilla soup usually has corn tortillas as a thickening base and a spicy chicken and tomato broth while caldo has the tortillas on the side and the broth doesn’t have the tomatoes.  I have sampled caldo and chicken tortilla soup at many local restaurants asking for all of the condiments, from the cheese to the onions, on the side so I can truly taste the wholesome broth and then determine what needs to be added to give depth to the soup. Only then do I add lime (as I’ve said before, I’m a citrusholic), cilantro, onion and a pinch of cheese.

Over the years, I’ve looked for chicken tortilla soup recipes that combine the best aspects of the restaurant versions I’ve taste tested and the recipe below covers all of the cornerstones I look for in a tortilla soup. I found it in a Williams Sonoma soup cookbook called Winter Soups by Ray Overton and I’ve modified the recipe over the years. The soup starts with corn tortillas as the base followed by a tomato chicken stock broth that’s full of spice and finished with shredded chicken, fresh avocado and cilantro. It’s a one-bowl meal that warms you from the heat and makes you sweat from the spice then has you coming back for a 2^nd bowl.

The next soup quest ... ramen.

My partner in the quest.

I think my heated love affair with soup has turned into a comfy long term relationship as I discover new soups to explore and recipes to conquer. The newest quest? Ramen. I will keep you informed of my progress.

The Celebration of Gratitude

Now that we are solidly into the New Year, it seems like the holiday sentiments have faded away. That’s why I wanted this week’s recipe to serve as a reminder of why I started this blog – to link women’s recipes of celebration and life with their stories. Stories of love and laughter and stories that bring challenges we must overcome. That brings me to my new friend Sera, who was introduced to me via email by a mutual friend.

Mamma at COHI birthing center getting to know her new baby

Although we’ve not yet met in person, as an indication of changing times, we’re already friends on Facebook and somehow the Facebook algorithm puts all of her updates on my feed (my husband’s updates, however, are not on my Facebook feed – not sure what this means). Sera, a midwife with a master’s degree in public health, is the founder and Executive Director of Circle of Health International (COHI) which works to provide women’s, reproductive and newborn health care in disaster and war-torn areas.

Sera was in Haiti last week and one of her posts broke my heart. “First mama we met at the birth center Sunday brought one of the saddest outcomes we will witness on this trip. She traveled here from 3 hours away in the middle of the night, from her village where she’d been in labor for 2 days. The sweet little baby boy didn’t survive the labor, and arrived into this world too late.”

From then on, I followed Sera’s updates on Facebook and found myself crying tears of joy or sadness at each time I read her posts. There were posts that gave insights to the general dangers that come with everyday life in Haiti all of which have to be considered even in the throes of a difficult labor. “At 3 am, the COHI midwives transported a mama delivering a challenging breech baby to Port Au Prince. ‘They won’t shoot at an ambulance,’ alluding to the other dangers facing women here, the midwives were saying to us as they called our collaborators trying to secure safe passage for this tired mama. None was found, and with heavy heart she was loaded into a family owned vehicle, not an ambulance, belonging to COHI’s partners and went into the darkness, arriving safely at the hospital one hour later.”

Colorful menstrual hygiene kits in pretty bags

Or, there was this post: “Menstrual hygiene is the #1 reason girls don’t finish their education. COHI’s team in Haiti just distributed hand-made menstrual hygiene kits that include soap, washcloths, panties and washable + reusable menstrual pads after a workshop on menstruation, hygiene and the value of education. The girls were all between ages of 11-15, and still in school.” To look at my daughter and think that as a teenage girl, the thing that could keep her from an education is lack of access to products I can pick up at the 3 different pharmacies and the 7-11 all within walking distance from my house, is mind boggling to me. 

So, in thinking about this week’s recipe and how COHI and itsteam work to make the communities in which they live a brighter place, I wondered, what sustains them (apart from mental and emotional strength)?

Sera shared that on most days, the midwives, whom COHI trains and supports, eat essentially a beans and rice dish made with a meatstock. I have a love/hate relationship with beans and rice thanks to my limited travels in Central America and 4 ½ years of being a broke college student. But this simple dish is the kind that gives comfort, is hearty, filling and surprisingly fragrant with spice and fresh hot peppers. It’s easily made into a vegan or vegetarian dish and even my kiddos enjoyed it.

More importantly, eating with my family was a practice in gratitude for my healthy children. As I ate, I couldn’t help but think of the juxtaposition between the mamas in Haiti and the friends and family who have recently delivered healthy babies in clean and bright hospitals with all of the benefits (and comforts) of modern medicine. For the mamas in Haiti – and in so many places around the world – giving birth is still one of the most dangerous things a woman will do in her lifetime.  And the birthing process is but the first step in the long, rocky and dangerous road, filled with so many obstacles to living a healthy life – one that allows for education and supporting future families.

COHI does incredible work to ensure that these new moms can welcome their babies into the world with the trusted help of trained and compassionate professionals in a in a safe environment. And all of this care is provided for so little financial cost – emergency transportation to Port Au Prince in anambulance is $25, a vaginal delivery at the COHI birth center is $65, and the salary for one of the COHI midwives at the birth center is $100. You can clickhere to donate to COHI. It’s worth forgoing a night on the town, eating beans and rice at home and donating the difference to make a difference.

The Celebration of Cocktail Hour

Pacific Northwest like weather has settled over Austin for the last several weeks leaving me with thoughts of summer and our weekend ritual – the 4:00 cocktail by the lake.

Cocktail hour at the lake

This past summer, cocktail hour was elevated several notches when my cousin, Sarah, came to visit. Sarah has lived in Washington, DC for over 11 years and during that time, she’s been on the forefront of the awakened food scene (in a city that worked too hard to pay attention to what it ate until recently) and worked in some of the hippest bars. Her passion for good food, talent in gardening which provides many of the fresh herbs for her cocktails, gifted writing combined with her natural curiosity has made her a better guide than Zagat’s for the best bar and restaurants in DC. Although Sarah been on the East Coast for a long time, she is deeply rooted to the big island of Hawaii where she was born and raised. So, it's fitting that she infuses each cocktail she creates with salty island breezes, rays of warmth and little hau’oli (joy) which means delicious outcomes.

The first cocktails were served as hangover cures because of the bitters and other ingredients that were used. Creativity in creating tasty libations continued from the late 1800’s up until Prohibition. During this time,“new cocktails were designed to hide the flavors of bathtub gin, and whiskey was rare because it required years of barrel aging, raising the likelihood of being busted.” “Honey, fruit juices, and other flavorings served to mask the foul tastes of the inferior liquors. Sweet cocktails were easier to drink quickly, an important consideration when the establishment might be raided at any moment.” The modern cocktail movement isn’t that far away from Sarah’s Hawaiian roots since it was soldiers returning from their World War II South Pacific posts who “brought back a love of Polynesian drinks …" which "... featured fresh produce and culinary fusion in innovative drink design, which all factor heavily in the craft cocktail resurgence we are seeing now…”

Once the weather turned cold in December, I started cooking all of my winter comfort foods from chili to roasted chicken and just last week, chicken verde stew. But I’ve been thinking about these cocktails ever since Sarah turned the kitchen counter into a bar with multiple types of seasonable herbs, fresh squeezed citrus and locally made gin, vodka and other liquor. So, when a small group of girlfriends got together this past weekend to serve as the cheer squad for another friend, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to bring a little summer sun into some cold, dreary days. Because let’s be honest, nothing warms you up more than the combination of cool vodka, simple syrup, a little mint garnish and memories of summer. 

Tools you will need:

• Shaker
• Jigger (for measuring ingredients)
• Muddler (optional)

I used fresh squeezed citrus for each of these drinks. I found it easiest to squeeze multiple lemons and limes into different containers prior to making the cocktails. I bought fresh squeezed orange juice at my grocery store. I also made the simple syrup ahead of time which is very easy. In a sauce pan, combine 1 cup water (preferably filtered) and 1 cup white cane sugar. Put on high heat, stirring occasionally. Once the liquid becomes clear, usually right before it boils, turn the heat off and let it cool. Once cooled, pour simple syrup into a container. The honey syrup is made the same way with 1 cup of honey replacing the sugar. 

Sugar and water for the simple syrup

Simple syrup cooling. Notice it's clear.

Using a funnel, I poured the cooled syrup into this bottle.
I tripled the recipe to fill this bottle.

Ingredients for the gimlet

Gimlet

(makes one drink)

Ingredients:

• 2 oz gin
• 1.5 oz simple syrup
• 3/4 oz lime juice
• Fresh mint, tarragon or lemon verbena (I used mint)

What to do:

1. Put 1 sprig of mint or other fresh herb in shaker and muddle it 
2. Add 3-4 ice cubes
3. Add remaining ingredients and shake
4. Pour strained gimlet in glass and garnish with mint or other fresh herb that was used

The Speakeasy

(makes one very easy to drink cocktail)

Fresh squeezed orange juice, lemon juice
and vodka for the Speakeasy

Ingredients:

• 2 oz vodka
• 1.5 oz simple syrup
• 1/2 oz lemon juice
• 1/4 - 1/2 oz orange juice

What to do:

1. Put 3-4 ice cubes in shaker
2. Add remaining ingredients and shake
3. Pour strained Speakeasy in glass and garnish with sliver or lemon or orange rind

Neighborhood

(makes one drink)

Ingredients:

• 2 oz Rye
• 1.5 oz honey syrup
• 3/4 oz lemon
• 2 blackberries

What do to:

1. Put 3-4 ice cubes in shaker
2. Add remaining ingredients and shake
3. Pour strained Neighborhood in glass and garnish with 2 blackberries

The Celebration of Camouflage

2014 (and Austin) in the rear view with a photo-bomb
by our son

Welcome, 2015. I have to admit, the end of 2014 was a little exhausting and let’s just say that my normal healthy eating habits checked out for the entire month of December. Ok, maybe they started burning out sometime in November.

Now that you’re here, 2015, I have to make a few confessions and commitments before we can start our year-long relationship. I will probably have more than my fair share of French fries, butter, chocolate and wine this year but my mantra will be “everything in moderation.” My focus will be on healthy eating rather than yo-yo and what’s-the-latest-fad dieting. I will push my kids to eat more fruit rather than combinations of starch and cheese for snacks. I will put more vegetables on our dinner table but they will be hidden from my children. And that’s one of my confessions.

Several posts ago, I talked about how I use food to motivatemy children. The truth is, I also sneakily camouflage vegetables in dishes that they love. My kids have a psychic ability to sense a vegetable with their headphones on, playing on the computer and before the dish hits the dinner table. I found the key to successfully sneaking veggies is to be sure that the color of the vegetable matches the main dish and the flavor profile of the hidden food is complimentary or neutral to the main dish.  The mac and cheese with cauliflower puree – huge bomb. The color worked but the taste profile of the cauliflower overpowered the mac and cheese. But, add broccoli or carrots to a red sauce and blend it all together and serve it with pasta, or chocolate bread made with zucchini or a verde sauce with spinach – all successful. 

Which leads to another confession … when the kids eat their veggies and don’t know it, I always smile sweetly in their direction while my inner voice roars “hahahahahaha” in an evil laugh kind of way.

Chicken verde stew with condiments

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.

The Celebration of Leftovers and a Challenge

As I was packing for our short trip to my in-laws house for Thanksgiving, I turned the TV on for background noise and ended up being sucked into a special on the Food Network called The Big Waste. Of course there was a cooking competition between world-class chefs coupled with impossible deadlines. But, what caught my interest was that they had to create a delicious meal for hundreds with ingredients that were on their way to the trash or compost bin. The chefs went to local farms, grocery stores and meat packers only to find that hundreds of pounds of nutritious and delicious food was being thrown away because it didn't look absolutely perfect.

Knowing that we throw away so much good food but then one in four kids in my home state of Texas is food insecure (meaning they don’t know where their next meal is coming from), is a sinful contradiction. So, this Thanksgiving I’m challenging myself – and you  - to eat leftovers or re-create meals using leftovers more than just once a year when turkey is involved. And, I up the ante by challenging you to re-purpose ingredients from one recipe to another (egg whites left over from baking, how about an egg white omelet for breakfast?), and think creatively about fruits and vegetables that are on the brink of expiration.

With that in mind, I looked at the leftover meat mixture from the empanadas, and with a recommendation from Susana, I reinvented the mixture into another meal.

The Celebration of Overalls from Argentina to Texas

Mishpuchah is a Yiddish word meaning family but in the broadest sense.  It’s used to describe extended family and friends who are family. When I met Andrea in 8^th grade, little did I know that we would become each other’s mishpuchah. But, I did know that I wanted to be friends with the girl who was standing there in overalls with a lot of pockets and more attitude than she could fit in them.

Through the years, our friendship took root and flourished. I think we found similarities in being two kids trying to fit in, at a particularly awkward time in any kids life, while trying to embrace those things that made us different – foreign born parents (hers being from Argentina) and different languages spoken at home among other things. I loved going to her house because seeing her father’s artwork displayed in their home coupled with his sense of design reminded me of my father. And, her mom, Susana, who had a thriving dental practice, brought a sense of calm and comfort to her surroundings and those around her.

Hot from the oven empanadas with wine makes for a delish
Friday night.

But what Susana was most known – and begged for – in her family was empanadas. As Andrea says “While growing up, this recipe was part of every holiday, semi-holiday … both my parents worked so getting to spend a day with my Mom making these was the best of both worlds; made only better when my Grandmother visited ... This was a full morning of filling, dough and assembling. The whole house smelled delicious and we could not wait to try them, usually burning our tongues. This recipe has celebrated every birthday goal reached, holiday, long weekend, it helped snag two son-in-laws and comforted us at the saddest of losses.”

Snagging a son-in-law is what made us mishpuchah.  Before my wedding, I told one of my husband’s close college friends that he and Andrea had to meet. I just knew they would hit it off. And that they did – less than a year after our wedding, Richard and I were attending their wedding. Andrea’s parents were glowing – probably more than she was. While the band was taking a break, tango music played to fill the time. The dance floor cleared other than Andrea’s parents. They danced on every inch of that dance floor and for a few minutes, we saw the spark that brought them together, the courtship that ensued and the glue that bonded them through the years.  A group of Andrea’s girlfriends, me included, watched them from the side of the dance floor, our mouths open. After the dance, Susana came to us and said “you don’t know a man until you tango with him.” I. Might.Have.Passed.Out.

Years have passed since our weddings and in that time, we have traveled together, celebrated professional milestones, supported each other during moves across county, rejoiced in the birth of our children and mourned together. So last night while I was testing Susana’s empanada recipe, it was hard for me not to think of Andrea and her parents. As she said “This is the kind of recipe that brings all of my life’s memories together both making them, eating them and now watching my kids devour them and all with memories from Argentina to Texas.”

The Celebration of DIY

I get on these weird money saving kicks once in a while. I say weird because they really make no sense in terms of what I decide to save money on and what I don't. 

One classic example is when I decided to start waxing my own face (don’t act shocked … if your family heritage is anywhere near the Mediterranean, hair removal is a major expense.) When I got into bed that evening with a few self-inflicted wounds on my face, Richard asked why I had done it myself and not gone to my usual place. When I explained how expensive it was and I was trying to save money, he responded that maybe I should cut back on my morning latte’s at Starbucks instead.  That's the closest he's ever come to sleeping on the couch.

Luckily, my affinity towards DIY'ing this part of my personal grooming has ended. But, I still look for small and big ways to save money … I often pack my own lunches for work, we pack the kids school lunches, we do meatless dinners at least once a week and I obsessively make shopping lists so we buy what we need and don't waste as much food as we used to.

While at the grocery store over the summer, rather than mindlessly putting the bottle of cold-brew coffee in my shopping cart, I actually looked at the price. Between that "omg, I'm spending how much on a bottle of coffee" moment and paying attention to the price of my daily lattes at the hipster coffee place in my building, I decided it was time to DIY my coffee. (Yes, Richard, you were right). 

Making cold-brew coffee requires a bit of investment at first but it will save you money in the long run. I love cold-brew because you get all of the flavor of coffee, without the bitterness and you can keep it in a carafe in your fridge for two weeks. Because it’s concentrated coffee, you can adjust the strength based on how much water and/or milk that’s added. Finally, you can make hot coffee, iced coffee and anything else in between. Oh, and I no longer have a coffee pot/Keurig taking up precious counter top real-estate.

The Celebration of Necessity

These aren't the loaves of bread but
they are fresh Challahs just out of the oven.

Two loaves of bread sitting on my counter ... fair warning, the punch line is a little gross. One loaf was thrown away last night after sitting on our counter for a little less than a week because it had more green fuzz growing on it than I care for. 

The second loaf is still on our counter ... it's been there for close to 4 weeks. Although the barbecue that it came with has long since been eaten or thrown away, this loaf of bread looks as fresh as the day we brought it home. At this point, this bread has become my own counter-top science experiment and I'm fairly convinced I'm going to get sick of staring at it before a speck of mold appears.

Several thoughts go through my mind when I see that loaf of bread. First - my family is really lucky to have access to healthy, fresh food with knowledge of how to cook. The highly processed bread on my counter is closer in its nutritional make-up to the plastic "food" that came with my daughters tea set. And second - real bread tastes really good and that's when I think of my Aunt Omi. 

My Aunt with after a Challah Baking lesson
with her best students!

My Aunt Omi is an incredible baker born out of necessity. "For me in the late 60's and early 70's, Austin was a bread desert. You couldn't even get a Lender's frozen bagel. French bread? What's that? Challah? Never heard of it. Houston or Dallas were a little too far to go for Challah (or a bagel), so I thought I'd try to make some myself." 

Remember, these were the days before Whole Foods and Central Market who now sell Challah everyday of the week. Or organizations like Challah for Hunger (I would be remiss to talk about Challah and not mention them) where Challah is made and sold by college students on campuses across the United States to raise money to combat hunger in the US and Africa. Here's the link for the University of Texas Chapter although there are chapters around the country and I hope you'll consider supporting them. 

Let's just say that Omi's baking skills have come a long way since then and what was a skill born out of frustration and craving has been elevated to an art form.  She makes all of the desserts and cakes in the family including birthday cakes that make the Cake Boss look like a junior apprentice. And, her baklava (stay tuned for that recipe) has started family feuds about who gets to bring the leftovers home, who has the right to eat those leftovers and I've seen friends take spoons and fight over the syrup at the bottom of the pan.