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BEVERLY LEVITTFor a family rich in memories, Rosh Hashana ushers in a feast of love and sweetness.
When I was a child, too young to understand about Days of Awe and the Day of Atonement, my only clue that the High Holidays were coming were the religious smells wafting out of our kitchen.
My parents were first-generation American, their parents born and raised in the Jewish ghettos of Russia and Poland, in cities whose names have changed, and borders shifted, so when I ask my grandparents about our roots, they sadly recount that neither their family nor their village are there anymore. During those difficult times the dream of living in America was the light that kept their spirits alive.
My grandparents arrived with a few prized possessions, carefully tucked inside old trunks. But their most precious property was in their heads - the rich tradition of celebrating Jewish holidays - what to wear, how to pray, and most importantly, what to eat. Today when I watch my parents prepare for Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, it's as if all the relatives I never met are in the kitchen with us.
"Add a little more sugar."
"Don't you think those onions are browned enough?"
"Forget the olive oil; during the holidays we use schmaltz (rendered chicken fat)."
These experiences are aptly described by Nancy Ring in Walking on Walnuts, (Bantam Books, 1996) about how her ancestors' thoughts on food, love and survival have become a part of her. Maybe it's universal among Jewish women to embody all the matriarchs who came before us. And nowhere is it more obvious than in our cooking - especially the traditional dishes handed down from generation to generation.
As our family's reigning matriarch, my mother Celia's phone rings off the hook every year at the High Holidays.
"How come my brisket is so dry?"
"Why is my kugel so temperamental?"
"Why doesn't my tzimmes taste like yours?" But the latest questions aren't from one of our future matriarchs. The inquisitor is my father, Milton, with queries about, of all things, horseradish.
Because he loved the rich, acrid flavor of his mother's horseradish - in addition to drowning chicken, fish and brisket in it, he actually eats it plain or piled on matzo - he was moved to learn the recipe. And so making horseradish together has become their own tradition, and my brothers and I have begun to emulate them.
On Rosh Hashana they will work side by side peeling, grating and seasoning the piquant root until they get it just right. Then on to the tzimmes, kugels, gefilte fish, schmaltz, chopped liver, and finally the dessert.
(Rosh Hashana, the Jewish new year, begins at sundown Friday and Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, begins at sundown Oct. 5.)
According to Jewish cookbook author Joan Nathan, tzimmes is not only a beloved Ashkenazi side dish, in Yiddish the word means a "complicated procedure," "a mixup," or an "affair blown out of all proportion." The word also translates as "trouble." A Jewish husband might say to his wife or a business associate, "Don't make a such a tzimmes out of it."
Every year, mama surprises us with unexpected ingredients in her tzimmes - pumpkin, apples, raisins, dried apricots or cherries. This is actually a side dish. Baked brisket and chicken are the main events.
Celia affectionately refers to Milton as "chief cook and bottle-washer." Even though, in his heyday, Dad was a very successful businessman, today he revels in his culinary capitulation to his wife. It seems that as their marriage surpassed golden (this year they will celebrate their 66th), a new and wonderful relationship has developed. But the last thing my brothers and I ever thought was that it would come of age in the kitchen.
Even though I have a house and family of my own, I am with them in spirit as they go about their coveted high holiday ritual. First the house must be immaculate, the china, crystal and silver sparkling; the decision of whether to put a plastic cover over mother's best lace tablecloth must be made. "Take off the plastic," I implore, just as I did as a child, when she had plastic covering the sofas and I longed to sit down without crunching. I have since learned the heartbreak of wine stains on lace, so I try to let my manners get the better of my mouth.
Next Celia will begin compiling recipes, even though she has made each dish at least 50 times and has them virtually perfected. But she likes the security of the food splattered card on the counter, and when no one is looking, she'll throw in something new, something not even her mother and mother-in-law, the two Fradels, (Fanny in English) from whom she learned the recipes, would have dreamed of.
On the day before Rosh Hashana, she and Dad will make the rounds - first to the kosher butcher to buy the pinkest brisket, the liveliest liver, and a fat chicken from which to make broth and her prized schmaltz. Then to the Jewish baker for the round hallah with raisins, the Middle Eastern market for fresh spices, dried prunes and the best looking horseradish root. And finally to the farmers market to pick out the most pleasing produce. By the time they finish with the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker, I am exhausted just watching them.
Celia's brisket and carrot tzimmes is the family favorite - from my youngest daughter, Alyssa, to my dad, we unabashedly ask for thirds. It is only overshadowed by Milton's horseradish, (chrain) which they pass around in tiny jars, and watch religiously to make sure everybody replaces the top. "You expose it to the air - you may as well throw it out!" they warn.
Since Celia is a perfectionist, one year she's positive her potato kugel is too dry, her chopped liver too bland, her tzimmes too sweet. Another year, she slyly admits she got it just right. Of course, to us, her meal is all mixed up with love and family and tradition. Our real reward is watching her beam at the kudos as the plates are passed around. Now that we can include Milton in the compliment, it makes celebrating these Days of Awe an ancestral event.
In the best sense!
-- Beverly Levitt is a freelance writer based in Los Angeles.
Mama Celia's Brisket and Carrot Tzimmes
1 pound brisket, with a small amount of fat left on
2 onions, sliced
5 cloves garlic, chopped
2 sweet potatoes, peeled and grated
5 carrots, peeled grated
2 white potatoes, peeled grated
1 parsnip, peeled and grated
2 stalks celery, diced 1 cup pitted prunes, soaked in water (reserve water) Kosher salt and pepper to taste
1/2 teaspoon paprika
Lemon juice
1 teaspoon brown sugar
In large Dutch oven, heat oil over medium heat, add brisket, turning to brown; add onions and garlic; cook a few minutes until golden. Add enough water to cover, bring to boil, reduce heat to low and simmer 2 hours. Transfer brisket to cutting board, out of pot and place it on cutting board; slice into 1/2-inch pieces, return to pot. Add remaining vegetables, prunes, (including the water they're soaked in) salt, pepper, paprika and lemon juice. Sprinkle brown sugar on top. Bake in preheated 375-degree oven an hour longer. Meat should be so tender it can be cut with a fork.
Serves 6.
Source: Beverly Levitt.
Papa Milt's Horseradish (Chrain)
1/2 pound horseradish root, peeled 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar Cold water
Soak horseradish root for an hour in cold water. Grate by hand, or in food processor until fine, adding just enough water to grate smoothly. Add vinegar and mix until very smooth. Place in a tightly covered glass jar. Although it tastes best, and strongest, right after it's made, it will keep for several weeks in the refrigerator.
Source: Beverly Levitt.
Mama Celia's Potato Kugel
3 new potatoes, peeled and grated
3 russet potatoes, peeled and grated
Lemon juice as needed
1 large onion, grated
1 parsnip, peeled and grated
2 stalks celery, minced
2 cloves garlic, pressed
3 eggs, beaten
1/3 cup matzo meal 1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon paprika
1/4 cup vegetable oil or schmaltz Pinch of cayenne
Place potato mixture in large colander; rinse with cold water to remove excess starch and moisture. Sprinkle with lemon juice to prevent discoloration. Transfer mixture to clean bowl. Mix together vegetables, eggs, matzo meal, salt, paprika and cayenne. Fold in oil. Place mixture in oiled, 9-inch square glass baking dish. Bake at 375 for 30 to 40 minutes or until golden brown and crisp at edges. Serves 4 to 6. Source: Beverly Levitt.
Schmaltz
1 pound fatty skin and chicken fat (from 3-pound chicken)
2 cups onions, peeled chopped
1 potato, chopped and peeled
Cut fatty skin and yellow pieces of fat into small bits. Place them in a heavy pot; cover with cold water. Cook, uncovered, until almost all water has evaporated. Lower heat, add onion and potato. It is finished when onions and potato are nice and brown and grieben (fat pieces) are crisp. Let pot cool, strain into a clean jar to separate schmaltz from grieben. It may be stored in the freezer.
Makes 3 cups.
Source: Adapted from Cooking Kosher by Jane Kinderlehrer (Jonathan David Publishers, 1983.)
Grandma Fradel's Holiday Chopped Liver
13/4 pound chicken livers Vegetable oil or schmaltz to saute
2 onions, sliced
2 cloves garlic roasted
6 hard-boiled eggs 1/4 cup schmaltz
1/4 cup chicken broth OR 1/4 cup kosher red wine Salt and pepper to taste
Saute onions in oil or schmaltz until light golden brown, add liver. Continue cooking until onions are crispy and liver is medium rare. Remove and cool. Place mixture in wooden bowl to chop, or in food processor with garlic, eggs, schmaltz, broth or wine, salt and pepper. Serves 8 to 10.
Source: Beverly Levitt.
Poached Pears
4 large pears (about 2 pounds) ripe, but still firm
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1 vanilla bean, split and scraped or 1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cinnamon stick
2 cups sugar
8 cups water
11/2 cups white wine
1 lemon, thinly sliced
1 orange, thinly sliced
1 piece star anise, or whole anise
2 whole cloves
Leaving pears whole, core and slice bottoms, so they will stand. Peel pears, careful to leave stems intact. Place pears in bowl, cover with water, and add lemon juice. Place all ingredients except pears in soup pot; bring to boil. Add pears to liquid. Reduce heat to simmer. Cover pears with a piece of parchment paper cut to fit inside pot, with a hole cut in center to allow steam to escape.
Cook until a paring knife or skewer can be inserted into pears easily, about 15 minutes. Strain.
Store syrup and pears in cooled poaching liquid separately in refrigerator. To serve, spoon some of syrup onto a serving dish, place a pear in it. Serve warm or cold.
Serves 4.
Source: Beverly Levitt.