Ashkenazi – Flavors of Diaspora

Great Books: The Moosewood Cookbook

A few months before he passed, the late Jon Henner wrote a tweet that immediately made sense to me:

Working theory. The Moosewood Cookbook by @MollieKatzen is one of the most important mid to late 20th century Ashkenazi diaspora cookbooks. My grandma cooked Moosewood and not really cholents and stuff.
@JMHenner – February 2, 2023

This book, the first of Mollie Katzen’s twelve works, indeed had a big influence on Jewish communities. It is a very Jewish cookbook – and a great one, too.

The Moosewood Cookbook stems from the namesake restaurant which Katzen co-founded in Ithaca, NY – which still operates today. (If you are in the Finger Lakes, I recommend a visit.) Moosewood was very much a product of its time – a vegetarian, plants- and ethics-forward restaurant with a very global focus – perfect for the “People’s Republic of Ithaca.” The cookbook – and several of the following books – are hand-lettered and -illustrated by Katzen herself, and compile many of the “hit recipes” from the restaurant’s early years.

Pasta with vegetables and cheese — Farfalle primavera at Moosewood Restaurant itself! (Photo mine)

The recipes themselves are great – and very rich and hearty! Among other hits, I can highly recommend the soups and many of the casseroles in the book, as well as the pies. The Brazilian Black Bean soup is a particular favorite. Katzen writes accessibly and in a very intuitive way – the recipes are organized in a way that makes chronological sense for the recipe. Many of the portion sizes are generous.

The book is also deeply Jewish. Katzen herself credits her kosher upbringing with her interest in vegetarianism, and she included many Ashkenazi classics – such as noodle kugel, cabbage borscht and other soups like solyanka, blintzes, stuffed cabbage, and cholent-like casseroles in the book and on Moosewood’s menu. These vegetarian, well-flavored, rich renditions are exemplars of their recipes. And it is not hard to find Jewish influences elsewhere too – the pie made with a grated potato crust akin to yapchik, the zucchini pancakes akin to latkes, or the spices that pair with the many wonderful mushroom dishes.

Katzen was part of a trend, of course: many Jewish people were involved in the vegetarian, environmental, and “hippie” food movements of the 1970s and 1980s. Other non-Jewish chefs active in this time include Jewish recipes in their works too – for example, the women behind Bloodroot Restaurant in Bridgeport, CT, and Deborah Madison, the author of several authoritative cookbooks on vegetarian and plant-forward cooking. Other Moosewood co-founders – and members of the staff who took collective ownership in 1978 – were Jewish too, including Katzen’s brother.

Handlettered Sweet Potato Pancakes recipe — A handlettered recipe from the Moosewood Cookbook (copyright Mollie Katzen via Glamour magazine)

Yet Katzen’s influence went back to the Jewish community in a way unparalleled by these other books. By the time I grew up in the 1990’s, many of Katzen’s recipes were in my and others’ experience frequent guests on the tables of synagogue events and Shabbat dinners. Though my own family did not cook Moosewood, many others’ did. Others have written about this experience, too. As an experiment, I asked my heavily-Jewish friends circle what they like to cook from Moosewood. Many of the recipes I mentioned appeared – alongside the pasta al cavalfiore, no-boil lasagna, and the Ukrainian poppy seed cake. I was not surprised to hear so many entries – after all, many others have been in communities heavily influenced by the cookbook too.

Pasta with cheese and cauliflower — Pasta al cavalfiore from The Moosewood Cookbook (Photo Margaret Wessel Walker, February 2024)

I have many times made a recipe from The Moosewood Cookbook or Katzen’s subsequent The Enchanted Broccoli Forest to find that I had recreated something I had eaten before, at a Jewish community event – especially in the left-leaning communities I have frequented as an adult. I think this has happened for many reasons: Katzen’s own continued links to Jewish life, the strong Jewish presence at Cornell University and in Ithaca, and in particular, the way Moosewood reflects how American Jews actually eat. The recipes were not preserved jelly-like in nostalgia, but rather in a mix alongside Indonesian salads, Brazilian soups, and an array of pastas.

And so this is why Jon’s tweet resonated with me so much. It was not just his grandmother who cooked from Moosewood – many of the people I knew in my communities, across generations, vegetarian or carnivore, left-wing or conservative, did. I do too, now – and I am grateful to this book for very much enriching Jewish tables across the country.

This post is dedicated to Dr. Jonathan Henner, z”l, who passed away in August. I knew him through this blog and our shared Jewish networks – he suggested that someday I write a post on Moosewood. In the wider world, he was known as a proud Deaf advocate and an achieved linguist who studied American Sign Language and children’s education. His work and activism have had a profound effect on many people, especially Deaf children. You can read more about him here; he will be missed.

The Moosewood Cookbook, by Mollie Katzen, is available from many wonderful independent bookstores across the world.

Thank you to my friends for contributions and particularly Margaret Wessel Walker for the photo!

Tangerine Vanilla Cheesecake

So, some personal news: my partner and I got engaged and bought a townhouse! Despite all the depressing news, there has been some specialness in my life too. And so – not just to destress, but also to celebrate – I have been baking. One result of this baking is this tangerine vanilla cheesecake.

black and white photo of cheesecake in pan — A slice of the cheesecake (photo Michael Faccini, January 2024)

I have written about the Jewish history of cheesecake before on the blog, and others have covered this topic well too. I have based this cheesecake on a well-known recipe made by the since-closed Three Cities of Spain coffee shop in Santa Fe, New Mexico in the 1960’s and 1970’s. The sour cream topping adds a tang, hides any cracks, obviates the need for a water bath, and creates a wonderful contrast in texture with the cream cheese-custard filling. Three Cities of Spain was a well-known artists’ hangout – including for many Jewish artists, musicians, and writers – and one of the many places where Jewish hippies began their reinvention of American Jewish cuisine in the 1960’s. (A hint for a forthcoming blog post.) In any case, this cheesecake’s sour cream topping reminds me of the many tangy, creamy Ashkenazi Jewish desserts – and many of the tasty cakes one might find in a Ukrainian or Russian bakery.

Cheesecake with sour cream topping on a serving dish on a bag — A past rendition of this cheesecake at a Shavuot picnic in 2022 (photo mine, June 2022)

I add tangerine or mandarin to this cheesecake for some additional tang and floral-ness. My friend Michael described this cake as akin to an orange creamsicle. I hope you enjoy!

Tangerine Vanilla Cheesecake

Adapted from the Three Cities of Spain Cheesecake and Deb Perelman’s version of the same recipe

Crust:

11 sheets graham crackers, blitzed into crumbs (use a food processor or a rolling pin)

6 ½ tablespoons/92.5g butter, melted

Filling:

24 oz/680 grams cream cheese, softened

4 large eggs, room temperature

Zest and juice of one large or two medium tangerines

¾ cup caster sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Topping

8 oz/227 g sour cream

1 tablespoon honey

½ teaspoon vanilla extract

A few drops orange blossom water (optional)

Method

Line an 8”/9” (20cm/23cm) springform pan with parchment paper on the bottom.
Mix the crust ingredients together until combined. Pour into the springform pan and push down and evenly spread across the bottom of the pan. Place the pan in the refrigerator for at least ten minutes.
Preheat your oven to 350F/175C.
In a bowl with an electric mixer or a stand mixer, beat the cream cheese until fluffy and significantly increased in volume.
Add the eggs, zest, and juice and beat on low speed until fully combined. (Note: if your eggs are still cold and cause the cream cheese to congeal a bit again – you can use an immersion blender to get a thoroughly smooth result. Pulse until the clump is gone.)
Add the sugar and vanilla and beat on low speed until just combined.
Pour the batter into the prepared springform pan. Bake for 45-55 minutes, or until the cheesecake is mostly set except for the center.
While the cheesecake is baking, mix together the topping ingredients.
Remove the cheesecake from the oven. Immediately add the topping on top of the cheesecake, and use a spatula or spoon to spread evenly across the top of the cheesecake.
Return the cheesecake to the oven and bake for 10 minutes.
Remove from oven and let cool on rack for 30 minutes.
Then, refrigerate the cheesecake for at least six hours.
Run a knife along the tin, then remove the springform collar. The cheesecake keeps refrigerated for up to six days in the refrigerator.

Thank you to David Ouziel (my partner and fiancé!), Michael Faccini, and my fellow congregants at Mishkan Torah synagogue for assistance with User Acceptance Testing.

Great Books: Tava by Irina Georgescu

One of the great things about Romanian food is that there is something for everyone. Luscious corn porridge, mamaliga, with salty curd cheese, hearty soups, elegant salads, spiced meats, and ethereal fruits. Many communities, including Jews, have lived in Romania and influenced its cuisines – and this shows up in Romanian baking. Germanic, broad-shouldered fruit pies, light shortbreads common across the former Ottoman Empire, and swirled fruit-and-nut breads reminiscent of Eastern Europe all stand side by side. Romania is an underrated baker’s paradise.

Irina Georgescu captures this fantastic diversity in her latest book on baked treats, Tava. This dessert-focused book chronicles both traditional Romanian and Balkan recipes like the plăcintă cu mere – and apple and walnut pie – and gogoşi doughnuts, and newer creations like a crepe recipe with a toffee apple and rosemary sauce. Georgescu writes in a relaxed, yet passionate style, and provides a richly illustrated journey through the diverse regions and culinary traditions of her homeland. This book follows Carpathia, an excellent and not dessert-focused compendium of traditional and modern Romanian cooking.

The recipes in the book are fantastic. One of my personal favorites is the apple and caraway seed loaf cake, which is beautifully simple and very delicious – the juice of the grated apple is what moistens the cake, so it feels luscious and light at the same time. I can also vouch for the malai dulce – sweet cornbread – recipe, and the wonderful pinwheel swirl shortbreads, which were fun to make. Something that I deeply appreciate about the recipes is that the sugar content is much reduced compared to other books, so none of the recipes I have tried are either too sweet or cloying at all. I wonder if this is common across Romanian confectionary, or simply attributable to Georgescu’s (obvious) culinary genius. I’m excited to soon try the courgette (zucchini) fritters and the various pies.

Dumplings in breadcrumbs on a lined table in a book — *Curd cheese dumplings in* Tava (photo Irina Georgescu/2022)

Georgescu openly celebrates the Jewish influence – and other influences – on Romanian cuisine. Some of these are in the recipes that many communities share – for example, noodle puddings or doughnuts. She also adds a well-written and very nice discussion of Jewish baking traditions in Romania at the end of the book, followed by a hamantaschen recipe with plum butter that looks absolutely divine. I appreciated also that hamantaschen were in the section on gifts – after all, they are a traditional part of mishloach manot. Along with the Jewish insert – again, appropriately placed – there are also entries on Hungarian-speaking, German-speaking, and Armenian communities in Romania, with wonderful recipes attached.

hamantashen with powdered sugar on a plate — *Georgescu’s hamantaschen with plum butter* (photo Irina Georgescu, 2022)

Beyond the celebration and the recipes, Georgescu’s book gives one more gift: an excellent antidote to authenticity discussions in food. Georgescu explicitly focuses on the diverse origins of Romanian food, and resists the urge to mush them into a single narrative – in fact, she rejects authenticity! She states,

“I prefer to say ‘this is how we eat in Romania’ – a kaleidoscope of old, traditional and regional recipes, relevant to who we are now.”

I hope many more authors and cookbook creators take this lesson from this excellent book.

Tava: Eastern European Baking and Desserts From Romania and Beyond, by Irina Georgescu

Chocolate Babka

A braided ovoid chocolate-laced bread on a cutting board — A free-form chocolate babka. Yes, I am aware of what it looks like. (Photo mine, September 2021)

Note: recipe updated July 2024.

This is my chocolate babka recipe – which I have posted elsewhere, but not as a blog post. I nailed down this recipe during the initial stages of the pandemic, based on my cinnamon babka recipe and Tori Avey’s chocolate filling. It has been one of my dessert standards since then. (To the point that last year, I brought one on a plane to Florida to spend Thanksgiving with my partner’s family. I am nothing if not absolutely ridiculous.)

I talked about the history of babka in a 2019 post. What I have come to appreciate about chocolate babka since then is how it reflects a very Jewish experience: of new foods evolving with encounters with new products in new places. Chocolate babka came about in 20^th-century New York, enabled by cheaper chocolate and an enormous amount of creativity in New York’s Jewish bakeries at the time. Now, it is one of those treats that generally pleases a very wide audience. I’ve also come to appreciate the delicious babkas created by other communities – I’m a big fan of the log-like Ukrainian ones.

Slice of chocolate-swirled bread on a white plate — Cross-section of a (free-form) babka. (Photo mine, May 2020)

I make my babka a little less sweet than many are, and I like to add chopped walnuts to add weight, depth, and nuttiness. You can omit the walnuts if you have an allergy. I also make the babka with butter – though dairy is only partly traditional, it is delicious. The butter also adds to the delicious density of a babka – something that certain people on certain British baking shows do not appreciate, I am told.

You can braid in a loaf, which is what I direct here, but I’ve come to enjoy free-form babkas braided like a challah. I added directions in a note at the bottom. You can also add an egg wash if you are feeling fancy, but I am invariably too lazy.

Chocolate swirled loaf in a loaf pan — A baked babka. (Photo mine, May 2020)

Chocolate Babka (with Optional Walnuts)

Makes two medium loaves

1 cup/250mL whole milk

1 package active dry yeast

2/3 cup granulated sugar, divided in half

5 tablespoons salted butter, melted

2 eggs

3 ¾ cups sifted white flour (about 450g)

8 tablespoons unsalted butter

4 oz/120g dark chocolate chips

1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

1 cup walnuts, finely ground (optional)

Warm the milk to about 100F/39C – I do it in 15 second spurts in the microwave. The milk should be warm enough to touch with your finger but not feel like it’s burning you.
Add the yeast to the milk, stir in, and let sit for five minutes.
Mix the yeast mixture in a large bowl or stand mixer bowl with the eggs, salted butter, and 1/3 cup of the sugar.
Add the flour, ½ cup at a time, and mix in thoroughly, either with your hands and a spoon or the dough hook on the electric mixer. Once it is in, knead for six to eight minutes on a floured surface, or use the dough hook on the electric mixer for about five minutes. The dough, when ready, should be roughly the texture of your earlobe and should be smooth and bounce back.
Oil a large bowl, put the dough in it, and cover. Let rise for about 1 ½ hours, or until a bit more than double in size.
Meanwhile, you can make the filling. Melt the unsalted butter and the chocolate chips together until smooth. (I use the microwave). Mix in the other 1/3 cup sugar, cocoa powder, and walnuts if using until combined. Set aside.
Grease two loaf pans. Grease – not flour – a large surface and a rolling pin.
Punch the dough down, then split into two parts. Take one part, roll it out to about half an inch/1 centimeter thickness. Spread half of the chocolate filling evenly on it, leaving a 1 inch/2.5 cm perimeter around the edges of the dough.
Pick up one edge and roll tightly into a tube. If you want, you can slice the tube in half before the next step.
Bring the two ends together, and twist into a figure eight-ish shape. Place in the pan.
Repeat with the other half and other pan.
Preheat your oven to 350F/175C.
If you want a lighter or fluffier babka, you can proof it again a second time for 30 minutes. Let it sit undisturbed on/in the pan at room temperature.
Bake for 30-40 minutes, or until brown on top and hollowish-sounding when you tap it. Let cool for five minutes in the pan, then until your desired temperature on a rack. Store in a sealed plastic bag for up to a week or so.

For a free-form babka: Bake instead on a large baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Shape the coils however you want – I recommend in this case slicing the tube in half and twisting the two halves together for a visual effect.

Many thanks to the friends, neighbors, and roommates who have helped me develop this recipe over the years: AJ Faust, Zachary Maher, Ying-Ying Chow, Rebecca Fedderwitz, Bo-Young Lee, Joseph Jeffers, Hannah Cook, Douglas Graebner, Melanie Marino, Margaret Curran, Maryam Sabbaghi, Sara Weissman, Gilah Barker, Zach and Hannah Kinger, and of course, my partner David Ouziel.

Fun at the Capital Jewish Food Festival

DC had its first Capital Jewish Food Festival the day before Sukkot this year. A new museum, the Capital Jewish Museum, is about to open Downtown, and this institution put together and hosted this festival. The goal: celebrate Jewish food loudly, publicly, and in a fun and delicious way in the nation’s capital.

A brick and glass building with steps and a terrace. Drawing — A rendering of the forthcoming museum. (Image Capital Jewish Museum)

I bought tickets as soon as I heard that this event was happening. After all, how often is there going to be a brand-new Jewish food festival near me – and five blocks from my office, no less? I had a lot of fun, and thought I would write up my experience to share with you. For those of you local to Greater Washington, the festival was held on F Street NW between 3^rd and 2^nd Streets, right by the Judiciary Square Metro. I got there a bit early – but the crowd really started packing in shortly after I arrived. There were throngs of people!

About fifteen to twenty vendors were present, offering samples for ticket holders and additional delicious things for purchase. Some of my favorites included a fantastic challah apple bread pudding from Bread Furst, Venezuelan flan (very Shavuot-appropriate!) from Immigrant Food, and a fantastic hummus with winter squash from Little Sesame. For those who did not want to limit themselves to samples, there was more to buy. If my pantry had not been already packed, I would have absolutely gotten some delicious baked goods from Baked by Yael (what fantastic challah!).

Hummus with pita and winter squash from Little Sesame (photo mine, October 2022)

What I loved about the vendors is that they were neither limited to explicitly Jewish vendors, nor to specific interpretations of Jewish tradition. One stall had a delicious Venezuelan-style flan – which some Jews probably eat at Shavuot, but it was not marketed as either Jewish or for Shavuot. It was a delicious flan that you could eat Jewishly! In addition, other community groups were there as well with their wares – including a Chinese-American heritage association with delicious mooncakes. The message seemed to be “these things are part of Jewish tables too.” This mixing also gave rise to some pairings most would not think of – that flan was an excellent counterweight to the bread pudding I just mentioned.

Two plastic cups with fried foods and sauces — Vegan nuggets and fries from PLNT Burger (photo mine, October 2022)

There were keynote speakers too – including the inimitable Joan Nathan and Michael Twitty. Both held book signings after their talks. I was not able to make Twitty’s because of a prior conflict with his speaking time – though I’ve had the fortune to meet him before, in 2016 – but I was able to meet Joan Nathan! As longtime readers know, I have relied quite a bit on her work over the years as I’ve developed my own Jewish culinary practice and knowledge. She, like Twitty, is incredibly sweet in person. If you have a chance to meet Twitty or Nathan, take it! Meeting your heroes is a fabulous opportunity.

The crowd was awesome – and though it got a bit overcrowded, it was wonderful to see people enjoying the joyfulness of Jewish tradition. A lot of Jewish tradition is indeed “Remember that we suffered,” but there is a streak of joy too, and that is what I like to share. Food is a huge part of that, and this festival amplifies that opportunity for joy. It was really awesome to see Jews and their friends just enjoying a very public day out, eating tasty Jewish things. I heard people introducing their friends to Jewish foods, or talking about what they learned or particularly enjoyed. It was also wonderful to hear folks say things like “I’m not Jewish but I love Jewish food.” The joy of Jewish food really should be for everyone, and I appreciate that the Museum consciously pushed back on the often insular and exclusionary approaches to Jewish cultural celebrations. After all, we are never just Jewish either.

A street with pedestrians and covered stalls on both sides. No cars are on the street. — The festival early on – about three times as many people were present just 45 minutes later! (Photo mine, October 2022)

I hope the festival continues next year. I am planning to write to the museum for two suggestions: one on space and one for accessibility. The festival was popular – which is good – but the street space was perhaps too small for the number of folks who wanted to attend. Next year, if possible, I would suggest that they spread out along more than one block to accommodate everyone. Related to that, the seating areas were a bit hidden, which made it hard for folks who cannot stand for a while or eat and walk. These areas should be more clearly marked.

I hope to see you at the festival next year!

The Lillian and Albert Small Capital Jewish Museum will open soon at 575 3^rd Street NW in Washington DC, by the Judiciary Square station on Metro’s Red Line.

Chopped Liver

After years of waiting, I finally got around to making one of my favorite Ashkenazi dishes: chopped liver. This recipe has become a sort of “catchall” dish for the entirety of Ashkenazi Jewish cooking, much as other specific recipes have become “representative” of entire cuisines. It is also something that can be very controversial: vegetarians have told me that this is the last meat thing they miss, and others, including my partner, will not touch it. It is also laborious, so I wanted to make it when enough liver-eaters would be with me to share a decent quantity – something stymied by the pandemic. Finally, that moment came, punctured by a few anti-organ-meat comments from my partner.

The history of chopped liver is quite interesting. The dish originates in the Middle Ages with goose liver – which was often consumed as a byproduct of rendering schmaltz (fat, traditionally from poultry). Though preparing liver to be kosher requires salting and broiling to eliminate blood, Jews quickly developed a taste for the rich organ. A preparation of liver chopped with onions and salt quickly became popular in medieval and early modern Jewish communities, and spread in two directions. One was into France, where it became foie gras. (Yes, it has a Jewish origin!) The other was to Eastern European Jewish communities, where the dish became popular with calf and chicken livers. Eggs and more onions were added, usually to stretch the costly and strongly flavored liver. The dish has remained popular in Jewish communities ever since, though after World War II there was some decline, just like with organ meat generally.

Chopped liver is often used as a shibboleth for authenticity or tradition. In my own experience, consuming it is sometimes seen as a sign of upholding some sort of “real” Jewish culture. Others cite it as an example of a dish lost in assimilation (whatever assimilation means), just like herring and p’tcha. I suspect that some of this attachment has to do with the way “chopped liver” is used as a Jewish symbol in Hollywood. Never mind that this narrative of dishes being abandoned is, in some ways, artificial – though it has happened for a few things.

The original chopped liver source. (Photo JD Forrester/CC)

Not everyone has to like chopped liver – it is an acquired taste. That said, I do quite enjoy it. I enjoy the deep, earthy flavor good liver has – and the way that these flavors can be accentuated by a tart rye bread, a soft challah, or crunchy matzah. Then again, I have eaten chopped liver since I was a child. Not everyone has – and if someone decides they do not like it, well then, there is more for me.

I break the tradition in this recipe in two ways. One is that I use oil instead of schmaltz for a lighter final product – though many recipes nowadays use oil too. Oil was expensive into the 19^th century, so many of our ancestors would probably think of an oil-based chopped liver as more luxuriant than schmaltz – which was much more common in Eastern Europe. (The schmaltz from a large goose could last a family several months.) The other change I embrace is how I blend the final product. Though the tradition is to chop it by hand, I use the food processor for a smoother – and more quickly produced – final product. Technology can aid us in deliciousness. Be careful when making it, because liver is easy to overcook. After three and a half minutes on each side, I check the livers every thirty seconds until they are finished cooking.

If you have not had it before, I strongly recommend that you try it from someone else before you cook it. Liver is a laborious thing to prepare, and if you do not like it, you will have saved yourself the effort of preparing it (as outlined in steps 3 through 4). Delis in Ashkenazi Orthodox Jewish neighborhoods often have very good liver to try. Feel free to ask in the comments if you want a recommendation for a particular area – I have recommendations in New York City, Toronto, Philadelphia, Washington DC, and Chicago.

—

Chopped Liver

Based on the recipe by Faye Levy

2 eggs

1 lb chicken livers

Kosher salt

3 tablespoons sunflower oil

1 yellow onion, chopped

1 white onion, chopped

2 garlic cloves, peeled

Table salt and freshly cracked black pepper

Parsley to garnish

Boil the eggs for ten minutes. Drain and set aside to cool.
Turn on your oven or broiler to a high setting.
Wash the livers under running water until the dark liquid is mostly gone. Pat dry. Then, cut off the green bits and the black bits from the liver – this takes a bit of work. These bits are a bit softer and different in texture from the rest of the liver. Place the livers in a bowl and toss with a few generous sprinkles of kosher salt. The salt draws out the blood.
Place the livers on a foil-covered sheet and spread them out. Broil for 3 ½ minutes on each side, or until dark with no pink on the outside and with a smoother, more solid texture on the outside of the liver. Remove from oven and set aside to cool.
Heat a skillet or saucepan, and then add the oil. Then, add the onions and garlic. Cook, stirring regularly, for 20 minutes, or until the onions are a rich brown color and have a sweet smell and very smooth, soft texture. Remove from heat and let cool slightly.
While the onions are cooling, peel the hard boiled eggs and mash with a fork into coarse crumbles.
In a food processor, puree the livers and onions together to your preferred consistency – my family enjoys a smooth chopped liver.
Pour the liver mixture into a bowl. Add the salt and black pepper to taste – I usually add twice as much salt as pepper. Then, mix in with the crumbled eggs.
Garnish with chopped parsley. Serve on your chosen vehicle for chopped liver. The liver keeps in the fridge for about four days.

Thank you to Ziva Freiman for participating in User Acceptance Testing for this recipe.

Beef and Leek Goulash (Is It Goulash?)

This is a stew that, like many things called “goulash,” would not be called “goulash” by everyone. But maybe it would. In any case, it is a variation on a delicious theme.

Goulash in a bowl over egg noodles — (Photo mine, November 2019)

Stewed meat with vegetables in a red sauce is a fairly common Central European dish. The dish started off as a Hungarian herder’s stew – although, with its meaty content, it may have been somewhat of a nobleman’s dish too after the Magyars settled on the Pannonian plain. The dish spread, by dint of the Holy Roman and Austro-Hungarian empires (and massive, centuries-long migrations across Central Europe) throughout the region, and similar names largely stuck. When chili pepper was introduced in the early modern period – and paprika became particularly popular – the dish evolved again in Hungary and other countries, to include the modish spice. That practice – and the common use of tomatoes – spread as well, to Germany and Austria, to Russia, and to the United States. The dishes were often quite far from what is typical in Hungary – for example, American goulash often contains pasta, and Scandinavian ones are less piquant. (Though goulash in Hungary has evolved into dozens of related dishes, like pörkölt and halászlé!) Across these countries, Jews often cooked versions of these stews with kosher meats, and likely contributed to their development in many countries by introducing additional ingredients or cooking methods from other Jewish communities.

Finished and plated tamatiebredie with mieliepap. — Tamatiebredie with mielie pap. (Photo mine, June 2017)

Of course many cultures also have their own variant on these stews – South African bredies, Argentinian carbonadas criollas, Filipino calderetas, and so on. The sticking power of the name “goulash” is probably from the influence of Hungarian cuisine and culture across a wide area as a result of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

Cookbooks for early 20^th-century Jewish housewives often have a variant of this dish in them. These sorts of stews, and goulash in particular, were a mainstay of German-speaking middle class families in the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries – it is raised in nearly every major book about German Jewish cuisine. Many Ashkenazi Jews explicitly sought to assimilate into this culture, and in some cities were a key part of the middle class and its practices. Housewives were expected to maintain a certain type of cultural refinement and practice in the home, and cookbooks were key parts of communicating this. So was what you ate – and goulash, which would have been considered luxurious by working-class families – was one of many recipes that were part of there. When German-American Jews wrote similar cookbooks for settlement houses where Eastern European Jews studied (or were pressured to study at), goulash was often included.

This recipe is my variant on these dishes. Like even Hungarians before the 18^th century, when paprika was introduced to Central Europe, this goulash is made without paprika. Instead, I gain sharpness and depth from the leeks and the dill, but it is compensated by sweetness. Leeks are a delicious, hearty addition to any stew – just be sure to wash them properly! I served this stew with egg noodles, but it would probably be wonderful on rice as well.

Beef and Leek Goulash

2.2lbs/1 kg beef chuck stew meat, cut into 1 inch/2.5cm or so pieces

1 large onion, diced

5 cloves garlic, crushed

2 medium-large leeks, washed, chopped, and washed again

3 carrots, peeled and sliced

1 tablespoon white or rice wine vinegar

1 16-oz/450g can diced tomatoes

1 tablespoon table salt

1 tablespoon soup powder OR 1 tablespoon bouillon base

1 ½ teaspoons ground black pepper

1 teaspoon dried dill

1 tablespoon white sugar

Water as needed

2-3 tablespoons vegetable oil (depends on fattiness of meat)

Prepared egg noodles, rice, potatoes, or bread (for serving)

Place a stewing pot or casserole pot over a high flame. When hot, add 2 tablespoons oil, and then add the meat. Brown the meat, stirring frequently, for about 3 minutes. Remove the meat with a slotted spoon and set aside. If not much fat has melted off the meat, or you are low, add some more oil.
Add the onions and garlic and sauté, stirring frequently, until wilted and softening, about 5 minutes.
Add the leeks and carrots, and mix in thoroughly with the onions. Then, add the vinegar. Cook covered, stirring occasionally, for 5-10 minutes, or until the leeks have wilted.
Add the tomatoes and spices and mix thoroughly. Bring to a boil.
Add the meat, and then water to cover (about 1 or 1 ½ cups). Mix in thoroughly, then bring to a boil.
Lower the heat to a simmer, and then simmer, half- or loosely covered, for 1 to 1 ½ hours, stirring occasionally.
Serve hot with egg noodles, rice, potatoes, or bread.

Thank you to Ziva Freiman and AJ Faust for conducting User Acceptance Testing on this recipe.

Marble Cake

A quick recipe for you, right before Rosh HaShanah, for a classic favorite: marble cake. This cake was originally German, and shows up in the 19^th century with a mix of gingerbread and vanilla cakes. The chocolate version came a little later in the same century, when cocoa powder became available on the mass market. German Jews brought the cake to both the United States and Israel – where it became a fan favorite in Jewish communities. For many Jews of my generation, marble cake is a quintessentially Jewish dessert, consumed at synagogues, semachot, and other events.

It seems hard, but this cake is actually quite easy to make. I hope you enjoy it, and Happy New Year! Shana tova umetukah!

Marble Cake (Marmorkuchen)

Makes 10-18 servings, depending on how big you cut

1 stick (1/2 cup) butter, softened, plus more to grease the pan

1 cup granulated sugar

3 eggs, beaten

1 tbsp sour cream

1 cup whole milk

1 tsp vanilla extract

2 cups white flour

2 tsp baking powder

½ tsp salt

2 tbsp unsweetened cocoa powder

Preheat your oven to 350F/175C. Grease a 9 inch/23 cm loaf pan.
Cream together the butter and sugar until fluffy – you can use a pastry knife , spoon, or hand mixer.
Add the eggs, sour cream, milk, and vanilla, and mix until thoroughly combined.
Add the flour, baking powder, and salt, and mix until you have a smooth, thick, consistent batter.
Reserve one cup of the batter, and pour the remaining batter into your greased pan.
Mix the cocoa powder into the reserved batter cup until thoroughly combined. Then, spoon the cocoa batter over the other batter in the pan.
Use a chopstick or knife to swirl the batters together until you get a marble effect – I run a chopstick back and forth in the pan several times to do this.
Bake for 50-60 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean. Let cool before serving.

Thank you to my classmates for participating in User Acceptance Testing!

Cinnamon Babka

At long last, here is my babka recipe. I did not make it as sweet or sticky as other babkas – I like a milder sweetness – so it ends up having a more “rustic” feel. Enjoy!

A babka in a Bundt pan — The freshly baked babka in a pan. (Photo mine, September 2019)

Cinnamon Babka

Based on a recipe by Tori Avey and a recipe by Kristin Hoffman

Dough

1 cup warm milk (45C/110F)

1 package quick-acting yeast

5 tbsp melted salted butter

¼ cup sugar

2 eggs

3 ½ cups all-purpose flour

Oil for greasing the bowl and pan

Filling

1 cup brown sugar (light or dark)

2 tbsp cornstarch

3 tsp ground cinnamon

½ tsp salt

2 tsp melted salted butter

1 egg

Egg wash

1 egg

2 tbsp milk

Add the yeast to the milk. The yeast should bubble up within a few minutes. (Otherwise, your milk was too hot and/or your yeast was dead.)
Mix the butter and sugar together in a bowl. Then, add the eggs one at a time and mix briskly until combined.
Add the milk-yeast mixture, and mix briskly until combined.
Add the flour, ½ cup at a time. When the mixture is still batter, you can mix it in with a spoon. Afterwards, you will need to use your hands to knead it.
Knead the dough with floured hands until you have a smooth, springy dough that does not stick to your hands too much. This should take about 6-7 minutes. I do this by taking out the dough and kneading it on a clean, flour- or starch-covered surface.
Oil a big bowl and put your dough in it. Cover and leave in a warm spot to rise until double in size – 30 minutes to two hours. (In my kitchen, it is usually about one hour.)
Meanwhile, mix the filling ingredients together.
Preheat your oven to 175C/350F. Grease a large Bundt pan or a large loaf pan.
Clean and flour a large surface and a rolling pin.
Punch your dough down. Place it on the surface and then roll the dough out to a large rectangle of about 1cm/2.5 inches thickness. It does not have to be perfectly rectangular.
Spread the filling out over the dough, leaving a ½ centimeter/1 inch border on the edge of the dough.
Roll the dough along the long edge of your rectangle. Then, if you are baking in a loaf pan, create a circle and twist it into a figure 8. If you are baking in a Bundt pan, just make the circle. Move the twisted dough into the pan.
Prick the unbaked babka with a skewer with little holes – this will let out steam.
Mix the egg wash ingredients and brush onto the babka.
Bake for 45-55 minutes, or until the babka sounds hollow when tapped. Let cool before serving.

Thank you to my classmates and housemates for participating in User Acceptance Testing.

Babka Series 1: In Honor of the Store-Bought Babka

This is the first of what will be three posts about babka.

My mother’s friend Abby says that babka is a ghost that will haunt you until it is eaten. In this case, I prefer many exorcisms. I love babka.

Chocolate babka slices on a blue porcelain patterned plate — (Photo Katrina Parks/Flickr via CC)

Too bad that it’s a pain to make.

A sweet yeasted dough, twisted and wrapped around a filling of chocolate, cinnamon sugar, or fruit and perhaps sweet cheese. Sounds simple, right? In fact, it is not. Sweet yeasted dough is quite difficult to work with, and wrapping it around the filling is always my downfall. (My hand-eye coordination, to quote my boyfriend, is “erratic.”) As it happens, bakeries sometimes do a very good job with their babka. I am more than happy to fork over some money and enjoy the babka without the anxiety.

Babka is, in fact, a very common food that people will only ever savor store-bought. Jewish bakeries across the world specialize in the Ashkenazi treat. Haredi bakeries in Jerusalem make “Krantz cake” – an alternate name for babka – that people from all walks of Israeli life travel from across the country for. The beautiful bite of the dough and the coy sweetness of the filling is a triumph. Breads in New York has become famous for their babka, which seems to elicit joy everywhere. (Note: I believe that all properly-made babkas cause joy.) In any case, Breads’ perfectly textured babka is divine. I have seen visitors from out of town bee-line to Breads for babka before going anywhere else in the city. And of course, one cannot forget supermarket babkas. As dowdy as these can be, some brands’ babkas are perfectly tasty and delectably un-shareable. A few readers have mentioned the Trader Joe’s babka as their ideal babka, but I am more partial to Green’s obscenely swirly chocolate babka.

Of course I want to make my own babka. A plum jam and cottage cheese babka will never be mass market in a country rightly obsessed with chocolate babka. Yet it is so delicious – especially when you hit a plum and a gob of cheese right by a doughy bit. Divine! The braiding is beautiful, and making a babka is really the height of Ashkenazi balabostakeit. I should try it out! But I am also a klutzy graduate student with limited time and even more limited hand-eye coordination. I refuse to only have babka as often as I can make it.

So I have no shame in buying from a bakery. In fact, that has been done for generations. Now, babkas have long been in the repertoire of Ashkenazi home cooking – especially as Jewish communities, like neighbors, used leftover bread dough for the task. However, making babka – and actually, challah and bread generally, was hard work then, as it is now. It also used relatively expensive ingredients, which is why both were reserved for a Sabbath treat. Many people did not have the time or energy, and one of the promises of America or Canada was the prosperity to have a treat like that – and pay someone else to make it. Babkas were a frequent feature of bakeries that opened up across Jewish neighborhoods in New York in the early 20^th century – and continue to be a feature at remaining bakeries today. Having a babka that’s not “homemade” is a tradition.

Enough rambling. I want to know: what’s your favorite babka?