Chanukah, First Night (Columbia, MD, 12/21/08) - To Reheat or Not to Reheat

This is just a little "shout out" post to my folks for putting together a fantastic Chanukah dinner last night. Despite the sentiments expressed in my introductory post, my parents do love good food. And when it comes to the Jewish-American "cuisine," they're all about tradition. I've grown up loving everything from chopped liver and whitefish salad to blintzes and rugala (known in my house as "Nana Cookies"). On Chanukah, the most aglow of all holidays, we eat brisket and latkes with sour cream and apple sauce.


I'll go into more detail on my own experience making latkes after I host my own Chanukah celebration on Tuesday night, but for now, a few musings on last night's feast. Brisket, for the charlatans amoung you, starts out as a nasty, tough cut of meat. It comes from the layer of muscle lining the cow's ribs and, if not cooked correctly, can have the consistency of nice, fresh rubber. While our friends to the South smoke their brisket for hours (a topic which I hope to address one day), Jews braise it. A quick sear followed by hours of cooking at a low temparture in juices helps the meat become soft and tender - a process which my mom helps along by slicing the meat very thin while it is still cooking. Having cast off the shackles of her own mother's recipe, which included a cut of brisket, some water and Lipton onion soup from a packet, my mom has honed a recipe which includes cranberries and portabella mushrooms. I've been eating it way too long to have an objective view on this stuff, but to me it tastes fantabulous.


No one, however, comes to Chanukah dinner for the brisket - it's all about latkes, or potato pancakes. My family has gone so far as to rename Chanukah "Latkarama," a name that I hear is really taking off among the ultra-orthodox Jews (just kidding :) ). Latkes are the perfect food. First of all, they're simple - just potatoes, onions, a little egg and some matzoh meal. Second, they're fried. Deep fried, in a pan, in vegetable oil or, if you're lucky, clarified butter. They are, when cooked properly, crispy on the outside, smooth and silky on the inside. Finally, they taste good alone or with almost anything on top. Traditional toppings include sour cream and apple sauce, and I am definitely a traditionalist. I have gone outside, topping them with horseraddish, wasabi and salsa. But nothing compares to the cold silk of sour cream and the sweet, tanginess of apple sauce. If you happen to be within a 2-mile radius while they're being cooked, you get to smell like latkes for the next few days. I'm thinking about bringing my sheets home and sitting them in the kitchen while my mom is making latkes one day - what dreams!!! Anyway, I'll post a recipe and pictures of my own attempts after Tuesday night's dinner.


In addition to lights, family, songs and presents, Chanukah in my parents' house has one very strong tradition - when my brother, Eric, and I start whining that my mom has pre-made the latkes, giving them just a quick turn in the oven before sending them to the table, instead of making them fresh just before consumption. My mom seems to think that she should be enjoying Chanukah dinner along with the rest of us, instead of slaving over hot, stinking oil while the rest of us wait (im)patiently. I don't know where she gets this idea, and Eric and I try to dispell her of the notion every year. I mean, how hard is it to cook 10 pounds of potatoes really quickly?! For decades, my brother and I have lost this battle, our only real salvation being to make sure that we're around the day before Chanukah and steal them off the counter as she's cooking them fresh. But this year we reached a compromise. My mom agreed to cook one batch of latkes fresh for the table, while the inevitable refills the serving plates required would come from a pre-made cache.


If anyone doubted before the superiority of fresh-made latkes over their pre-made brethren, they were silenced last night. And so it is with humility and gratitude that I say "thank you" to my mom for caving. Thank you from the bottom of my slightly clogged heart.