Happy New Year!

I don’t know if it’s because we’ve been in and out of quarantine for so long, or if if it’s the longing for easier times, but I’ve been thinking about my childhood family traditions lately. Tomorrow is Rosh Hashonah, the beginning of the Jewish New Year, and I’ve been flooded with memories of the food and people I would see year after year. that That was the one day I saw ALL of my cousins, aunts, and uncles from my Dad’s side of the family.

A tradition begun by my Bubie’s (Yiddish from Grandma) sister, Tante Basha, carried on by my Bubie and then my mother, an open house was held on the first day of the holiday right after synagogue.

It was basically a time for everyone to relax and celebrate a new beginning, catch up with each other, and, most importantly, eat and drink!

I vividly remember the small apartment my Grandma lived in and how many people could actually fit in the place at one time. 

She would spend weeks preparing her sweet treats that we all expected on that day.

Crispy ginger cookies and light, lemony poppy seed cookies, (usually gone by the first hour) were replaced with her taigalech (a honey coated confection that could break your teeth in one bite),  and the best (as far as I’m concerned), her “World Renowned” cinnamon coffee cake.

There was always a huge urn of coffee that most coffee drinkers today would turn their noses up to, but somehow, everyone guzzled it down. 

Along with that, the “schnapps”, or whiskey, and overly sweet wine were there for the adults. 

We all ate to excess because we knew it would be whole year until we saw the treats again. I was always jealous of the fact that my cousin Marji could consume entire trays of brownies and taigelach and still not gain an ounce. 

Dressed in itchy wool clothes we had worn to synagogue (no matter what the temperature, the holidays always meant Fall, so wool it was), we ate our way through the afternoon.

There was always competition between the aunts and uncles, and I learned more about the real family situations from the stories my male cousins told about “life”. (Dale & Barry, you know what I’m talking about).

I never mastered any of the recipes, but my brother recently sent me his family’s version of the coffee cake.

I have yet to attempt it, but did actually make a small apple cake this year.

The holidays are a little different now with cousins in different parts of the country and virtual family gatherings and services, but I still can almost taste those yummy treats my Bubie used to make!

"Just Eat It...(PLEASE)"

Ryan and his Grandpa, Bob Becker

SUSAN KEMPPAINEN IS THE VOLUNTEER/ACTIVITY PROGRAM COORDINATOR MIROWITZ CENTER AT COVENANT PLACE. She sat in on my three part "Writing Your Own Family Food Fable" class and was inspired to write her own family story. If you have kids, you can definitely relate to this one. Thanks Susan for this great story.

Five decades ago, when preemie care was still new science, I was born at 30 weeks and weighed 3 lbs., 4 oz. My grandmother said she’d bought bigger chickens. Since I was an itty-bitty thing and a picky eater, everyone worried I’d starve to death. In kindergarten, my grandmother carried me to and home from the bus stop, so I wouldn’t burn more calories than absolutely necessary. Still, I managed to grow into a healthy adult and was raising children of my own, when karma gave me a picky eater too. Every day, I sent my son to preschool with a lunch of blueberries, cereal, and milk. I knew it wasn’t the best, but cereal is fortified, right? When I discussed my stressful situation with his preschool teacher, she admonished me with, "Well, Ryan is never going to try broccoli, if you let him eat sugary cereals." Maybe she was right, but I was scared if I didn’t send him with foods he’d eat, he wouldn't eat anything at all.

So, what's a neurotic, Jewish mother to do? I tried all the tricks. I cut turkey sandwiches into hearts, involved him in the preparation process, and created colorful and fun foods like “ants on a log.” I even resorted to bribery, which had limited success. Ryan did lick a piece of steak once to get an extra toy during Chanukah. In grade school, he still only ate the usual kid choices: fries, chicken nuggets, pizza, hot dogs, cereal, and pasta. Then, something miraculous happened... He became a teenager! A teenager who wanted to eat all the time. A teenager who was willing to try new foods. A teenager who, even when he didn’t like what he was eating, would shrug and say, “It’s just fuel.” Mamas, if you’re worried your child is going to starve to death, I’m here to tell you he won’t. Keep introducing healthy foods and snack choices, offer an occasional bribe, and remind yourself this too shall pass. After all, our kids won't be walking down the aisle to a wedding feast of buttered noodles. But if they do, be happy we can buy fortified pasta.

" DON’T NEED NO MEASURIN’ CUP! "

I had the great pleasure of teaching a series of writing  classes through the Mirowitz Center in St. Louis. "Writing Your Own Family Food Fable" generated so many great ideas and I will feature the stories for the next few weeks on the blog. This week, a great piece written by Marilyn Brown . She creatively wrote it as a letter to her granddaughter, telling the story of of what she learned from her own grandmother. Enjoy reading!!!!

Marilyn and her Bubbie

 

Dearest Hannah,

I bet you think you have to measure ingredients in order to be a good baker, right?  Well, let me tell you about your great-grandmother (Bubbe).

She wasn’t much of a cook, although she really tried.  All meat had to be well-done…cooked to a black, charred mass.  And, of course, without much taste.

But, oh my, could she bake!  And she baked by “feel” not with measuring spoons or measuring cups. 

This ability to feel the dough really came in handy when my mother lost her focal vision due to ARMD.  She couldn’t see very well at all, so I would actually measure ingredients for komish bread.  Then she would knead the batter and roll out the strips to make those yummy treats.  I am so grateful to have been able to share this baking experience with her up to the end of her life.  And I think of her whenever I smell komish bread baking in my oven.

Another story for you, Hannah…one day I decided I really had to have Bubbe’s recipe for apple strudel.  So, the two of us took out all the ingredients – apples, nuts, flour, sugar, cinnamon, graham crackers, etc.  And then she got to work.

I insisted that she measure everything, so I could write down amounts and be able to duplicate the tasty treat in my own kitchen.  All went well…at first.  Bubbe was busy making the dough, measuring the flour, etc., just as I had asked.  And then I looked up from my note pad and saw her throwing a handful of flour into the bowl.  “Wait!” I cried, “how much more flour did you just add????”  

“I don’t know,” she sighed, “but the dough just didn’t feel right.”  Oh, boy, I thought.  Then I, too, felt the dough for future reference.  And, dear Hannah, it worked.  I can now make my mother’s wonderful apple strudel.  And I will pass down the written recipe to you.  But we will have to make apple strudel…and komish bread…together someday soon, so you can learn what “professional” strudel dough and komish bread batter feels like. 

 

Bubbe’s unwritten apple strudel recipe:

To make dough, mix this stuff into some kind of bowl…

Quite a bit of flour

Some oil (anything other than motor oil!)

Warm water…about twice as much as the oil

A bissel vinegar

Knead until dough feels right.

 

Roll out a clump of dough until it’s pretty thin…round or oval in shape.  Sprinkle the following onto the dough:

White raisins…at least a box

Graham cracker crumbs

Nuts

Cinnamon and sugar

Oil…put this onto the dough first

 

Filling:

A bunch of large apples, grated…and peeled…and cored

Maybe a cup of brown sugar

More flour

A bit of lemon juice

Another box or so of white raisins

More graham cracker crumbs, cinnamon, nuts

 

Put some of the filling onto the end of a piece of dough…roll up.  Put roll onto a cookie sheet.  Brush with oil, and sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar.  Slit.

 

Bake in a warm oven until done.

Marilyn Brown

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Challah Back Girls..."

If you asked me to list my top 10 foods, bread would be number one on the list. Even on a low-carb eating plan, I'd gladly give up rice, potatoes and pasta for a slice of good bread. 

 This obsession began with my grandmothers' stellar baking skills. My grandma from Boston ((Bubbie Bela) would visit us for weeks at a time, spending most of it in our kitchen. Known for her challah bread, she'd set to work. Using every bowl, spoon, towel and counterspace, she took over the kitchen as her own private bakery. 

Knowing she wouldn't be back to visit for a while, she would bake enough to last us for months. With no electric mixer or dough hooks, her muscular arms and soft touch became her tools. 

Filling pans and bowls to let the mixture rise and braiding strands of dough to form the beautiful challah, the ballooning loaves were everywhere. She put the bowls on the bed and covered them with a quilt to help the rising process.The smell of the baking bread in our kitchen was intoxicating, and I always had a hard time waiting for it to cool from the oven. 

 And luckily for me, my other Grandma (Bubbie Dora) lived across the street from us. She too was an incredible baker, but her challah dough was turned into a sweet bread similar to cinnamon raisin bread that we all affectionately named "Bubbie's Coffee Cake". She would follow the same steps, letting the dough rise, punching it down, and then letting it rise again.

My Bubbies, Bela and Dora

The magic began as she rolled the dough with a rolling pin to the size of a sheet pan. The dough was slathered with butter, cinnamon, raisins and sugar. Gently lifting the side, she would roll it into a tube and let it rise once more. Again, waiting for it to finish baking was an eternity to me, made even more difficult by the scent of cinnamon wafting through the house. A slice of her challah coffee cake in the toaster the next day was pure heaven. 

Sadly, neither my mother nor I took the time to learn their skills or recipes, so store bought challah had to suffice. On Shabbat, my mom would get a challah at the local bakery and, though it was good, it never lived up to my Grandmas' creations.

Sneaking a bite of the dough

  So, when the pandemic hit and we were all stuck inside for months, my daughter-in-law wanted to continue the Shabbat traditions our granddaughters were learning in their pre-school classes. They always loved taking a piece of challah dough and kneading, pounding and rolling it out. The teacher would then bake the small loaf for each child to take home and share with their family. 

 Traci decided to try her hand at making the dough with the girls, continuing the tradition they were learning in school. 

At the time, much like toilet paper and hand sanitizer, flour and yeast were at a premium. But still, she managed to make the dough every week, even getting flour sent from out of town.

Prepping the dough

It became a wonderful tradition in their house that the girls looked forward to each Shabbat. While Traci made the larger loaf, each of the girls got her own piece of dough to form as they liked. Sometimes plain, sometimes adding raisins or chocolate chips (though they often popped them in their mouth instead of in the challah), each was a personal reflection of their own taste. 

They even have a special song they sing while working on their challahs together with each step of making the dough:

"We are pounding, pounding, pounding...

  We are rolling, rolling, rolling...

  We are squeezing, squeezing, squeezing...

  And then we...STOP"

We would often Zoom with them on Friday night to recite the blessing over the challah and wine with them. And every week the challahs became more and more beautiful: braided six strands and even eight or ten strands; glazed with egg and honey, it looked so delicious. When we finally were able to go up and visit them, I couldn’t wait to taste the finished product. 

 

Best baking assistants

And boy was it worth the wait. The bread, fresh, warm and dense with the sweet honey glaze made my mouth water. The smell of the kitchen brought me right back to the days with my Grandmas. I ate slice after slice the whole weekend and couldn’t wait until our next visit for more. 

I may not have learned the baking skills that my grandmothers' so well honed, but it makes me so happy to see a new tradition of baking and celebrating taking its place in our family.

Shabbat Shalom!

 

"Love You a Latke"

Mom enjoying her latkes

I recently went through some old family videos of our holiday celebrations over the years. I always find watching the chaos and commotion of the kids so much fun. The piles of presents and the hours spent watching everyone open their gifts seemed exhausting at the time, but what I loved even more was our family tradition of making and eating potato latkes! A small batch of the potato goodies turned into platters and platters of the fried deliciousness! There was always plenty left for both me and my         brother and we usually kept eating them until we couldn’t move

Latkes are traditionally cooked on Hanukkah, along with other fried foods, to commemorate the miracle of the menorah oil lasting eight days in the Jewish Temple.

In my family, we had a tradition of making latkes and having a huge family Hanukah party every year. I loved all of the food and the presents, and I just recently found out how this tradition began.

Apparently, two of my Bubie's (yiddish for grandmother) brothers had been drafted into the Russian army and sent to opposite sides of the country to fight. Their family, who lived in the town of Belarus, figured they would never see them again because of the hardships of the war and the landscape of Russia. By coincidence, both of her brothers arrived home on the 5th night of Hanukkah, surprising everyone. They had a huge celebration cooking up latkes and trading gifts together. Since then, the tradition has been carried on every year in our families!  

Latkes can be topped with most anything, but our condiments of choice were sour cream and applesauce. (As a kid, I wouldn’t let the applesauce touch the sour cream, but love it all mixed together now).

When our son was born, my husband decided to carry on the latke-making tradition in our family. With our then 6 month old in the kitchen playpen, Jack instructed him on the step-by- step process, and has made latkes every Hanukah since.

Latke maker extrodinaire

All ready to help make the latkes

It’s a tradition that makes us feel close to family, even though we live in different places around the country and around the world.

This year was no different. But having moved from our house to a smaller place, we had trouble finding all of our typical “tools” of the trade. (because when you make latkes, the whole neighborhood knows from the smell).  The cookbook with our dog-eared latke recipe was stuffed in a box in our storage closet, but we finally dug it out. Making them fresh is the only way to go!

Some years we shred the potatoes; some years we chop them. More egg, less flour. More salt, less pepper. Fewer people, but we did our part eating the latkes. 

Still has the seal of approval

We all live in different cities and even different countries, but the latkes always connect us. 
Carrying on a tradition that takes me back to my childhood, I love that our kids and now our grandaughters are still eating the crunchy potato latkes and in some way, honoring their ancestors from 100 years ago in the process.

"It's All About The Beans..."

Coffee has been my defining fuel of choice for as long as I can remember. It got me through early morning classes in college and late nights of grading papers when I was teaching. It gave me the energy to stay awake after sleepless nights with young kids, and fueled my 5 AM workouts. When I taught high school, my students used to say I had a cup of coffee surgically attached to my hand since I was never without one.

My first screen name on aol was gabbyjava and one of my blogs is Fitness Barista; so, you get the picture.

I used to settle for anything with caffeine just to get going, but over the years, I've come to appreciate the complexities in the brews that different coffee shops and roasters can offer. But, as much as I love coffee, my son takes it to another level. He and his family live in an area surrounded by incredible coffee shops, so they have developed a taste for amazing roasts.

When the quarantine all but stopped everyone's daily coffee runs, I figured my Keurig would have to suffice. I still wanted to support local stores, especially my neighbohood favorites like Kaldis and Northwest Coffee, so I sent my son and his family some of Kaldi's Gratitude blend. He sent back a picture of it being brewed in a French Press. With the full bodied beans, a pourover kettle at the perfect temperature, and the patience to wait for the brew, it looked better than anything I'd had in a while!

A few days later, a French Press arrived, and he ( my son) told us exactly how to brew our own perfect cup. And seriously, what a difference!

It was like sitting and watching the baristas make our order. If I though the K-cups were giving me bursts of energy, this took it to another level! We more than double our workout distance and pace on the days we make coffee in the French Press. Since we are still social distancing, we actually have the time to grind the beans, "wake" them up, let the coffee brew another 5 minutes and enjoy!

My daughter-in-law also introduced me to oat milk, which makes for an extra creamy taste in a latte.

It's a far cry from the vending machine sludge in my college dorm and the stale pots of coffee in the teacher's lounge.

I know places are opening up, and there's always curbside or drive through, but it's kind of fun and almost meditative to take the time to make it yourself. And you can use your own wi-fi!!

I'm partial to my local roasters and have tried a number of blends these past few months. And we need to support our neighbors.

The proceeds from Kaldi's gratitude Blend went to the Gateway Resilience Fund which provided short-term relief for independent restaurant and bar owners.

And you can support Black owned business by trying Northwest Coffee in the Central West End. Jason Wilson is unique in that he is a coffee roaster as well as a retailer. Plus, their Roaster's Choice and Rocky Bay  blends are outstanding!

"Mickey Mornings.."

Breakfast has always been one of my favorite meals.

Honestly, I could eat breakfast food for lunch and dinner as well. But when my kids were growing up, it was always a rush in the morning to get ready for work and school. Consequently, during the week, it was usually cereal or a Pop-tart as we ran out the door.

They DID love frozen waffles though, so one day while wandering around a cooking store, I saw a magical piece of cooking equipment stashed behind all of the professional pots and pans.

The familiar Disney face stared at me from the front of the box, begging me to pick it up. Reading the contents, I discovered I could make waffles that looked like Mickey Mouse in a non-stick, virtually foolproof waffle maker. No special mixes. 3-4 minutes per waffle. How could I resist the chance to so easily impress my kids?

So Mickey came home with me and the waffles became the “special” breakfast I would make for them when they had friends sleep over and on holidays. We’d put all kinds of toppings on the table and the kids would decorate their waffle with raisins, chocolate chips, berries, orange slices, whipped cream and fill in the crevices with the extras! (But of course, everyone always wanted to eat the ears first).

It became a tradition, and if I mistakenly put a box of cereal out on a sleepover weekend, you can bet they made sure I had that waffle maker out within a few minutes. Even throughout high school and when they came home from college, I would make the waffles for a special breakfast or just for fun!

I found the appliance in my cabinet last year when we were packing up and getting ready to move out of our house. Having been ruthless about getting rid of kitchen things I no longer used, I just couldn’t let go of Mickey. There was still a “need”, so he came with us to our new place.

I now have a 10 month-old granddaughter and she’s staring to eat “real” food. So, when they came to visit over the holidays, I couldn't wait to make the Mickey Mouse waffles. I was so excited to see her eat the little bits of waffle and smile.  I’m pretty sure she liked them, and my adult kids really enjoyed the memories that eating them brought back.

Since then, she’s even had a Mickey shaped pizza! (Genius idea!)

They’re heading to Disney World soon and I know seeing the "real" Mickey will put a smile on her face. 
Just as long as she doesn’t try to eat his ear!