When I was a child, too young to understand about the Days of Awe and the Day of Atonement, the smells wafting out of our kitchen were my only clue that the High Holy Days were coming.
My parents were first-generation Americans, their parents born and raised fearing pogroms in the Jewish ghettos of Russia and Poland, in cities whose names have changed in regions where borders have shifted. When I ask my grandparents about our roots, they sadly recount that neither our family nor their village is 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 important, what to eat.
Today when I watch my parents prepare for Rosh Hashanah 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 shmaltz.”
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 (l’dor v’dor).
As our family’s reigning matriarch, my mother Celia’s phone rings off the hook every year at the High Holy Days. “How come my brisket is so dry? “Why is my kugel so temperamental?” “Why doesn’t my tsimmes taste like yours?”
But the latest questions aren’t from one of our future matriarchs. The inquisitor is my father, Milton, with queries about horseradish. Because he loved the rich, acrid flavor of his mother’s horseradish — in addition to drowning chicken, fish and brisket in it, he eats it plain or piled on matzah — he was moved to learn the recipe. And so making horseradish together has become my parents’ own tradition, and my brothers and I have begun to emulate them.
On Rosh Hashanah they will work side by side peeling, grating and seasoning the piquant root until they get it just right. Then on to the tsimmes, kugels, gefilte fish, shmaltz, chopped liver and, finally, the dessert. Celia affectionately refers to Milton as “chief cook and bottle-washer.”
Even though, in his heyday, Papa 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 72nd — a new and wonderful relationship has developed. But the last thing my brothers and I ever dreamed was that it would come of age in the kitchen.
Even though I have children, even grandchildren of my own, I am with them in spirit as they go about their High Holy Day 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 resolved. “Take off the plastic,” I implore, just as I did as a child, hating that practicality would trump beauty. I have since learned the heartbreak of wine stains on lace, so I 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 thought of.
On the day before Rosh Hashanah, 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 shmaltz. Then to the Jewish baker for the round challah with raisins and 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 I am exhausted just watching them.
Celia’s brisket and carrot tsimmes is the family favorite, overshadowed only by Milton’s horseradish (chrain), which they pass around in tiny jars and watch religiously so that everybody replaces the top. “You expose it to the air — you may as well throw it out!” they warn.
According to Jewish cookbook author Joan Nathan, tsimmes is a beloved Ashkenazi side dish that in Yiddish means a “complicated procedure,” “a mix-up,” an “affair blown out of all proportion.” Tsimmes also translates as “trouble.” Growing up, my granny always used to say, “Don’t make such a tsimmes out of it.”
Every year Mama surprises us with unexpected ingredients in her tsimmes — pumpkin, apples, raisins, dried apricots or cherries.
My mother’s purism has been passed on to my dad. While many people add sugar, salt, even whipped cream to their horseradish, our chrain is plain so we get the true taste of the root. They even disclaim beets, which can be added for color, preferring the root’s natural whiteness. They love to remind me that white signifies the purity of this holiday.
Shmaltz is rendered chicken fat. If you don’t want to make it yourself, most kosher butchers carry it during the holidays. According to a 1977 report in Poultry Science, chicken fat is not saturated like other animal fats. It is composed of 1/4 to 3/4 unsaturated fatty acids, making it closer to vegetable oil than to animal fat. Many Jewish cooks use it only during the holidays. It does make all these dishes taste better.
Mama wasn’t big on desserts, which is why she’s kept her youthful figure. Our meals always ended with fresh or dried fruit compote. Fruit and other sweet foods are served during the High Holy Days to symbolize a universal hope that life will be sweet in the coming year.
Because Celia is a perfectionist, one year she’s positive her potato kugel is too dry, her chopped liver too bland, her tsimmes 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 tradition, and we relish every bite. 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.
Mama Celia’s Brisket and Carrot Tsimmes
Serves 6
1 to 2 Tbs. oil
1 lb. 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 and grated
2 white potatoes, peeled and 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 tsp. paprika
lemon juice
1 tsp. brown sugar
In large Dutch oven, heat oil over medium heat and add brisket, turning to brown; add onions and garlic and cook a few minutes until golden. Add enough water to cover, bring to boil, reduce heat to low and simmer 2 hours. Transfer brisket out of pot and place on cutting board; slice into 1/2-inch pieces and 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.
Papa Milt’s Horseradish
Makes 1 cup
1⁄2 lb. horseradish root, peeled
cold water
2 Tbs. apple cider vinegar
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.
Mama Celia’s Potato Kugel
Serves 4 to 6
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 matzah meal
1 tsp. salt
1⁄2 tsp. paprika
pinch of cayenne
1⁄4 cup vegetable oil or shmaltz
Mix potatoes together and put 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, matzah meal, salt, paprika and cayenne. Fold in oil or shmaltz. Place mixture in oiled, 9-inch-square glass baking dish. Bake at 375 degrees for 30 to 40 minutes or until golden brown and crisp at edges.