The Altar
Foodaism
The Altar
None of us cooks alone, even when we are alone. These are some of the people who’ve inspired me in the kitchen, whose presence is never very far when I cook or eat. Some of them I knew and loved, some I just read or watched. I always thought if I had a restaurant I’d have a shelf for their photos and books, the kind of altars that many cultures — Chinese, Vietnamese, Hindu — have to honor the kitchen gods, give thanks and keep the ancestors happy.
In these homes, a kitchen altar might feature a photo of a loved one, a candle, a food offering. I don’t have a shelf built in to our kitchen where we honor the people whose love of food inspired us. But, hey, I’ve got a web site.
If there’s someone you want me to post on the altar, please send me an email with a photo and a few words about the person who watches over you in the kitchen.
The lox blintz is a simple, spectacular roll-your-own brunch
When our kids were young, I often made them crepes for Sunday breakfast. Standing at the stove, pouring the batter into the hot pan, I explained that the first crepe is the dog crepe. That first one always comes out wrinkled, uneven, blotchy, fit only for the dogs.
But if you keep going, I said, every crepe after that gets better and better.
“Dog crepe” became a shorthand way of explaining any initial setback or less-than-spectacular result. Doing new stuff is hard. Toss the first try (or two, or three) to the dogs, and keep going.
I was at the stove again this week, coming up with a new blintz recipe for Shavuot. The holiday, which begins this year on the evening of June 1, celebrates the harvest of first fruits and commemorates the giving of the Torah and Commandments at Mount Sinai. Its roots as an agricultural festival are apparent in the fact that Jew traditionally eat foods made with dairy products on Shavuot — by late spring, the kids and calves are born and the milk is flowing.
Sephardic Jews make bourekas and cheese pancakes for the holiday. Cheese blintzes and kugels are the Ashkenazi go-tos. (Food-ish has a compilation of revalatory Shavuot dishes from around the world.) I wanted to create a savory blintz, and, wonder of wonders, a gift package from Zabar’s in Manhattan appeared on our doorstep, courtesy of very thoughtful friends, complete with cream cheese, lox, Scottish smoked salmon and bagels. The Israelites had manna, I had scallion cream cheese.
I set about making a brunch blintz: thin, light crepes filled with softened scallion cream cheese, smoked salmon or lox, capers and dill, then rolled and lightly browned in butter. (Lox and smoked salmon aren’t the same — both are cured, only the latter is smoked — so I alternated). Each bundle was three or four perfect bites, creamy, salty and savory.
My recipe makes about 18 crepes — minus that first one, of course. I read some actual science about why the first crepe is always so flawed, and there’s a theory: the skillet surface and the oil or butter have not yet evenly heated.
Maybe. But I prefer a different answer: That’s just the way life is. The first kiss, the first tryst, the first day on a job, the first draft — it’s all a dog crepe, and you keep going. You just keep going.
Until, eventually, you’ll get a lox blintz.
Lox Blintz
Ingredients
- 1 cup 120g flour
- 2 eggs
- 1 cup 240 ml milk
- 3/4 cup 180 ml seltzer water
- 1 tsp sugar
- butter or vegetable oil
- 1/2 cup scallion cream cheese softened
- 1/2 pound sliced smoked salmon
- 1/4 cup capers
- 1/4 cup dill and chives chopped
Instructions
- Before you start cooking, tear off 12-16 squares of parchment paper and stack on a plate near the stove. You’ll store your blintzes here.
- Add milk, seltzer, eggs, sugar and flour to a blender. Blend at high speed for a minute until well combined and smooth. You could refrigerate the batter for an hour or overnight to let rest, or proceed with the recipe.
- Heat a non-stick pan over medium heat. Add a little butter or oil to the pan, swirl until just melted — don’t let it burn.
- Pour in the batter with one hand, swirling the pan with the other hand to help it spread.
- When the pancake starts pulling away a bit from the sides, and the top is no longer wet, flip it and cook shortly on the other side as well.
- Transfer to a plate with a spatula, your fingers or by tipping pan over. Place a sheet of cooking parchment over the blintz and proceed to the next one. Cook the remaining batter until all used up.
- To roll the blintzes, spread about a tablespoon of softened cream cheese on the darker side of the blintz. Lay on a thin slice of salmon, and sprinkle with a few capers and some herbs.
- Fold two sides of the blintz in to slightly overlap, then gently roll to form the blintz.
- Heat a little butter or oil in the pan, fry ach blintz until just golden and warm, about 2 minutes on each side.
- Remove to serving dish. You can keep warm in an oven with the light on while you complete the rest of the blintzes. To serve, pipe a bit of cream cheese on top of each blintz and scatter with more herbs and capers.
Hospitality is a jar of biscotti
A colleague comes over for a meeting. A neighbor pops by. Don’t ask, “Can I get you something?” Just put out these biscotti and mint tea, or water. Why? Hospitality. In the Book of Genesis God appears before Abraham, but then some strangers come by, and Abraham says to God, “Hold that thought,” and goes to welcome the strangers. “Receiving guests is greater than greeting the Divine Presence itself!” said the rabbis. So: biscotti. Specifically this cantucci di Prato recipe, which uses no butter and keeps for at least two weeks in a. tightly sealed jar.
Cantucci di Prato
Ingredients
- 2 cups 280 gr flour
- 1/2 teaspoon 3 gr baking powder
- 1/2 teaspoon 3 gr baking soda
- 1/4 teaspoon salt
- 1 teaspoon fennel seeds
- 3/4 cup 75 gr toasted, ground unpeeled almonds
- 1/2 cup 90 gr toasted, whole unpeeled almonds
- 2 eggs 103 grams
- 1/2 teaspoon anise or almond extract
- 1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 1 cup 180 gr sugar
- 1 egg white
- additional sugar
Instructions
- Preheat the oven to 350 F. Line a baking sheet with baking parchment.
- Place the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt and fennel seeds in a mound on a floured board. Surround the outside of the mound with the ground and whole almonds. Make a well in the center.
- Place the eggs, anise and vanilla in the well. Beat the sugar into the eggs, blending well. Quickly beat the egg mixture with a fork, gradually incorporating the flour and almonds to make a smooth dough. As you form the dough, you may find you need about 1/2 – 1 more egg. The dough should be stiff but not dry.
- Divide the dough into three to four portions. With lightly oiled hands, shape each portion into an oval loaf shape. Place the loaves two inches apart on greased and floured baking sheets. Brush with the egg white, sprinkle with sugar, and bake for 15 to 20 minutes or until lightly browned.
- Remove the loaves from the oven and use a spatula to transfer them to a cutting board and use a sharp knife to cut into half-inch thick slices. Place them cut side down on the same baking sheet and return them to the oven. Leave the biscotti in the oven for five to 10 minutes per side or until golden brown. Transfer to racks and cool.
- Makes about six dozen.
Notes
*If your dough remains dry as you mix it, add 1/2 to 1 more beaten egg.
Crispy, tart Greek lemon potatoes
We went to Greece before the pandemic and ate many, many versions of lemon potatoes, patates lemonates. I researched many recipes, including this classic one from Diane Kochilas, the Joan Nathan of Greek cookbook authors. But the one I’ve landed on is simpler, with a pure lemon flavor. They are a Shabbat, holiday and dinner party staple — tart, crisp, soft in the center, and light, for potatoes. The key is to bathe the cubes in more high quality olive oil and lemon juice than you think is normal. Then roast them longer than you think you should. Let a couple cubes burn, like the sacrificial challah. When you go to serve them, remove them from the pan with a. slotted spoon, because you wouldn’t eat the latke-frying oil, either.
Greek lemon pottaoes
Ingredients
- ½ cup white wine or water
- ½ cup olive oil
- ½ cup freshly squeezed lemon juice from 3 to 4 large lemons
- 1 tablespoon kosher salt
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 3 pounds large Yukon Gold potatoes about 6, scrubbed
- 4- 5 fresh bay leaves optional
Instructions
- Heat the oven to 500 degrees.
- Cut the potatoes lengthwise, then cut cross-wise into 1-inch cubes. On a rimmed sheet pan or shallow baking pan, combine the wine or water, olive oil, lemon juice, pepper, bay leaves and kosher salt. Toss the potatoes in the liquid to coat, then arrange the potatoes in an even layer. It’s okay if they are a bit stacked up — you will be tossing them.
- Roast the potatoes, turning occasionally with a spatula, until they are all brown and crispy on top, 40 to 60 minutes. Remove the bay leaves before serving.
Notes
Fennel with ajo blanco and tahini
This dish from the IG/TikTok chef Sebastien combines the flavors of the cool, creamy Spanish soup ajo blanco with Middle Eastern tahini and classic French wine-braised fennel — and a fresh fennel salad too. It’s not quick, but it’s main course-worthy.
Braised fennel with ajo blanco and tahini
Ingredients
- 2 large fennel bulbs
- 2 whole garlic cloves
- 1 spring onion
- 1 small green chili
- 1 slice stale bread
- 1 handful blanched almonds
- 1 tbsp tahini
- 2 glasses white wine or Prosecco or Champagne
- 2 tbsp sweet or regular soy sauce
- 1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil + 2 tablespoons
- 2 teaspoons white vinegar
- 1/2 lemon juiced
- Fleur de sel pepper
Instructions
- Preheat your oven to 350°F.
Prepare the fennel:
- Wash the fennel well. Cut off the tough parts of the fennel and the fronds and set them aside. Don’t toss!
- Keep one whole fennel for the salad and cut the other into 8 pieces.
Roast the fennel
- Heat 1/4 cup olive oil in a heavy skillet. Add the fennel slices, season with salt and pepper, and sear them in a pan with the crushed garlic clove until nicely caramelized, turning as needed.
- Deglaze with white wine and sweet soy sauce, let it reduce to a syrupy texture, then set the sauce aside.
- Put the fennel on a baking tray, cover with foil, and bake at 350°F for 45 minutes.
- Uncover, flip the pieces, and broil for 5 minutes to get a nice color.
Make the ajo blanco
- Blend the fennel trimmings with 1/4 cup olive oil, white vinegar, garlic, stale bread, almonds, tahini, salt, and a bit of water. You want the texture to mimic a thick but pourable soup.
- Strain through a fine sieve or chinois for a smooth texture.
Prepare the crunchy salad
- Thinly slice the raw fennel using a mandoline or sharp knife, season with 2 tablespoons olive oil and lemon juice, salt, and pepper.
- Add finely sliced spring onion and finely chopped green chili.
Plating
- Pour the ajo blanco into a shallow bowl.
- Place the fennel salad on top.
- Add the golden roasted fennel pieces.
- Finish with a drizzle of olive oil, a pinch of fleur de sel, and a spoonful of the reduced sauce.
Dario Cecchini’s orange olive oil cake
When you stand facing the wall of bookcases lining the hallway to our bedroom, on the left you’ll see my cookbook collection—two floor-to-ceiling rows of built-in shelving. To the right, you’ll see Naomi’s volumes of Judaica.
To the left: Simple French Food, The Classic Cuisine of the Italian Jews, and My Life in Recipes. To the right: Yiddish and Hebrew literature, poetry, mysticism, Midrash, Talmud, prayer books, Jewish philosophy and history — as well the books she wrote.
Naomi has read a recipe or two in her life, and I’ve studied Jewish texts. But generally, in our house, the cookbooks are mine, the deep well of Judaica hers.
Interpretation on top of interpretation
But this week, as I worked my way through recipes for Dario Cecchini’s orange olive oil cake, I realized that the very different things we love and study aren’t so different after all.
Jewish wisdom is a conversation across time. Sometimes, in a sermon, Naomi will say, “The rabbis said…” and I have to remind myself she could be talking about rabbis who spoke 2000 years ago — or last week. It’s all alive, it all speaks to her now.
Take the Talmud — also on our shelves — a record of oral legal and religious discussions spanning centuries, compiled around 500 CE. It’s interpretation upon interpretation, story layered over story — a palimpsest of past and present, forming the foundation of Jewish law and custom.
In other words, Jewish law, philosophy, literature and mysticism are a lot like a recipe collection: the work of generations refining, adapting, translating, and preserving ideas for the next generation to build upon.
From Torah to cheeseburgers
Here’s a good example—and stick with me, because Dario’s orange olive oil cake is worth it.
The Torah repeats three times: “Do not seethe the kid in its mother’s milk.” At first glance, it seems like a simple ethical prohibition (and as a former goat owner, I deeply approve).
But by the time of the Talmud, the rabbis expanded on this simple commandment exponentially. Centuries of scholars and mystics have built upon it, delved into it, pulled it apart and added on to it. From it they’ve fashioned rules, about not cooking any milk together with any meat, separating meat and milk dishes, waiting hours between even eating meat and milk, so they don’t mix in your stomach. This cascade of debate—now shorthand for jokes about cheeseburgers—remains ongoing, including a contemporary argument whether cheese can be eaten with lab-grown meat.
And even if you don’t adhere to the rules, there are layers of profound commentary on the idea itself: the profanity of mixing meat, which is death, with milk, which is life.
To engage with the wealth of literature and commentary on these ideas, Naomi told me, “means that when you eat, you know who you are, and you’re connected to life and death with every bite you take.”
How a recipe evolves
Recipes connect us too. Just like rabbis build on past teachings, chefs and cookbook authors interpret, refine, and reinvent what came before. Culture, chemistry, time, and technology all play their part.
So Cecchini, the legendary Tuscan butcher behind Antica Macelleria Cecchini. created or learned the recipe for this cake, which he served to my late friend Judy Zeidler, the cookbook author he called his second mother, and to Nancy Silverton, chef, baker, restauranteur, author and, not least of all, creator of Nancy’s Fancy pretty wonderful gelato.
“After a seven-course fixed menu of meat dishes, Dario brings out this cake, cut into squares and stacked high on a plate,” Silverton wrote in her cookbook Mozza at Home. “He explains that it’s a rare dessert with no dairy—a nod to those who don’t mix meat with milk.”
We are among those who don’t serve dairy desserts after meat meals, and I’m always looking for what I call naturally pareve desserts, that is, desserts that don’t substitute non-dairy ingredients for dairy, but were just born that way. Silverton’s description of a bright but rich cake that uses olive oil as shortening grabbed me.
Then, Ruth Reichl, former Gourmet editor, in her newsletter La Briffe, shared her own trial-and-error journey adapting Silverton’s version of Dario’s cake for American kitchens. Some attempts were “dense and damp,” she wrote. “One even looked awful.”
But the final version? Nearly perfect.
So Ruth interpreted Nancy who interpreted Dario, who got the original from, well, like the laws of Torah themselves, who knows? These things come down to us as an unbroken but mysterious chain.
The second greatest mistake we make is to ignore what has come before us. But the greatest mistake we make is to think the way they are is the way they have to be, or the way they will always be.
So I read the different versions of Dario’s orange olive oil cake — Judy, Nancy, Ruth, Dario — then came up with an ever-so-slightly tweaked version of my own.
My adaptation
When I made the cake for Shabbat, I swapped the pine nuts for shelled pistachios—one of my guests had a severe pine nut allergy. As it turns out, pistachios add not just a pop of color but a richer, more distinctive flavor. Instead of an angel cake pan, I used a simple springform pan. And I reduced the sugar by two tablespoons.
A couple of tips if you make it:
Use Italian leavening. It’s worth ordering online. I used it later for cantucci di Prato, and it was magic.
Get the best oranges you can. I picked mine straight from my tree. If you need one, let me know.
A slice of wisdom
Yes, this is a lot of commentary for a slice of cake. But my side of the bookshelf is just as layered, rich, and intricate as Naomi’s.
As Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz, the great Talmud scholar, once wrote: “After one begins to study, and the more one learns, the world does not become simpler and smoother. On the contrary, in a certain sense it becomes more and more complicated, more and more complex.”
Fortunately, there’s cake.
Dario Cecchini’s orange olive oil cake
Ingredients
- ½ cup golden raisins
- 1/4 cup rum
- 1 1/2 navel oranges finely chopped (pulp and peel)
- 2 eggs
- 1 tsp salt
- 1 cup sugar (+ 2 tablespoons)
- ½ cup extra virgin olive oil
- 1 3/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
- 2 tsp Italian leavening powder
- 1/3 cup shelled pistachio nuts
- Powdered sugar for garnish
Instructions
- Bring the raisins and rum to a simmer in a very small saucepan over high heat. Turn off the heat and set aside for the raisins to absorb the rum for at least 30 minutes or up to overnight.
- Adjust an oven rack to the middle position and preheat the oven to 400°F.
- Spray a 10-inch springform pan generously with nonstick cooking spray and dust it lightly with flour.
- Leaving the peels attached, finely chop the oranges, remove any seeds and set aside.
- In a mixer with a whisk attachment, beat the eggs, Italian leavening, and ½ cup plus 2 tablespoons of the granulated sugar until the mixture thickens, 3 to 4 minutes. Gradually add the olive oil. Reduce the mixer speed to low. Slowly add the flour and raisins, mixing until they are well incorporated.
- Turn off the mixer. Remove the bowl from the stand. Fold the chopped oranges into the batter. Let it rest for 10 minutes, then turn into the prepared pan and sprinkle the pistachios over the top.
- Bake the cake for 10 minutes. Rotate the cake and lower the oven temperature to 325°F. Bake the cake for another 30 to 35 minutes, until the cake is golden brown and a toothpick inserted comes out clean, rotating the cake once during the baking time so it browns evenly. Remove the cake from the oven and set it aside to cool to room temperature.
- To serve, run a knife around the inside of the pan before opening it. Dust with powdered sugar.
Fresh fava bean salad with mint and caprone
This is a simple salad that lets the spring crop of fresh fava beans shine. The standard recipe calls for pecorino cheese, which is made from sheep’s milk. I was gifted a hunk of caprone, which is the goat’s milk variation, and I used it instead, along with fresh mint. Simple, perfect. You can peel the favas, and you probably should if they are big. But mine were fresh and small, so I just saved myself that chore and loved the result.
Fresh fava bean salad with mint and caprone
Ingredients
- 1 cup shelled fava beans peeling optional
- ¼ cup chopped fresh mint
- Shaved pecorino or caprone cheese
- Olive oil
- Lemon juice
- Salt and pepper
Instructions
- In a small saucepan, heat two cups water to a boil. In a medium bowl, add ice and cold water. Place beans in water and boil for 2-3 minutes, until just tender. Drain and immediately pour into the ice bath. After five minutes, remove with a strainer or slotted spoon and let drain.
- In a medium bowl, toss the beans with mint, shaved pecorino or caprone, a drizzle of olive oil, and a splash of lemon juice.
- Season with salt and pepper.
Fresh fava beans make a light, green springtime falafel
Earlier this week, a friend asked me why I decided to launch Foodaism. We had been talking about the state of the world, and more specifically the state of the Jews, and I understood what was behind her question: There are so many crises in politics, in the environment, in Israel — and you’re emailing falafel recipes?
Here’s my answer:
First, yes, I am posting a falafel recipe. New neighborhood friends, Renata and Jeff, came by this week and dropped off 20 pounds of fava beans that they had just picked from their front yard garden. Jeff said they plant the beans to improve their soil, but don’t really like eating them. I do! So I decided to turn some of them into fresh green fava bean falafel, and some into a fresh fava bean salad with mint and caprone.
Second, yes, I know there are Big Issues in the world. Over at The Forward, I write about those problems once a week, at least. I’ve been writing about the world’s problems for almost 30 years, and, FWIW, they seem to have only gotten worse.
Third, well, problems come and go. Leaders and crises come and go. Even countries come and go. But food lasts. Think about Passover, which we just finished celebrating. Or Shabbat, which is a few days away. The political and economic situation of the Jews that celebrated those days has changed drastically, unpredictably over the centuries. Matzo and challah, not so much. It’s not that recipes don’t change, but food is a throughline, a constant, an anchor in a vey tumultuous, ever-changing history. Have the Jews kept challah, to paraphrase Abraham Joshua Heschel, or has challah kept the Jews?
I’m not sure which side of that argument I’d take, but I know there’s a power in these recipes, in food, that transcends the craziness of the moment, that ensures a culture, a People, survives. We think of food as something that’s here one second, then eaten and gone the next. I write about food because I love it, but also because the things we think are permanent can be transitory, and the things we think are transitory can be permanent.
OK, falafel is a strange choice for one of those permanent transitory dishes, since it didn’t become associated with Jews until their resettlement in what would become the modern state of Israel. In Falafel Nation: Cuisine and the Making of a National Identity in Israel, Yael Ravivdocuments how Jewish immigrants to Mandatory Palestine adopted what was then a standard Arab snack throughout the region as a way to distance themselves from their European roots — and because it was cheap and delicious. By the 1950s it was a common snack food, and soon Israelis would decouple it from its Arab origins and create a mythology of authenticity around it, linking it to the Yemenite Jewish immigrants, who in fact, writes Raviv, learned to make it from the local Arabs.
In fact, sometime in the early 70s, on Israeli Independence Day at Stephen S. Wise Temple, I tasted my first falafel, which the teachers told us was the food of our Israeli brothers and sisters. I had never tasted anything like it — deep fried, spicy…beans? I devoured it, connecting through food to a country that would become so much a part of my life and work.
“Through symbols and histories, nations are depicted as absolute, eternal, and uniform,” Raviv, who teaches at New York University, writes. “The discourse of food exposes the vulnerability of a nation, its flexible and changeable nature, its many voices.”
That’s true with falafel, which like so many foods is a window into the complexities of culture — and its beauty.
Egyptian falafel is generally made with dried fava beans. Palestinian, Israeli and Lebanese falafel uses dried chickpeas. This recipe uses green fava beans and lots of parsley and cilantro to create a fresh, springtime version. I shell the favas but I don’t peel them before grinding them in a food processor. If you’re using frozen fava beans, let them defrost and dry them with a towel before using.
Fresh fava bean falafel
Ingredients
- 1 ½ cups shelled and peeled fresh fava beans
- 1 small onion chopped
- 2 garlic cloves
- ½ cup fresh parsley
- ½ cup fresh cilantro
- 1 tsp cumin
- ½ tsp ground coriander
- ½ tsp baking powder
- 2 –3 tbsp flour or chickpea flour
- Salt and pepper
- Good quality oil for frying
Instructions
- In a food processor, blend fava beans, herbs, onion, garlic, and spices into a slightly coarse paste.
- Add baking powder and chickpea flour; process until just firm enough to hold shape.
- Chill the mixture for at least 30 minutes. It helps them hold together.
- Shape into small balls or patties. Use two teaspoons to form small ovals, or splurge on a falafel maker.
- Fill a deep skillet with at least 1 inch of oil. Heat to 375 degrees. Carefully add the falafel without overcrowding the pan, and fry until golden brown, turning once.
- Remove with a slotted spoon and let drain on a paper towel-lined plate. Serve with tahini sauce, or stuffed in a pita with tomato, cucumber, pickles and tahina sauce.
Notes
Warm, soft homemade matzo
Midway through Passover, I’m tired of eating matzo. Actually, I’m over it after my first bite of the usual, hard flour-and-water matzo at the seder. I quickly switch to Yehuda’s gluten-free matzo, which is made from tapioca, rehydrated potato flakes, honey, egg yolks and vinegar. They’re basically Jewish Pringles, and, unlike the usual matzo, they won’t settle in your gut until Shavuot.
Then, this year, I read about soft matzo. Amid the rampant antisemitism on social media, there’s also some interesting semitism. I came across a Reddit poster who asked what should be the Fifth Question, “Why do we eat hard matzo?”
The fleeing Israelites didn’t have time for their bread to rise, but they did linger until it was extra crispy? Wouldn’t it make sense that matzo more closely resembled the soft, unleavened flat breads you find in Yemen, Ethiopia and Syria than hard crackers you find in a grocery store end cap?
On X, Isaac Choua, did an exhaustive examination of rabbinic sources and concluded, “Soft Maṣṣa isn’t a Sepharadi ‘custom.’ It was the norm for nearly two millennia. The shift to cracker-style Maṣṣa wasn’t halakhic—it was industrial: shelf life, war, storage, shipping.”
Think of the part of the seder when we make a sandwich from charoset and maror, korekh.
“The so-called ‘Hillel Sandwich’ wasn’t a sandwich,” writes Choua, “it was a wrap.”
Even more answers came from a thoughtful, deeply researched piece by Sam Lin-Sommer in the Forward from last year entitled, “No your matzo doesn’t have to be drier than the Sinai desert.”
“Scholars believe that, for much of matzo’s history, it has been thicker and softer than the stuff on many American supermarket shelves,” Sam wrote.
The advent of mass production and distribution, combined with a rabbinical preference for hard-cooked matzo that couldn’t possibly be subject to leavening, created the ubiquitous holy hardtack we all pretend to love.
“Ashkenazi rabbis still debate the merits of soft matzo,” wrote Sam, “but it’s more common in the Sephardic world, and remains a staple of Yemeni and Ethiopian passovers.”
After the seders, I decided to make my own soft matzo, adapted from one Mark Bittman published in the New York Times.
I rolled out the olive oil and salt-enriched dough, slapped it across the upturned bottom of a superheated wok, and watched as it bubbled and brown — but did not rise. The entire process took less than 10 minutes. I spread mashed fresh avocado over one of the warm matzos, and labne, za’atar and olive oil over the other. I rolled them up — absolutely delicious. You’ll find the exact recipe at Foodaism.
The lesson of the soft matzo is pretty clear: A tradition we grow up thinking can only be a certain way is more often than not itself a product of change and evolution. If there’s an aspect we think can be better, more humane — or more delicious — we can be part of that change. It all starts with asking questions, or, in my case, with indigestion.
Warm, soft matzo
Ingredients
- 2 cups flour
- ½ teaspoon salt
- ⅓ cup olive oil
- 1/2 – 3/4 cup water
- Sea salt optional
Instructions
- Put flour, salt and olive oil in a food processor. With the machine on, add ½ – 3/4 cup water through the feeder tube Continue to run machine until dough forms a ball and rides atop the blade.
- Turn the dough onto a floured cutting board. Cut dough into six balls — this is easiest if you cut the ball in thirds, then each third into half — and flatten each into a 6-inch disc. Use a rolling pin to roll each patty into a 10-12-inch circle. The shapes can be irregular, but the dough should be very thin.
- Put dough directly onto the hot griddle or wok. If you prefer the oven, lift onto ungreased cookie sheets and place in oven. Bake for about 2 to 3 minutes, keeping a very close eye on breads — they can burn very quickly.
- When they puff up and brown, flip and cook for another minute or so on second side. Repeat with all the dough and let cool completely.
- Slather hot matzo with: avocado and salt, labne, za’atar and olive oil, your favorite tuna or egg salad, or just eat warm.