Taste Memories

An Ode to Latkes

 

I feel so cheated. I'm (half) Jewish, and yet somehow have totally missed out on the bliss that is latkes until now. How is this even possible? How could the universe be so cruel and withholding as to deprive poor unwitting me of my culinary birthright? Well, universe, I'm pleased to announce that the worm has turned.

 

This small but important revelation occurred last Friday night, when Daniel eyed the contents of our pantry and shyly requested that I make us a certain something from his past. He's not one to ask for such favors too often, and his culinary needs are touchingly modest. He's the sort to patiently attack the mounting pile of dirty dishes while I whip up some ridiculously indulgent and complicated dinner that won't be ready until bedtime, when he'd be just as happy with pasta and broccoli. (At most, he occasionally suggests politely that using a fresh spoon for tasting the sauce each time might be a slight oversight on my part). So, when he asked me to make latkes, I was happy to oblige. And he got that same misty-eyed look when he talked about latkes that he gets when he talks about brisket or bagels. I think of it as the 'next year in Poland' look.

 

And now I believe I understand it. There is something distinctive about the pleasure of making and relishing food that one's ancestors have been gnoshing on for generations. And you know what? I think there must be a latke gene. Because even though we set out without the aid of a reliable recipe, we muddled along just fine, between what Daniel could remember and I could surmise. I have to say that, untraditional as it may be, I think the addition of a little grated apple to the batter was an inspired touch. All in all, this was the most delicious supper we've had in ages.

 

 

Potato-Apple Latkes

 

Ingredients:

 

For the batter:

2 ½ lb potatoes, peeled and coarsely grated (by hand) – we used Yukon gold, which I hear are excellent for latkes

2 granny smith apples, peeled and coarsely grated (again, by hand is probably best)

1 small onion, peeled and finely chopped

2 eggs

½ cup applesauce

½ cup flour

1 tbsp salt

 

Butter and oil, for frying

Sour cream and extra applesauce, for serving

 

Method:

 

Dry out the potato and apple as thoroughly as possible by wringing it in a tea towel.

 

Combine all the batter ingredients in a large bowl.

 

Place a large skillet over medium-high heat, and add a goodly amount of oil and butter to the pan (enough for a thinnish but even coating).

 

Fry dollops of the latke batter in batches until they are golden, delicious, and cooked through. Drain on paper towels and gobble with dollops of sour cream and extra applesauce.

 

Makes about 10 big ones.

Weekend Eats, in Pictures

Heirloom tomatoes, basil, and squash blossoms from Union Square Farmer's Market.

Heirloom tomato closeup: green zebras, stripy Russians, Italian Genovese, and cherry tomatoes.

Assorted (but unpictured) treats: battered squash blossoms stuffed with ricotta and agave nectar; peaches with Greek yoghurt, honey, and pistachio dust; corn picked that very morning; beef bourguignon and mash; edamame succotash (recipe below).

What a weekend.

Edamame Succotash

Ingredients:

 

½ cup shucked edamame, cooked and cooled

½ avocado, sliced

1 corn cob’s worth of corn kernels (I like to take mine off a leftover grilled cob so as to add a smoky punch to the salad; but boiled would be fine too)

A handful of cherry tomatoes, halved

A handful of cilantro

A handful of mint

For the dressing:

Juice of 2 limes

1 tbsp good extra virgin olive oil

2 scallions, minced

A pinch of good salt

Method:

 

Combine the salad ingredients attractively in a bowl; whisk up the dressing and pour it over them, making sure to get plenty on the avocado (the lime juice will stop it from browning). Toss gently to combine.

 

P.S. As the ingredient list suggests, this salad is basically a deconstructed guacamole. Thus, if I have any leftovers, I often blitz them in a blender and enjoy the results as a dip.

Leek and Summer Squash Sauté

 

I’m implacable. For years I insisted that I despised summer squash in all its forms, that it had a flavor so despicable as to defy description. This aversion made me very sad: Elizabeth David (who, as I have mentioned before, is my favorite food writer) said she could write a whole book about courgettes (known over here as zucchini). Her love and my hatred of summer squash combined to fill me with regret, incomprehension, and (most of all) self-doubt. There must be something dreadfully wrong with my palate, I would think to myself glumly, while thumbing through Is there a Nutmeg in the House?

 

Indeed, I hated summer squash so much that I can’t remember the last time I ate it. I never buy it, of course. But then some pattypan squash (the yellow, knobbly variety) stole away (the little sneak!) in our weekly organic vegetable box. I didn’t know what to do. But, in the end, the thought of wastage was even more unbearable to me than the thought of eating summer squash. So I decided to sauté them up with some leeks (because, really, how bad can something be if it’s got buttered leeks in it?)

 

Thus, I cooked this dish, resentfully; ate it, gingerly; and loved it, wholeheartedly. It’s sweet, delicate, and altogether moreish. Turns out that the way to overcome my summer squash aversion was simply eating the object of it.

 

I was initially elated, but my joy quickly dissipated in favor of existential despair. Who knows how many delicious summer squash dishes I’ve been turning my stubborn little nose up at for all those years?

 

Ingredients:

 

1 tsp butter

1 tsp olive oil

1 large or 2 small leeks, rinsed and finely sliced

1 lb summer squash (I used pattypan, but you can use all varieties of summer squash more or less interchangeably, I hear), cut into bite-sized cubes

A handful of fresh basil or Italian parsley, rough-chopped

Kosher salt

 

Method:

 

Place a large skillet over medium heat, and add the butter and olive oil. Wait until the butter is “hot but quiet.” (To quote a friend who also food-blogs, albeit anonymously.)

 

Add the squash and the leeks and a good pinch of salt. Sauté the vegetables for 15 – 20 minutes, stirring from time to time.

 

When the squash are soft and tinged brown and the leeks are a pleasant tangle, take the skillet off the heat, and add the fresh herbs.

 

Serves 4.

 

A bit of context: I served this as a side for these chicken skewers the first time, and this time with some chicken marinated in olive oil, za’atar, and a squeeze of lemon (recipe forthcoming). I am planning to have the leftovers folded into scrambled eggs tomorrow morning, for another cereal-free breakfast (OK, so I’m on a bit of a crusade here).

 

P.S. It occurs to me now that persistent and seemingly arbitrary aversions to particular vegetables run in my family, on my Father’s side. My darling Dad will not so much as look at an uncooked tomato, and my cousin goes green at the very mention of cauliflower. Neither has consumed their respective nemesis since childhood. I wonder if a little experiment is in order...

The Coleslaw Sandwich Principle

 

When my little sister was about six, there weren’t too many vegetable dishes that she ate readily. The primary exception was coleslaw, which my Mother discovered she loved.

Thus, my Mother – always understandably keen to get us to eat our vegetables – began to pack Lucy off to school with a coleslaw sandwich almost every day. Early during this period, I remember Lucy grabbing her lunchbox with enthusiasm. I think this lasted about a week. Then poor Lucy began to look less and less enthusiastic each morning, so deeply sick had she become of coleslaw sandwiches. She took a long time to tell my Mother, though – I gather she didn’t want to disappoint her, especially since Lucy’s supposed partiality for coleslaw had become family lore by then.

This brings me neatly to what I have consequently dubbed the coleslaw sandwich principle: even if you love a dish or ingredient (in fact, maybe especially if you love it), don’t eat it too frequently. I’ve unwittingly ruined numerous perfectly good foodstuffs for myself by flouting these guidelines. Peanut butter, tuna, gelatin-based desserts, sushi, ricotta cheese, turkey slices, walnuts – all spoiled for me by periods of reckless overuse. I can barely look at a jar of peanut butter anymore, and forget Reese’s pieces. It’s sort of sad.

There is one ingredient, however, to which the coleslaw sandwich principle does not apply: mayonnaise. I make my own almost every week, and also keep an emergency supply of Wholefoods’ excellent organic stuff in the fridge (I’m not a big fan of Hellman’s, though. It’s too sweet for me.) Anyway, no matter how frequently I consume mayonnaise, I never get sick of it – the only reason I pull back is for considerations calorific. So I made this slaw with a mayonnaise-based dressing to celebrate both the coleslaw sandwich rule, and the one crucial exception to it. I thoroughly enjoyed the results, but duly stopped myself going back for seconds.

Shrimp Slaw

Ingredients:

 

1 tsp olive oil

1lb raw shrimp, peeled and de-veined

1 head of cabbage

1 bunch of radishes

1 large cucumber, peeled

Kosher salt

For the dressing:

½ cup mayonnaise

½ cup half-and-half (I used fat-free, and it was fine)

1 tbsp tarragon

1 tbsp chardonnay vinegar

2 scallions

A pinch of good salt

1 tsp sugar (optional, and I didn’t include it because I dislike sweet salad dressings. You can do as you please, obviously.)

Method:

Chop the cabbage finely, and slice the radishes and cucumber with a mandolin (or grate them).

Place the vegetables in a large colander, and toss them with a tablespoon of salt. Leave them to sit for a few hours, and then squeeze out the excess liquid. (This step can be skipped, but it concentrates the vegetable’s flavor.)

Place a skillet over medium-high heat, and add the oil. Cook the shrimp until just pink (about a minute on each side), sprinkling them with a little kosher salt as they sizzle. (You’ll probably have to do this in two batches.)

Add the shrimp to the vegetables. (I do this while they’re still warm, which will cause the shrimp to wilt the cabbage just a tad. I like the effect, but if you want the slaw to be extra-crunchy, cool the shrimp thoroughly before adding them.)

Now, whizz all the dressing ingredients together in a blender. Taste and adjust for seasoning and acidity. Then pour the dressing over the vegetables and shrimp, and toss well to combine.

Eat, but proceed with caution. Not too much now!

Serves 4 – 6.