What to make for Hanukah that’s traditional?  There’s little choice, but a good deal of variety within those few choices.

Okay, so here’s the story of Hanukah in a nutshell:  There was some political infighting between three guys vying for the High Priest spot in Judea that resulted in the murder of one of them, and in seriously pissing off their Syrian ruler, Antiochus, because the murdered guy was his pick for the top spot.  So Antiochus got mad at all the Jews because of these infighting knuckleheads (did I forget to mention they were Jewish?), shut their Temple down and forbid anyone from practicing Judaism anymore.  If you want a time frame, we’re talking the 2nd century BCE.  Eventually, Judah Maccabee, the son of a Jewish dissident priest who was hellbent on regaining religious freedoms, formed a guerilla army that successfully ousted Antiochus.  With Jerusalem now reclaimed, the Jews could reconsecrate their Temple and start worshipping there again.

If you’re unfamiliar with Jewish synagogues then you don’t know that they always contain a light called the Ner Tamid – Eternal Flame – that burns continually as a reminder of the eternal presence of God.  In my lifetime I’ve only ever seen the eternal lightbulb, but 2,200 years or so before Thomas Edison you can be sure oil lamps were de rigeur.       So the Jews set about re-consecrating  the Temple and getting the Ner Tamid burning again.  But there was only enough consecrated oil for one day.  I imagine a great debate over whether to light or not to light, with lots of yelling and tempers flying – think Alvy’s parents in Annie Hall and you get my vision of the scene.  Well, the pro-lighters won, so even with only one day’s worth of lamp oil they rekindled the eternal flame, and while some folks got busy praying, some others ran out (no doubt half hysterical) to prepare more lamp oil, which they knew would take eight days.  Amazingly, that one day’s worth of lamp oil burned straight through the entire eight days.  Interpreted as an affirmation of the presence of God, that’s the miracle of Hanukah, the Festival of Lights, and that’s what we commemorate for eight days every December, lighting candles every night and gambling for chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil that generally taste as waxy as the candles burning beside them (I guess the gambling bit is all about the big gamble they took in lighting that little bit of oil prematurely).

Being Jews, we also celebrate festivals with food – symbolic food, in this case things that emphasize the use of oil.  Funny how all we seem to be able to come up with is fried pancakes, but there you go.  The Ashkenazi (German-Jewish) version is latkes – potato & onion pancakes – traditionally served with applesauce and, I’m sorry to say, traditionally followed by a severe case of heartburn.  The Sephardic version is more or less the same, minus the heartburn (what can I tell you).  We make keftes de prasa – leek pancakes or leek & potato pancakes – and bimuelos.  If you’ve been to Spain and eaten buñuelos – sinfully delicious, deep-fried, moist donuts rolled in granular sugar – then you’ve eaten bimuelos. 

One quick little story before I start rolling out the recipes.  Here in Spain my house (read non-winterized-cottage-never-intended-for-more-than-summer-use-but-now-rented-year-round-to-a-foolish-American) has no central heating and one very inefficient fireplace.  A couple of years ago I bought an oil-filled electric radiator but nearly went bankrupt using it, so this year I splurged on a fancy ceramic stove that runs on butane.  The day I brought it home I fired that baby up and got the whole place nice and toasty in no time flat.  Paradise.  But the butane tank ran out after five days - so much for my economical heating solution – and I was beside myself, because winter in my house is a long, damp affair.  Well, in my own little re-enactment of the Maccabees’ miracle moment, I replaced the empty tank and the new one’s been going full throttle for a good ten days now.   No kidding.

Have a Happy Hanukah.

Keftes de Prasa (Ottoman-Sephardic Leek Pancakes) – version 1

Interestingly, this very simple version of keftes de prasa is reminiscent of Chinese scallion pancakes.

  • 4 large leeks (whites & tenderest green part only
  •  2 eggs 
  • 1/2 c. matza meal  
  •  sunflower oil
  • salt & freshly ground black pepper to taste

Directions

Slice the leeks crosswise into 2-inch lengths and cut these segments lengthwise in quarters.  Rinse well in a bowl of cold water and drain.  If the leeks are very sandy you’ll have to rinse them in two or three changes of water. 

Put the cleaned leeks into a saucepan, add cold water just to cover and a little salt.  Bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer and cook for a few minutes until the leeks are soft but not mushy.  Parboiling isn’t quite enough, but don’t overdo it either.  Drain the leeks in a colander and, when cool enough to handle, gently squeeze out the excess water.

Break the eggs into a bowl that’s large enough to hold all the ingredients.  Don’t beat them.  Add the leeks, matza meal, some salt and pepper to taste.  Mix well with a fork and let rest a few minutes to allow the egg to fully moisten the matza meal.  The leeks shouldn’t be swimming in egg here, so, if your batter seems very loose, at this point you can add a little more matza meal.

Heat a generous amount of sunflower oil in a skillet – about 1/4 inch – over a medium-high flame.  When the oil is hot (but not smoking), drop large spoonfuls of the mixture into the pan.  If they don’t flatten out by themselves, gently flatten them with a spatula.  Fry the keftes on one side until golden, then flip them over to finish cooking on the other side.  Drain on paper towels.  Serve warm or at room temperature.

More recipes tomorrow.

Advertisement