Fondue (sans wine)

It's just not New Year's Eve without fondue.  Fireworks?  No need.  Silly hats?  No thank you.  Staying up until midnight?  Usually not accomplished.  But dinner absolutely needs to be fondue.

New Year's Eve fondue is a last hurrah if January means salads and yoga.  It's a warm belly if you're in a climate that requires that kind of thing in the deep, dark days of winter.  It's romance, a meal that begs to be shared, and of course all that comes with having dropped your bread in the pot.  It's really just a fantastic excuse to melt up some cheese, serve it with bread, and call it dinner.

There's exactly one correct way to make classic fondue, and I am not going to tell you that way.  In fact, by omitting the wine (and the kirsch), I am probably breaking the collective hearts of all who live in Switzerland (where it is, by the way, just "la fondue" with no qualifier - there is no such thing as "cheese fondue").  But with a pregnant wife who is not a risk taker, I needed to find a way to make this tradition non-alcoholic.

A dry white wine adds an acidity to the fondue that serves to cut the rich cheese.  I managed to mimic the flavor by juicing a lemon, and the result was almost - almost - the perfect imitation of the real thing.  We certainly ate up every last bite with no complaints.  And next year, with a tiny little person by our side, we may not make it to midnight, but we will be pouring white wine in our first fondue as a family.

Fondue
Comfortably serves 2, probably more suited for 3; double to serve a crowd

1 clove garlic, smashed
1/4 lb Gruyere, shredded
1/4 lb Emmental, shredded
2 T flour
juice from two lemons

Rub a heavy pan with the garlic clove.  Toss the cheeses with the flour.  Pour the lemon juice in the pan, and heat over medium heat until boiling.  Add the cheeses, and heat slowing, stirring constantly, until melted.

When cheese is bubbling, taste and see if it needs more lemon juice.  Serve hot with cubes of bread you baked a few days ago.

Buckeyes

As the Jewish partner in our family, I apparently should not have any dog in this fight, but I believe that children should believe in Santa.  At least for a little while.  I could say it's all about the magic of the season, the innocence of children, but I hold this belief for selfish reasons.  Mostly the cookies.  Cookies that are left out for Santa are cookies that will not scarfed down by little children.  And you know which cookies Santa likes best?  Buckeyes.

While technically more of a confection, when I think Christmas cookies, I think buckeyes.  My dad made them around this time every year, our whole kitchen full of the little balls on toothpicks, hardening upside down so as to leave the bottoms completely rounded and smooth.

As quite the peanut butter fiend, buckeyes are both my best and worst friend (worst in that they are filled with everything that is terrible for you and may undo several weeks of workouts in one sitting).  In this version, I've cut out some sugar and added some cream cheese, resulting in a less shockingly sweet candy, a candy that someone like, say, Santa might enjoy.  (And wondering about the name?  They look like the but from a buckeye tree, similar to a chestnut.)

Buckeyes
Makes about 40

1/4 c cream cheese, softened
1 1/2 c smooth peanut butter
1 c graham cracker crumbs
3 c powdered sugar
10 T butter, melted
12 oz dark chocolate

Beat cream cheese and peanut butter together until combined.  Add graham cracker crumbs and beat for another minute.  Add sugar and butter, and mix until everything is combined.  Scrape down the bowl and mix again.

Melt the chocolate over a double boiler, and let it mostly cool.  Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper.  Scoop out a tablespoon of the peanut butter filling at a time, and form small balls.  One at a time, dip each ball into the chocolate using a fork or skewer.  Roll the candy around in the chocolate until coated except for one uncoated circle.  Place back on parchment paper to cool until hardened.  Alternatively, place skewer in a cardboard box or piece of foam to keep the buckeyes suspended until the bottom cools, so as to not flatten them.

Ham Steak with Hazelnut Sauce

I'll admit it.  I might be Jewish, but I love Christmas.  I love the tree and all the trimmings.  I love making, hanging, and filling stockings.  I love Christmas music, even the cheesy stuff.  I love lighting candles and singing Silent Night.  I love cookies for Santa.  And I love a big Christmas dinner.

But I don't know how to do Christmas dinner.  For me, it's always been Chinese takeout, and my wife doesn't seem to have any particular traditions.  Should it be a goose?  Duck?  Ham?  Pot roast?  Since the Christmas celebrating part of our family is all German, I wanted to go no holds barred German feast - a ham with cabbage, potatoes, and all the fixings.

Baking a ham for two seemed silly.  Honestly, making any traditional Christmas dish for two is pretty difficult.  These feasts were designed to be just that - feasts, shared with every member of your family.  But that was simply not to be this year, and so splitting a ham steak seemed to make the most sense.  And thankfully that is the way we went, because this is one of the more delicious things I have ever made.  It's probably our last Christmas for two ever, and even if half of the pair is actually Jewish, it was quite the enjoyable day.

Ham Steak with Hazelnut Sauce
Serves 2

2 T butter
1 onion, thinly sliced
2 t canola oil
1 1/4-inch thick cooked ham steak
1/2 c heavy cream
2 T Dijon mustard
1/4 c hazelnuts, toasted and finely ground
salt and pepper
3 T bread crumbs
2 sprigs rosemary
1 T chives, finely chopped

Heat oven to 400 degrees.  Grease a baking dish with 1 tablespoon butter.  Arrange onion slices on bottom. Bake until soft, about 15 minutes.

Heat oil in a cast iron skillet over medium high heat.  Sear ham steak, about 3 minutes per side.  Transfer to a plate.  Add cream and mustard to skillet, and cook for 2 minutes.  Add hazelnuts, and season with salt and pepper.  Pour sauce over onions in baking dish.  Place steak on top of onions and sauce.

Melt remaining butter and combine with bread crumbs.  Coat steak with bread crumb mixture, and place rosemary on top.  Bake until hot, about 15 minutes.  Garnish with chives.

Sweet Potato Pancakes

I thought I might be starchy vegetable pancaked out.  After a week containing four types of latkes, perhaps it was time for a break.  But when you get a craving that you can't quite shake, sometimes you just have to give in.  And when it's a craving for sweet potato pancakes (and not, say, an ice cream sundae), I think it's 

perfectly acceptable to cave.

I love sweet potatoes.  As we speak, I have five pre-baked sweet potatoes in the fridge, wrapped in aluminum foil, waiting for me to grab them on the way out of the house.  Nothing hits the spot after a hard workout than a cold baked sweet potato.  Or maybe that's just me.  But even if you think that is weird, you will not be able to help falling in love with these pancakes. 

 What I appreciate most in this recipe, and in any recipe really, is the simplicity.  Sweet potatoes are so wonderful, they really only need a few dashes of this and that to enhance their flavor and shine.  They are warm and crispy and starchy, just what you might be looking for in a late December dinner, but they are also packed full of everything that is good for you, which is exactly what you might be looking for in a few short weeks.

Sweet Potato Pancakes

Serves 4

1 3/4 lb sweet potatoes, cut into large chunks
2 t soy sauce
1 clove garlic, minced
1/4 c chives, minced
3/4 t salt
1/2 flour
1 egg
butter

Steam the potatoes until tender, about 30 minutes, depending on the size of your chunks.  Let drain in a colander for an hour.

Mash potatoes with soy sauce, garlic, chives, salt, and flour.  If batter is too wet, add more flour.  Add egg and combine.

Melt enough butter in a cast iron skillet to generously coat the bottom.  Warm over medium heat heat.  Drop batter, a few tablespoons at a time, into the hot skillet, and flatten each.  Cook about 4 minutes, or until well browned, and flip.  Cook another 4 minutes on the other side, and remove from pan.  Repeat until all batter is used.

Mini Sufganiyot

Eight nights of latkes was perhaps a bit too optimistic.  Or a bit too hard on the digestive system, maybe.  It's probably a good thing we didn't make it, for the sake of the effort we would have to put in to undo the effects of eight days of deep fried carbs.  But it was worth a try (and I have some good baked latkes up my sleeve for next year).

You can't see Chanukah go, however, without frying up one more thing: sufganiyot.  Jelly donuts, as they are commonly known, are one of the most popular Chanukah treats, and I would never pass up a chance to make them.  However, if you are looking to consume them by the handful, which you will definitely want to do, you might want to go for this version, which makes them slightly smaller.  We're not talking tiny here, but we are saving your waist just a little.

If you don't have a deep fryer or a candy thermometer, STOP!  I cannot stress enough how impossible it is to make a quality donut without measuring the temperature of the frying oil.  Too hot, and you'll burn the outside long before the inside cooks, resulting in a goopy mess of dough.  Not hot enough, and those balls of dough will simply never cook.  So get yourself a thermometer and go at it.  But maybe make a double batch if you are headed to a Chanukah party (as I was) as these go fast.

Mini sufganiyot
Makes about 40

3 1/2 c flour
2 1/4 t yeast
1/2 t cinnamon
1 c water
1/3 c sugar
2 T vegetable oil
1/2 t salt
1 egg
1/2 t vanilla
1/4 c strawberry jam
oil, for frying
sugar, for coating

Mix together 3 1/4 cups flour, yeast, and cinnamon in a large bowl.  In a medium saucepan, mix water, sugar, oil, and salt.  Heat to 120 degrees.  Add to the flour mixture, and mix in egg and vanilla.  Beat for 3 minutes, and add the remaining 1/4 cup of flour.  Knead until smooth and elastic, about 5 minutes.

Cover dough and let rise until it has doubled in size, about an hour.

Punch down dough.  Cover and let rise for another 10 minutes.

Fill a large pot with several inches of oil, and heat to 365 degrees.  Roll out dough, and cut into about 1 1/2 inch portions.  Repeat with all dough.  Place about a teaspoon of jam in the middle of each circle, and seal inside by rolling each potion into a ball.  Fry for about 2 minutes, flipping half way through, until donuts are golden brown.

Immediately drain on paper towels, and roll hot donuts in sugar.

The Fourth Night: Parsnip Latkes

Names have been a topic often discussed around these parts lately.  Our future offspring have been named many times over, and we always mull over the same questions.  Which names honor a Jewish heritage and a Puritan one?  How can one name bridge the gap between ships that crossed the Atlantic 300 years apart?

These latkes feel like the food version of whatever name that might be.  Latkes are decidedly Jewish, eaten in remembrance of the Chanukah miracle (thankfully for us, the miracle involved oil and not spinach).  But when I think parsnips, I think Shakers, Quakers, and early settlers of the New England colonies.  Maybe it's because we eat them at Thanksgiving, but I equate those carrot-like roots, with a subtle honey or butterscotch flavor, with Pilgrims.

I don't think the Pilgrims ever shredded their parsnips and fried them, and perhaps the Jews never thought to make a latke out of anything but potatoes (although apparently the original latke was made with cheese, like a blintz).  But in these times of Tex Mex, Asian fusion, and taco pizzas, we don't shy away from marrying two (or more) different cuisines.  You can give it any name you'd like, but mostly you'll be calling it delicious.

Parsnip Latkes
Makes about 10 latkes

1/4 lb potato
1/2 lb parsnips
1 1/2 t lemon juice
2 T flour
1/2 t baking powder
1 egg
1 T chopped fresh dill
salt and pepper
oil, for frying
sour cream and more chopped fresh dill, for serving

Grate potato and parsnips on the largest hole of a box grater or food processor.  (You can peel them first if you would like.)  Transfer to a clean dishtowel, and wring out liquid.  Place in a medium bowl.

Add lemon juice, flour, and baking powder, and season with salt and pepper.  Toss.  Beat egg and add to mixture.  Stir until evenly coated.

Heat 3 tablespoons of oil in a heavy skillet.  Drop spoonfuls of batter into heated skillet, and press down to flatten.  After 3 to 4 minutes, flip latkes over and fry the other side.  Repeat for all the batter, adding more oil if needed.

Mix dill and sour cream together to make a sauce, and serve with the hot latkes.

The Third Night: Carrot Latkes

Turns out that you can pretty much shred anything, mix it up with an egg, flour, and baking soda, fry it, and call it a latke.  Which works out well for me because I often have a bunch of carrots slowly turning to mush in my vegetable drawer.  They come in just about every CSA box, and they are a pain to use up by the time the next bunch comes along.  But not tonight, my friends.  Tonight they are getting shredded and fried.

While I don't tend to work carrots into too many dishes, I do have one favorite salad that uses them up when I need a quick and healthy lunch.  Carrots' natural sweetness pairs well with what I think of as the Middle Eastern spice set: cumin, coriander, caraway, and whatever else you might throw into a batch of falafel.

And so, with latke ideas running thing, I attempted to make this salad in a latke form.  I made it up as I went along, adding a bit of this and a bit of that.  The results were outstanding.  I shouldn't be surprised, as the best dishes often come from kitchen experiments.  I know we have five nights to go, but I might declare these the early winners of the week.

Carrot Latkes
Makes about 10 latkes

1/2 lb carrots
1/2 t baking powder
1 t cumin
1 t coriander
2 T oatmeal
2 T flour
1 egg
salt
oil, for frying

Grate your carrots using the largest holes in a box grater or your food processor.  Mix in all the dry ingredients, and stir until combined.  Beat egg, and add to the carrot mixture.  Mix well.  Season with salt.

Heat 1/2 an inch of oil in a heavy skillet.  Fry a couple of tablespoons of batter at a time, pressing down with a spatula to flatten.  Fry until golden brown, about 5 minutes.  Flip and repeat.

The Second Night: Apple Latkes

There is definitely a certain perfection to the potato latke.  We're talking about a starchy vegetable, chopped up with some onion, and deep fried to a crisp.  It's basically the definition of comfort food.  But is it the definition of Chanukah?  Certainly it's not the potato that carries the symbolism.  We're celebrating the miracle of a one-day supply of consecrated oil burning for eight days; it's not the miracle of the long-lasting potato.

And so we can fry anything to fulfill the custom of eating oil-laden foods on Chanukah (I'm pretty sure it's not a commandment).  Why should potatoes have all the fun?  If you really think about it (or ask anyone at a county fair), anything can be fried, and pretty much anything is delicious in such a state.

By making a latke out of fruit, we move out of the appetizer category and into dessert (or, dare I suggest it, breakfast).  Sour cream balances out the sweetness, but my wife happily smothered these in apple sauce, so feel free to do as you like.  Ice cream?  Caramel?  But try to take it easy; we have six more days to go, folks.

Apple Latkes
Makes about 10

1 lb firm cooking apples
1 T lemon juice
6 T flour
1 T sugar
1 t baking powder
1/2 t cinnamon
2 eggs
butter (about 2 T)
sour cream for topping

Grate your apples using the largest holes on a box grater.  You can peel and core them first, but I just want for it.  I like to keep skins in my dishes whenever possible.  Place grated apple in a clean dishtowel and wring out the juice.  If you'd like to keep the juice for later, wring over a bowl.

Mix apple with lemon juice, flour, sugar, baking powder, and cinnamon.  Beat eggs and mix into apple mixture to form a batter.

Heat a heavy skillet over medium heat and melt butter.  Drop spoonfuls of batter into skillet, and flatten them with a spatula.  Fry until golden brown, about 5 minutes, and flip.  Fry the other side and remove from skillet.  Repeat with remaining batter (you can keep the first ones warm in a barely heated oven if you'd like).  Serve with sour cream (or whatever).

The First Night: Potato Latkes

It's latke week in the Wildcat kitchen.  For the first time in several years, Chanukah falls completely outside of Christmas, which means we can give it all the attention with no yuletide distractions.  Because let's be honest, Chanukah is no where near as important a holiday as Christmas, so the latter takes precedence when a choice needs to be made.  But this week, it's all about the liberation of the Temple, about eight days of oil, about light into darkness, about dreidels and gambling, and of course, about latkes.

Because our family will be expanding next year, I've been thinking a lot about creating memories and passing on traditions.  For Jews, a lot of the traditions happen around the kitchen or dining room table.  We celebrate by cooking and eating together, and the tastes and smells of certain foods bind us together as a people.  We may disagree about just about everything (including how to make the perfect latke), but our sensory memories connect us with our shared history.

And so, eight nights of latkes.  It's a tradition my wife can get behind without memorizing any prayers or reading any Hebrew letters.  It's a memory my children will have, even if they don't remember the significance.  Knowing our history is important; the story of Chanukah is one of struggle and victory and miracles.  But perhaps even more important is connecting with our families, struggling with our own questions, and celebrating our small victories.  If we can pass some small part of that on to our children, that will be a real miracle.

 

Potato Latkes
Makes about 10 pancakes

1 1/2 lbs potatoes
1/2 onion
1 egg
1/2 t salt
2 T flour
vegetable oil, for frying
apple sauce and sour cream, for serving

Wash potatoes and grate into a large bowl using the largest holes on a box grater.  Peel the onion and grate as well.  Add to potatoes.

Beat the egg with the salt and flour, and add everything to the potato mixture.  Mix well.

Heat 1/2 an inch of vegetable oil in a heavy skillet.  Drop balls of batter into the hot oil, and flatten with a spatula.  Let fry until golden brown, about three minutes.  Flip and fry the other side.  Remove and drain.  Continue with remainder of batter.

Serve with applesauce and sour cream

Jellied Cranberry Sauce

Growing up in Massachusetts, enjoying cranberries was practically required, like being a Red Sox fan or adoring the Kennedys.  And I do like cranberries; I like cranberry juice, I like a handful of dried cranberries, and I like Mama Stamberg's Cranberry Relish, which has always been the cranberry dish of choice at my Thanksgiving meals.

But I could never get behind the traditional cranberry sauce on most Thanksgiving tables.  For me, it comes down to not liking jello; it's the consistency more than the flavor.  But this year, I decided to go for it.  But I wasn't going to be opening a can of the stuff and plopping it down on a plate; that's not how we do things around here.  If I was going to do this thing, I was going to do it right.

Turns out it's really not that difficult at all.  You boil cranberries, sugar, and water, add some gelatin, and you let it set.  Pretty much your standard jello procedure.  And pretty much your standard jello result, too.  I'm glad I had the experience once, and I'm glad I felt decidedly meta by molding it in an aluminum can, but next year, it will be back to Mama Stamberg's for me.  However, if you don't have a strong aversion to jello, I'd highly recommend this version over the can.  You'll impress your guests in a way that nothing off the shelf ever will.

Jellied Cranberry Sauce
Makes about 2 cups

24 oz cranberries
1 1/2 c sugar
1 1/2 c + 1/6 c water
1 T unflavored gelatin

Bring cranberries, sugar, and 1 1/2 cups water to a boil in a large pot.  Stir until sugar has dissolved.  Reduce to a simmer, and cook, stirring occasionally, for about 15 minutes.

Pour mixture into a fine-mesh sieve and set over a large bowl.  Let liquids drain into bowl for half an hour.

Stir together gelatin and remaining water.  Let stand for a minute.  Bring half a cup of the cranberry liquid to a simmer in a small saucepan, and add the gelatin mixture.  Stir well.  Add back into the rest of the cranberry liquid.

Lightly oil your mold* and fill with mixture.  Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 12 hours before unmolding.

*I used a clean can.  You can double the recipe and use a jello mold or bundt pan.