Jewish

I can't believe I'd never heard of this recipe until I was halfway through writing this cookbook and then only because my good friend Fran McCullough, a primo New York cookbook editor now retired and living in the historic town of Hillsborough just north of Chapel Hill, e-mailed one morning full of enthusiasm: "Have you ever heard of Atlanta Brisket?" She'd eaten it for the first time the night before at some local "food do" and was blown away by its flavor and succulence. A quick online search turned up this shocker. Eli N. Evans, my across-the-hall Gramercy Park co-op neighbor for nearly 20 years, is an aficionado of Atlanta Brisket. Who knew? President Emeritus of The Charles H. Revson Foundation of New York and like me a born-and-bred Tar Heel, Eli is the author of three acclaimed books: The Provincials: A Personal History of Jews in the South, Judah P. Benjamin: The Jewish Confederate, and The Lonely Days Were Sundays: Reflections of a Jewish Southerner. The irony here is that I'd hand recipe "tests" across the hall to Eli and his family, never dreaming that he knew a thing about cooking.

The eight days of Hanukkah, the Jewish celebration of lights, honor the sacred lamp in the Holy Temple, which burned for eight days even though it only contained enough oil for one. Traditionally, many Hanukkah foods celebrate the oil in addition to the light. One of the most common is the jelly doughnut, known as sufganiyah. The word derives from the Hebrew word for "sponge," an apt description for the texture of the doughnuts. I think they are more accurately "pillowy."

Russets are ideal for latkes. Their high starch content means you won't need flour to bind the pancakes. The result? More potato, and a crunchy (not cakey) texture.

Traditionally for Jewish holidays, these little pastries are perfect any time. While making rugelach may seem daunting, this recipe gives you helpful tips that cut the time and effort required.

I am a big fan of rugelach made with cream cheese, so I used soy cream cheese to make these. There are so many different fillings for rugelach; my favorite is apricot jam or chocolate. It is fun to make different flavors so that when you place them on a platter, you see rows of different color swirls. In my baking classes, I give the students a buffet of choices so they can create their own combinations. Here I've given you three fillings to choose from. If you prefer to make one type, simply double one of the filling recipes (each filling amount is enough for half the dough). Or you can divide the dough into four and make four types—any flavor of jam, coconut, raisins, currants, or any kind of chopped nuts make great fillings.

Sometime during the first year of my marriage, I visited my mother-in-law in her kitchen. There she was, listening to the radio, whistling (she is a formidable whistler) and rolling cream cheese dough around raisins and nuts to form the crescent-shaped cookies known as rugelach. I was spellbound—I'd had no idea that rugelach could be made at home. As far as I knew, rugelach, like ketchup or ships-in-bottles, were only made in laboratories. But here was my mother-in-law shaping the cookies with ease. And a short time later, there I was, eating them with ease. These cookies weren't like the rugelach my mother bought every week at the local German bakery—they were much better. I was so excited I asked for the recipe.
My mother-in-law wrote it out in her precise hand on a 3-x-5 index card. And, as she wrote, she told me that this recipe was not exactly the same as the one her mother used, that it had come from Mrs. Strauss, her next-door neighbor, and that she was sure I'd have no problem making the cookies as long as I didn't overmix the dough.
She was right. I was a newcomer to the world of baking, but I had no problem with the dough, the only potentially tricky part of the process.
Since then, I've made rugelach countless times, but nowadays my dough is even more foolproof because I make it in a food processor. I've also made a few other changes to the recipe. While my mother-in-law's rugelach were filled with cinnamon-sugared nuts, mine also include a slick of jam, some currants and a handful of chopped chocolate. This is a very old recipe, and I have no doubt that everyone who has made it has added or subtracted a little bit to make it her own—and my mom-in-law, Mrs. Strauss, and I expect you to do the same.

We're always experimenting with new flavor combinations, so once you get the basics down, have fun mixing and matching.

Our dad makes these every year on Hanukkah. And he makes a huge mess. He puts newspapers on the floor, uses every burner, and the whole house smells bad for a week. But they are super delicious and we had to include them in our book. We make them almost every weekend. We had our dad test the recipe.

Rae: This is an old-timey High Holiday vegetable side dish, sweetened with honey and raisins or prunes and, sadly, often simmered to mushy blandness. To get past that problem, roast the carrots first, to brown them and coax out their natural sweetness, and then bring everything together on the stove top at the end. Sunflower seeds add a nutty note to the chewy prunes and raisins.

Rae: We wanted to come up with a version of this Purim pastry that was light and crumbly but not dry, and these really fit the bill. At Mile End we make the three classic kinds: apricot, poppy seed, and prune. If you want to make a mixed batch, just make all three fillings, using a third of the amount of each of the filling ingredients called for below. Mile End's baker, Rich Maggi, swears by his tortilla press for flattening the dough, though a rolling pin will also do the trick.

My mother-in-law makes this stew almost every Shabbat because it is my sister-in-law's favorite! Whenever I buy quinces, I have to hide them because my children love to eat them raw! This fruit is not really meant to be eaten raw…it is meant for jams and stews. I guess my kids must be "hard-core" Persians! The quince tree originates from Iran and Caucasus. The Romans used its oil for perfume, while the Greeks enjoyed it cooked.

Quinoa is native to the Andes, not the Middle East, so it was unknown to the Jews fleeing Egypt during biblical times. With the recent rise of quinoa's popularity in the United States, and the fact that it's not a true grain but rather the seed of a broadleaf plant, some circles of Judaism have approved of and welcomed it to the Passover table, while others have not. If you feel comfortable serving it this Passover, you will love how it absorbs the vinaigrette, bright with lemon and enriched with finely grated hard-boiled eggs, and how it forms a tender bed for the ribbons of scallion and raw asparagus. Editor's Note: This recipe is part of Gourmet's Modern Menu for Passover. Menu also includes Wine-Braised Brisket with Tart Cherries and Amaretto Olive Oil Cake.

Beef brisket is the centerpiece of many Jewish holiday meals, particularly at Passover, and every family has their favorite way of preparing it. There are countless recipes out there, but how many do you need besides your grandmother's? At least one more: This one!
Why? Because the meat is slowly braised in Pinot Noir, and the cherry notes in the wine pair brilliantly with dried tart cherries, which plump up with winey beef juices to become little mini-pouches of flavor on their own. Add to that a bit of star anise, which perfumes the brisket and your home with an exotic and enticing hint of licorice. Season the mixture with the sweet-and-sour agrodolce dance of brown sugar and balsamic vinegar, and you have a brisket that is at once counterintuitively familiar and wonderfully different. Like all braised meats, brisket improves in flavor, and slices more easily, if made a day ahead and chilled (see Cooks' Notes). Editor's Note: This recipe is part of Gourmet's Modern Menu for Passover. Menu also includes Quinoa and Asparagus Salad with Mimosa Vinaigrette and Amaretto Olive Oil Cake.

The key to a delicious matzo ball soup is in the broth: lots of vegetables and aromatics, including slices of ginger root for a bit of heat, make a perfect vehicle for these matzo balls. Matzo balls can be a very personal thing: some like them light and fluffy, while others fall into the "hard as golf balls" camp. Filled with lots of fresh parsley and dill, these dumplings fall somewhere in between: not feather light, not too hard, but with just enough bite and presence to stand up to its flavorful broth.

Passover falls at the cusp of spring, and fresh asparagus on the table is one of the best ways to usher in the new season. Combined with the snap of green beans and sautéed with the silky, mild bite of green onions, it becomes a welcome pop of color and texture to the plate.

Haroseth, a symbolic seder food, alludes to the mortar that the Jews used to build the pyramids when enslaved by the Egyptian pharaoh. Though haroseth visually mimes the unappealing look of cement, its taste is actually a delicious combination of fresh or dried fruit, nuts, spices and wine. There are as many variations of haroseth as there are seder tables around the world, and all reflect a myriad of traditions. This recipe is inspired by my grandmother's simple grated apple, walnut, and cinnamon version, along with the flavors of my husband's Middle Eastern background.

Quivering cranberry slices that melt into the meat and slowly caramelize give this brisket its lovely character. Even better, it takes so little effort for this sweet alchemy to work. Roberta Greenberg, the long-time assistant to the rabbis at this well-known New York City synagogue and the keeper of this recipe, suggests reducing the sauce on the stove after reheating it if you prefer it thicker. It is good enough to make you convert.

Basically, this is what you'd offer your future in-laws to ensure their undying affection. This is a taste-great, feel-good classic Jewish brisket, but while the recipe has been in the family for years, Joan is not averse to a new tweak or twist: Add a jar of sun-dried tomatoes, dry or packed in oil, for a more intense flavor. Or add a 2-inch knob of ginger and a few large strips of lemon zest to the pot—remove them before serving. Note: "Not Too Gedempte Fleysch" means "Not too well stewed." I didn't know either.