Hanukkah

That's right, schmaltz oatmeal cookies. We had to have something sweet! The schmaltz does have a great effect here—it doesn't make the cookie taste like chicken, but it does give it a savory depth to balance the sweetness. So using schmaltz in a cookie turns out to be a fascinating and useful example of balancing sweet with a savory ingredient. I love the tart, dense dried cherries in these cookies, but this recipe is a great all-purpose vehicle for whatever garnish you want to give them—raisins, dried cranberries, walnuts, pecans or a mixture of any or all of the above.

Jarred kimchi delivers flavor and color in this roast chicken dish.

Smoked and fresh fish join forces in this much-appreciated update to the often-maligned gefilte fish. To get the job done faster, use two skillets.

Hanukkah is the celebration of ritual oil that miraculously lasted for eight days instead of one, which is why oil factors prominently during the holiday. While latkes (potato pancakes pan-fried in oil) are traditional—and we've never met a latke we didn't love—why not end the meal this year with apple fritters that are as tender and delicate as cake doughnuts? Drizzled with an orange glaze, they echo the flavors of the winter season. Editor's Note: This recipe is part of Gourmet's Modern Menu for A Hanukkah Feast. Menu also includes Salmon with Potato "Scales" and Swiss Chard with Horseradish .

If you're trying to incorporate more dark leafy greens into your meals, Swiss chard is a great starter vegetable. It cooks quickly compared to kale and collards, and the stems are as delicious as the leaves. In fact, the stems are the prized portion of the plant in Provence, and that's not something kale or collards can brag about. We prefer green Swiss chard in this recipe because it cooks up a brighter green than red or rainbow chard and the stems are more tender, but if you can't find the green, don't hesitate to use other chards. Editor's Note: This recipe is part of Gourmet's Modern Menu for A Hanukkah Feast. Menu also includes Salmon with Potato "Scales" and Apple Fritters with Orange Glaze .

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.

Roast these sweet, tangy carrots—a perfect foil for the deliciously fatty rib roast—while the beef rests.

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.

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.

This is the go-to recipe for knowledgeable brisket lovers. Who then share it with others. Who share it with—perhaps—the Obamas and other notable families. So warm and welcoming, the secret is what Nach did way before anyone else: slice the meat midway through cooking. If you serve this the day after you make it, reheat, covered, for about 1 hour in a 325°F oven.

There are countless variations on this much-loved recipe, which has its origins in kosher cooking. By making a meatless (pareve) version of chopped liver, Jews who keep kosher get to enjoy a much-loved dish while sticking to the dietary requirements of nonmeat meals. While this is often served as a Sabbath appetizer, particularly in homes with Ashkenazic roots, and also as a seder dish, novelist Ellen Levine brings it to the annual potluck picnic that gathers together writers and illustrators of children's and young-adult books from all over new England. It's always swiftly scarfed up. As odd as it may sound to prepare a vegetarian spread whose name references an animal organ, somehow this dish lacks the turn-up-your-nose unpleasantness of many pseudo-meat dishes. Maybe this is because its origins are based in authentic foodways. But it could just as well be because it is very versatile and just plain good. as with all home-style dishes, from bouillabaisse to barbecue to gumbo, there are many versions of pareve chopped liver, and whichever one you grew up with is, to you, the one and only. I've attempted to give at least a nod to some of these variations following the main recipe, but this is my take on Ellen's. Try it as a sandwich spread or with crudités; or serve it with crisp crackers, toasted baguette slices, or, at Passover, matzoh.

A babka can be frozen in the pan for up to a month before baking. When ready to bake, remove from freezer; let stand at room temperature for about five hours. Be careful not to underbake; otherwise, the center may not set properly.