Rosh Hashanah

These succulent stews, roasts, and piquantly spiced meat dishes are among our heartiest entrées. Slowly baked in casseroles or simmered in large stockpots, they'll suffuse your kitchen with wonderful aromas. Most of these well-stewed entrées were developed by Eastern European Jews, because the tough and sinewy cheaper cuts of meat they could afford required hours of cooking to become tender. But that's not the whole story; other meat recipes hail from the abundant sheep- producing regions of the Middle East, where lamb is traditional spring fare and the featured entrée at Sephardic Seders. Some entrées in this chapter are suitable for an elegant dinner party, while others consist of everyday dishes like meat loaf, corned beef hash, and potted meatballs.

This show-stopping presentation is for wowing guests when you only have a few minutes to prep and get something into the oven. Make sure you have butcher's twine on hand for tying the roast.
Meat
Non-gebrokts

For reasons that elude me, cakes are reputed to require long hours in the kitchen, when anyone who actually makes cakes knows that cookies are the true time suck. Cookies require measuring out portions and multiple batches. Cakes get mixed up and go into the oven all at once. The most complaisant ones even cool in their pans and require no icing. All of which is why if you look back in the Times archives at recipes from thirty or more years ago, when most people cooked every day, there were many more cake recipes. Cake was a staple you whipped up every couple of days, after the previous one had vanished into crumbs. Teddie's apple cake is a typical standby of the period. None of the ingredients are difficult to find—most are probably already in your pantry. Based on oil rather than butter, the cake has a light, airy crumb that's delicious while it lasts, with walnuts, raisins, and slivers of apple threaded through the cinnamon-scented cake. There is no icing, and no need for it. When I asked readers for their favorite recipes from the Times, this one was near the top, with thirty-seven votes. Like many of the most recommended recipes, it shares three qualities: ease, good flavor, and someone's name in its title. Unfortunately, I still have no idea who Teddie is.

The bris (circumcision) of my twins, Jake and Joey, was rather hectic. After Jake's turn, I was instructed by the mohel to take him upstairs and comfort him. That meant that I completely missed Joey's turn. I was starving and remembered that my friend Trudy Jacobson had brought me her challah. It has a unique sweetness from the honey, a very soft texture from the margarine, and I think the saffron performs some other magic to create a very tasty challah. The rising times are longer that my classic challah, but worth the time.

My friend Myriam Richard-Delorme in Paris is a great cook and she gave me this recipe. All you do is put a leg of lamb in a roasting pan with lots of cut-up tomatoes, onions, garlic, rosemary—and then pour honey over it to caramelize the lamb and tomatoes while they roast. Everything cooks in one pan and a few hours later I have the most succulent roast lamb, plus the tomatoes and pan juices become the vegetable and the sauce. OMG is it fabulous!

THIS SABBATH RICE DISH, typical of Provence, reveals the history both of pilau or pilaf, as it is called in French, and of Persian Jews who settled in the area near the Camargue, the rice-growing area of southwestern Provence located on the triangle of land between the two major tributaries of the Rhône River. Jews, first by barge and later by boat, used the river to bring goods here from the Mediterranean. The word and the dish pilau come from Persia, taking various forms as the dish traveled around the world. In India, it became pulao; in modern-day Iran, it is called polo; and in Provence, pelau or pilaf. Rice, and therefore pilaf, traveled with the Jews to Provence, where many Persian Jewish merchants and scholars settled and lived until the end of the fourteenth century or even later. These Jews, who traded rice, cooked it for the Sabbath with fragrant spices like nutmeg, garlic, cumin, cinnamon, and saffron. Some scholars believe that Jews brought saffron to Europe from Asia Minor for their Sabbath rice. The late Karen Hess, author of The Carolina Rice Kitchen, repeatedly told me that Jews first brought rice to the Camargue. In their Inventory of the Culinary Patrimony of France, Philip and Mary Hyman relate that emigrants from the Piedmont paid a dîme of rice to noblemen in the year 1497. And although pilau and riz au safran are no longer particularly Jewish dishes in Provence, they are clearly rooted in the Sabbath tradition. This simple recipe is typically eaten on Rosh Hashanah, alongside a symbolic whole roasted fish with a Sephardic sweet-and-sour greengage-plum sauce.

MOROCCAN COOKS USUALLY MAKE this tasty salad with Swiss chard, but I have seen it also with beet leaves. Eaten all year round, it is prepared by Moroccans on Rosh Hashanah for their Sephardic Seder, when they say a series of blessings over squash, leeks, dates, pomegranates, black-eyed peas, apples, the head of a fish or a lamb, and Swiss chard and beet greens.

Brandy, cinnamon, and lemon zest combine to give this tart unbelievable aroma and wonderful flavor.

When I was a student in France, Rose Minkel was a fixture at Friday night dinners at my friend Nanou’s home. Called Mémé, an endearing term for “Grandmother,” she brought with her the recipes from her family’s native Metz, a city in the province of Lorraine with a long Jewish presence. Though the Jews had been in Metz for many generations (some say the first Jews settled there in 221 C.E.), up until the eighteenth century they lived a very different life from non-Jews in the town. They paid extra taxes on meat, wines and liqueurs, and other provisions. It was easy to spot a Jew on the street, because the men wore yellow hats to distinguish them from the black-hat-wearing gentiles. But over time they did assimilate, and already at the beginning of the eighteenth century, the Jews of Metz began to speak French instead of Yiddish. One Rosh Hashanah recipe that I remember most fondly was this simple roast chicken with peeled apple quarters, cinnamon, sugar, and wine.

The compote would also be great with angel food cake or sorbet.

Porcini mushrooms reinvent a traditional Eastern European pilaf and add oomph. Try it as a meatless main course.

Bodino Stifado Me Praso Braises like this are perfect for meat with tough muscle tissue and tendons (which come from the part of the animal that works hard), a great example of poverty cooking. This less expensive cut of meat develops its own natural and luscious sauce as it cooks. You want a little marbling in the meat, because it melts down as you cook and adds a lot of flavor to the sauce. You can use brisket, shanks, shoulder—all fairly tough meats—but save the filet mignon for the grill or a pan. It takes a little time to cook and become tender, but it's a relatively easy setup, and once you get it onto the stove you don't have to worry about it for about an hour. So you can do your laundry, or walk the dog, or make a salad. A couple of days later, if you have any leftovers, you can shred the meat, then return the meat to the sauce and add your favorite pasta. The resulting dish is a Greek version of beef Stroganoff. The herbs are very important to the flavor development here, since I'm using water instead of stock, so use fresh herbs if possible.

Here's a great accompaniment for roast chicken or the perfect side dish to bring to a potluck feast.

Noodle kugels, or baked puddings, abound in Ashkenazic Jewish cookery, and this particular version makes an outstanding dessert or brunch dish. You'll find that the mild sweetness of coarsely grated Gala apples perks up the hearty richness.

The gefilte fish in Joseph Wechsberg's mouthwatering description is unfortunately a dish of the past. Today, most people buy frozen or bottled brands. Good cooks, however, insist on preparing the homemade variety for Friday night and the holidays. My late mother-in-law, Peshka Gerson, made it twice a year, at Passover and Rosh Hashanah. She used her mother's recipe, handed down orally, from Zamosc, Poland. Her only concession to modernity was making individual patties rather than stuffing the filling back into the skin as described by Wechsberg. In addition, her filling was less elaborate. Years ago, when I asked Peshka for her recipe, two of her sisters-in-law were present. They all agreed that the rule of thumb is one pound of fat fish to one pound of thin. They also preferred the Polish custom of adding a little sugar. (Lithuanians say sugar is added to freshen already unfresh fish. Needless to say, Lithuanians do not add sugar to their gefilte fish.) Peshka, Chuma, and Rushka disagreed, however, on the seasonings. Chuma insisted on more salt, and Rushka explained that a little almond extract would do the trick. They both took me aside, promising to show me the "real" way to make gefilte fish. I have used their two suggestions as variations on Peshka's basic recipe. Make your fish Lithuanian or Polish, with sugar or without, but just remember—it's the carrots and horseradish that really count! I have been making this recipe since the mid-1970s. The only difference is that I cook the fish for twenty minutes. My mother-in-law cooked it for two hours!

The following carrot cake perfectly illustrates the evolution of baking techniques over the last hundred years. Prior to 1850 in Europe, the leavening of baked goods depended on yeast or sour milk and baking soda. Cream of tartar was another possibility but was imported from Italy. With the invention of baking powder or monocalcium phosphate in the United States in 1869, immigrant Eastern European women quickly learned new ways to make cakes. Prior to the advent of baking powder, this particular cake was probably denser than it is today. The eggs may have been separated and the whites beaten stiff, with cream of tartar added, to make the cake rise a bit higher. The cream cheese frosting is certainly a twentieth-century addition.

As if by magic, this cake creates its own beautiful picture as it bakes. Spread a buttery dough onto a shallow pan and press apple wedges into the top; as the kuchen bakes the dough rises up to frame the apples. This is delicious served warm from the oven topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

A relatively new variety, Honeycrisps have a sweet, mellow flavor. They're very juicy, and when baked long and slow, their juices bubble and caramelize. These baked apples are best served slightly warm, but they are also great served cold for breakfast the next morning, topped with a dollop of yogurt. A V-slicer makes quick work of slicing the apples, but if you don't have one, a sharp sturdy knife will do the trick.

In the land of milk and honey, injera may be the staple, but it is not the only kind of bread. In the morning, it's dabo—honey bread—that graces the Ethiopian breakfast table. Unlike the pancakelike injera, dabo is a European-style loaf that is typically slathered with shiro, a chickpea spread. It highlights one of the distinctive characteristics of Ethiopian cooking: sweeteners are very rarely used, but an element of sweetness is introduced through other means, such as sugary coffees and teas; tej, a syrupy honey wine; or this dense breakfast bread, which lends a gentle sweetness to the start of the day.