Alef: The NEXT Conversation
Eating Israel
By Anna Fishman
“Food is our common ground, a universal experience”
~James Beard
My ten day trip to Israel peaked on day three at Mahane Yehuda market in Jerusalem. Established in the 19th century on an empty lot, the market was one of the only available shopping destinations for residents outside the Old City. Today, rows upon rows of stalls between Jaffa Road and Agrippas Street sell tables of fresh fruits, piles of nuts, buckets of brilliant spices, bricks of soft white cheese, and even non-food items like shoes and belts. Luckily, the market was relatively empty during my visit- no lines and easy access to the piles of fresh pita with and without za’atar, fluffy jelly donuts, and filo pastries at evenly spaced bakeries. While meandering from vendor to vendor, an intense grazing reverie was interrupted. I was literally double fisting a lafa falafel and a piece of fluffy white halvah as the comment, “Israeli food is so boring,” floated above the market hum.
And no, this was not the opinion of a homesick travel companion who missed hamburgers and pork ribs. Rather, the statemen came from a 20 year old local with an itch to travel to the US after his service in the army. Ironic- here I was, thinking that American food is boring. How could he possibly think that a country with such an amazing market has mundane cuisine? Taking a step back, I considered his though. Israeli food is very basically Mediterranean- grilled meat, olives, pickled vegetables, hummus, pita, lafa, falafel, and shakshuka, are staples. Foreign food that could inject variety into local cuisine isn’t highly evolved.
I was beginning to see the Israeli’s point. One thing can be said for American cuisine- we are foreign food connoisseurs. After copious amounts of travel, I came to the realization that no other country matches our infamous ability to rip off another’s national dish and make it better. Ever tried a softer, chewier bagel than one in New York? Certainly not in Eastern Europe, home of this boiled carbohydrate, where it lacks texture and bite. How about General Tso’s Chicken, one of the most popular menu items in Chinese restaurants? Completely invented in the US. Ironically, this dish has backpedaled its way to China in Beijing’s tourist restaurants. Pizza? So much better in New York than Rome. Indian, Thai, Vietnamese, Japanese… all are available even in medium-sized US cities. Perhaps this is what my new Israeli friend was referring to?
He clarified, “I can get pita in the US if I want.” Hold on, buddy. Ethnic food aside, if you think for a second that the soft, chewy, fluffy pita from an Israeli market can be found readily in the US… then dream on. If you’re lucky, a warm pita may be hunted down at a decent Mediterranean restaurant. In neighborhood grocery stores where more Americans shop, you’ll find only dense, cold, crumbly pre-packaged pita that tastes more like cardboard than bread. And hummus? Even at even the most modest Israeli shawarma stand, hummus tastes like fluffy silk- so readily available it is taken for granted. Meanwhile, in the US, your best bet is Sabra in a plastic container- unless you know where to dine, you risk encounters with runny hummus, chunky hummus, or over-salted hummus. At the end of the conversation, I just couldn’t agree that Israeli food was boring… the quality alone is fascinating. I suspect when my friend leaves his country, he’ll be entertained with trying new foods for a few months. But then he’ll miss the accessibility of fresh, juicy pomegranate, soft figs, and fresh bread. Demonstrating my point, I waved my last bit of lafa back and forth saying, “Oh, you’ll miss this,” referring to the impossibly tenderness of the flatbread.
Then it hit me. Food itself is not boring- it’s really only the perception of the food that earns the label “mundane.” My Israeli friend was apparently bored with the pita and grilled meat that I couldn’t stop consuming… I’m bored with the French fries and hot dogs that he can’t wait to try. It’s this disconnect that touches the heart of travel, which isn’t really about the place or the food itself, but about the willingness to embrace your personal novelty. While walking away from the market with my new friend, I munched on a second piece of impossibly airy, sweet halvah- in a few months he’ll probably be noshing on a footlong and a pile of fries with a smile as large as mine is right now… that smile is the shared understanding.
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Photos provided by Julien Menichini, licensed under Creative Commons.
Click here to read more from our “Why I Eat What I Eat” series.
A Herring Restoration
By Rafi Samuels-Schwartz
We’re standing in the back of a small New York establishment, learning the finer points of how to eat Herring, when Niki Russ Federman looks up at the portrait of her great-grandfather, Joel Russ, hanging on the wall of her shop, Russ & Daughters.
“Young Jews don’t necessarily realize the distinction between the terms ‘Appetizing” and ‘Deli’” she explains. “The word ‘appetizing’ didn’t make it into the American culture, like ‘deli.’”
In a sense, this is true. Today both a pastrami-on-rye as well as bagels-and-lox are celebrated, if not revered, by American Jews trying to connect with the tastes of Eastern Europe’s “Old World” Jewish communities by eating what they call “deli” food. And, while ordering a brisket sandwich can be a delicious way to commune with the past, you simply can’t appreciate “Old World” food without understanding the distinct “appetizing” history, and terminology, of bagels and lox, smoked salmon, herring, and fancy cream cheeses; the food Niki’s great-grandfather Joel sold from his pushcart 95 years ago, and the food that she still sells today, in the store that bears her family name.
In some ways Russ & Daughters, one of the last of New York’s “appetizing stores” is an anomaly: an American store devoted to the particularly Old World specialty of forshpayz, the cold appetizers many Jews ate before their full meals. That Russ & Daughters exists today is both a testament to the quality of their lox, and the dedication of their many fans, both young and old. Niki tells a story of hiking a trail in California, only to be stopped, chatted, and ultimately thanked by fellow hikers who noticed her Russ & Daughters t-shirt.
“It’s not just about the food,” she explains. “There are all these stories wrapped up,” She notes that most encounters, like the one on the California hiking trail, follow the same pattern: “[people say] ‘Oh, I love that place. And then they tell a story.’” It’s these stories that makes Russ & Daughters so special, infusing the shop with an air of authenticity and Old World street-cred, and earning Russ & Daughters’ blog, Lox Populi, a webby award this past year.
As we browse toward the back of the shop a customer turns, and without prompting, remarks that he comes to Russ & Daughters because it represents a “living food tradition” in a way that grocery stores can’t. Introducing himself as Mark, he goes on to order pickled herring, mustard dill herring, and a little bit of bright yellow curry herring as well. We chat for several minutes, and Mark explains that he sees the food at Russ & Daughters as a form of soul (sole?) food.
“My herring restoration,” he chuckles.
As I turn to examine the jars of jams and jellies lining the back wall Mark begins to leave, but is caught by Niki who gives him a big hug. While the the name of the shop refers to Joel Russ’ children, it’s clear that in Russ & Daughters everyone feels like family. We ask Niki about her own familial connection to the Old Country. She explains that she has “herring in her blood” and that working in the shop, surrounded by the food eaten by Jews for centuries, “reinforces who we are in the most primal way.” And, how does Niki feel about the portrait of her great-grandfather Joel looking down over the counter?
“I like that I have to think about him all the time.”
Before we leave, Niki gives us a Holland Herring to sample. Almost entirely uncooked, and covered with diced onions, this is forshpayz “in the raw.” As we sit together eating the fish, I hear other customers toward the front of store laugh, and wish us L’chiam, “to life!” It may be 2009, and we may be on New York’s Lower East Side, but it’s clear that the spirit of the Old Country is alive and well. We can practically taste it.
Thumbnail photo by J_bary, licensed under Creative Commons.
A Love-Hate Relationship with Food
By Rella K.
I have a love-hate relationship with food.
I don’t think most of my friends know there is a “hate” side to my relationship with food. I’m an avid food blogger. I’m always trying new dishes, new foods, new ingredients. I’ll frequently spend an entire Sunday just cooking and baking, and then a host 5-course dinner party.
I grew up in a community that put an incredible amount of stress on being thin. Everyone I knew was on a diet; some were pretty ordinary like limiting fat intake and eating lots of fruits and vegetables. Some were pretty ridiculous like eating nothing other than rice cakes for an entire 8-hour day of school. And then there were the dangerous eating habits—the severe limitations on food intake, and the throwing up in the bathroom after lunch. [And by the way, this all started in middle school].
When I was in the tenth grade one of my classmates spent a summer in a clinic being treated for an eating disorder. I think she was lucky—at least her parents were willing to admit to her problem. For so many other girls I knew, disordered eating patterns were just par for the course. Because really, if you weren’t a size 2 nobody would want to marry you (or at least that’s the message we got).
I’m not going to lie; I thought about following in the footsteps of those around me. I was overweight throughout most of high school, perhaps unconsciously trying to counteract what I was seeing around me with all the restrictions people put on their own appetites. Objectively I knew (and know) that skipping meals or throwing up is bad, and I never did it, but it didn’t stop me from thinking that maybe that had it right. Luckily college was a breath of fresh air, and I think the reduced stress contributed to my dropping a significant number of pounds I had been unable to shed for years before.
Hence, my love-hate relationship with food. Truth be told, the love wins out most of the time (luckily). I receive immense pleasure from writing and photographing for my food blog; I love when my friends call me their “recipe guru;” and I find that after a stressful day at work, whipping up a batch of sumptuous chocolate chip banana nut muffins is relaxing, even cathartic.
Still, I sometimes get an inkling in the back of my mind after I have a meal I know is high in calories and fat. Don’t get me wrong, I eat in a very healthy manner, and I cook for myself a lot so I know exactly what goes into things. But I eat out at restaurants, and I have meals at friend’s houses, and as much as I hate it, I think about every bite I put in my mouth.
Do I wish I didn’t obsess about food so much? Maybe. But I wonder if my obsession ultimately led me to discover how passionate I am about food, cooking, and blogging about it. Sure, I’d prefer I hadn’t grown up in such a toxic environment, but I’m a firm believer that our experiences shape who we are. And I’m happy with who I am today.
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Image provided by Dan4th, licensed under Creative Commons.
Click here to read more from our “Why I Eat What I Eat” series.
The Hostest With The Mostest (Hummus)
There’re few things that make Alef happier than good food. That’s why we were pretty bummed we weren’t invited to this NEXT Shabbat meal in LA. While we’re not sure the hostess’ estimate of “85 tons of pita” is a totally trustworthy description of her Shabbat menu, our mouths were watering at the rest of her Shabbat spread. Don’t believe us? Tuck in your bib, this Shabbat meal is drool-worthy:
The Hostess With the Mostest (Hummus)
I like having guests over. Blame it on my mother – after all, she is Martha Jewart. Ever since I was a kid I was raised knowing that there are very specific ways to throw a party. She has very strict rules about how dishes are arranged, what we’re allowed to serve, how food is displayed, etc. When I was little I thought that was ridiculous. “Show me the guest who gives a shit if I put the ketchup bottle on the table without first scooping it into a crystal bowl!” I would scream.
Of course, now I’ve inherited that behavior. So when it came time to throw a special Shabbat dinner for a group of my friends last weekend, you know I went to town…
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Click here to read more from our “Why I Eat What I Eat” series.
Eat With Eli
Hazon changed all that. My life took a fortuitous spin when I (along with my parents, whose lives have also been drastically changed – they’ve since started an organic farm), attended the 2007 Hazon Food Conference at the Isabella Freedman Jewish Retreat Center. This was the year they famously shechted goats. And it was also the year I discovered other 20-somethings who cared about the world like I did; who were free, who were happy, and who also loved food and the earth. I returned to Chicago changed, and that was that – I applied to Adamah, quit my job, and started as an Adamah fellow in the fall of 2008.
At Adamah I was finally able to connect my love of food (you might call it a “healthy obsession”) with my love of Jewish community. I was finally able to connect how I could work wholly with my body and spirit, and wholly be engaged as a Jew. This was not possible in my work as a musician; I was always choosing Shabbat or concert, and even earlier, youth group or youth orchestra.
After Adamah I chose the path that I had previously thought impossible. I enrolled in culinary school at the Natural Gourmet Institute, the United States’ premiere culinary school focusing on health-supportive food and vegetarian cuisine. Again, I was not forced to choose. I participated in the meat classes, but did not eat – and my grade was never docked. I learned how to open oysters, but did not partake (I heard they were great). And yes, culinary school was everything I hoped it would be and so much more.
Since leaving school I put it time in a few restaurants, but I eventually decided to go out on my own as a natural foods chef service. I decided that my schedule, my freedom and flexibility were much higher priorities for me, not to mention my Jewish identity. I now cook for families, teach cooking classes within the Jewish community – including Hebrew school cooking once a month, and provide nutrition counseling for clients. And finally, I don’t have to choose between my Jewish identity and my professional career. I don’t work on Shabbat. I take off for Chagim. And I don’t have to sacrifice my kashrut for my work. My clients all know that I have eating restrictions (gluten, kashrut…), yet they love my food and love my work so none of it matters. And every day, I wake up and say Modah ani – I am grateful. For my work, for balance, for all of my blessings and for delicious food.
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Elisheva Margulies is a natural foods chef and holistic health counselor based in St. Louis, MO and the owner of Eat with Eli, LLC. A graduate of the Natural Gourmet Institute and Northwestern University, Eli works actively to help people eat more health-supportive food and to kick the margarine addiction within the Jewish community. Please visit www.eatwitheli.com.
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Click here to read more from our “Why I Eat What I Eat” series.
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