tahina
Guys, it's been a while. And we're real sorry about that. Life has a way of sucking you in and we were two serious victims of that. But we've made it through to the other side! Hair a bit windblown, but otherwise we've made it.
Spring is finally here and we couldn't more thrilled. Unlike the cheat we got this past fall, summer seems to be holding its full-force self at bay and letting us enjoy the cool breezes and quiet rains of spring. Finally, a real season - no half-assed snow dusting or color change accompanied by full-blown humidity. And what's a better way to celebrate spring than with something colorful and fresh?
So, Passover is next week. Insane, right? I don't know where January or February went, but now Passover is in a week - maybe 2018 is trying to do us a favor by ending as quickly as possible.
I'm not going to my family for Passover this year, which means I'll be staying home in the city, staring longingly at bagels until I come to my senses.* In helping a friend menu plan her seder, I've been thinking about the foods and traditions my family has for our own. We always have props for the ten plagues on the table - plastic animals and bugs, those plastic monster finger puppet things and, for some reason, tiny plastic cowboys with guns for the death of the first born plague, maybe?
I've been on a travel high for the past week. Ten days in Israel will do that to you. A country seen too-often for for the bad press it gets and conflict it seems to sustain, it's not until you travel there that you realize how truly magnificent the place is.
Alyssa and I are dedicated to creating foods and recipes that remind us of our Jewish upbringing and culture, which is why for the next couple of weeks we're making Hannukah recipes exclusively. The defining characteristic of a Hannukah food is whether or not it's fried in oil - the miracle of Hannukah is that after the Jewish Temple was destroyed, there was only enough oil for one night to light the menorah, but it lasted eight nights (which is why Hannukah is eight days). We don't recommend eating fried foods for eight days straight, but you must try homemade sufganiyot or latkes at least one during the holiday.
My junior year in Tel Aviv was the first time I had a kitchen of my own. Apart from the summer spent in an absorption center in Ashdod while volunteering on ambulances (whose kitchen consisted of a sad hot plate, a sad counter and a sad toaster oven), that was the first time I had a space to cook for myself. And what did I do to inaugurate this life's milestone?
Ate nothing but hummus and cucumbers on toast.
Remember when kale was seen as nothing but a mere garnish to place various mayonnaise-based salads upon? Seems like ancient history, right? Now that kale is in everything from smoothies to pasta, it's hard to recall a time when people weren't obsessed with what carnivores could rightfully call "rabbit food."
Well, I'm here to remind you that those times did happen, friends, and what better way to remember than with a good old-fashioned fun fact? I'm nothing if not consistent.
I bet you'd never guess eggplant, mango and hard-boiled eggs go well together. But I'm here to tell you they absolutely do.
Culminating a three day virtual street-food journey through Israel, I'd like to introduce Sabich. Everyone knows about falafel and shwarma. You hardly need to hound the streets of Manahttan for one of these tasty sandwiches –they’re sold on every corner. But this extra-special sandwich, found only in Israel, has made a home for itself at the top of my favorite street eats list. In fact, I'll go as far as saying this is my favorite G | G recipe made to date.
Sometimes when I'm in the kitchen, things go exactly according to plan. The dough rises, the sauce reduces, the soup is perfectly salted.
Other times, the cap on the paprika pops off and unloads two tablespoons right into the blender.
Ah, cooking. Never a dull moment.
I'd like to dedicate this post to cheese.
Both the food and the sentiment. In case you haven't noticed, both Rina and I are very much of the share-your-feelings camp. I for one, love to tell my friends how much I love spending time with them. If anything, I'm an overly exuberant bubble of pure joy. But my sentiments are always genuine, and I can't express how much a good friend means to someone in their twenties, still fumbling their way through adulthood.
So I'm a little afraid of my kitchen.
"Rina, you write a food blog, what the fuck?"
I know, I know! I should have full kitchen confidence, wielding knives with Benihana flamboyance and blowtorching shit all over the place.
But I'm a little afraid of my kitchen.
And the reason I'm a little afraid of my kitchen is because my oven is old, small and makes a clicking noise every once in a while. It's not not the title character from Alien.