PSA: How to get the latkes you want

The Internet is host to a zillion latke recipes. Some of them aren’t what you would expect. I’m not going to cram in another one, but since tonight is the first night of Chanukka I thought I should say something about them. Whichever recipe you choose to follow, here are some tips for making delicious, problem-free latkes:

1. Know your potatoes (assuming you’re making latkes out of potatoes). Waxy potatoes, also known as boiling potatoes, contain less starch and therefore don’t get as thick or bind to each other as well when fried. If you’re using these—and you might want to, because some of them are delicious—make sure you use a little extra egg and flour/matzo meal/whatever as binder. Starchy potatoes, also called baking potatoes, bind to themselves naturally when fried. Yukon golds also make excellent latkes without too much extra binder.
2. Alternate grating onions and potatoes, and mix the batter a little when you switch. When you grate a potato, you expose its internal starches to oxygen, which causes them to turn brown. (This is the same process that browns the slices of a cut apple.) The acid from onion juice slows down this process and makes for a nicer-looking latke. Grating all the potatoes and then the onion allows the reaction to get started quickly, while keeping the potato always in contact with some onion prevents this.
3. Drain the potatoes and onions once they’re grated. Many a cook has mixed up what seemed like the perfect latke batter, only to have it become watery and difficult to handle when the time comes to fry. (Frying very wet batter can also be dangerous, since lots of water dropped into hot oil causes spattering.) This happens because the vegetables continue to “bleed” watery liquid for a while after they’ve been grated. You can let them sit in a bowl for ten minutes and then tip it out, or even better, drain them for ten minutes in a colander and then squeeze out the excess.
4. Stir in the salt at the last minute if your circumstances allow. Salt leeches more moisture out of the vegetables and creates the same problem addressed in point 3.
5. Stir the batter between frying batches. No matter how diligent you are about steps 3 and 4, some liquid will always settle at the bottom of the bowl. Stirring from the bottom up redistributes it and keeps the batter moist, while not stirring results in a puddle at the bottom and a final batch of weird, splotchy latkes.
6. Keep the oil hot. Fried foods don’t have to be fatty, and the best way to keep them crispy and not soggy with oil is to make sure that the oil itself stays between 350 and 365 degrees Fahrenheit (177 to 185 Celsius). If you have a frying thermometer, use it. If not, drop a small test latke into the oil—enthusiastic sizzling should begin on contact, rather than sluggishly building up. Also, if you find your oil running low, do not add oil while there are latkes in the pan. This will cause the temperature to plunge and result in soggy, oily pancakes. Instead, finish the batch in the pan and then add more oil, giving it time to heat up before you start on the next round of latkes.
7. After frying, drain the latkes well. Some extra oil always follows a latke out of the pan, so place them on a towel-lined plate to dry. You can also drain them directly in a wire mesh strainer positioned over a bowl or the sink, which allows both sides to remain crisp rather than steaming the underside.

If you have any other advice for better latkes, please share! Chanukka sameach!

Bread and soup for Toledot

וַֽיִּגְדְּלוּ֙ הַנְּעָרִ֔ים וַיְהִ֣י עֵשָׂ֗ו אִ֛ישׁ יֹדֵ֥עַ צַ֖יִד אִ֣ישׁ שָׂדֶ֑ה וְיַֽעֲקֹב֙ אִ֣ישׁ תָּ֔ם ישֵׁ֖ב אֹֽהָלִֽים: וַיֶּֽאֱהַ֥ב יִצְחָ֛ק אֶת־עֵשָׂ֖ו כִּי־צַ֣יִד בְּפִ֑יו וְרִבְקָ֖ה אֹהֶ֥בֶת אֶת־יַֽעֲקֹֽב: וַיָּ֥זֶד יַֽעֲקֹ֖ב נָזִ֑יד וַיָּבֹ֥א עֵשָׂ֛ו מִן־הַשָּׂדֶ֖ה וְה֥וּא עָיֵֽף: וַיֹּ֨אמֶר עֵשָׂ֜ו אֶֽל־יַֽעֲקֹ֗ב הַלְעִיטֵ֤נִי נָא֙ מִן־הָֽאָדֹ֤ם הָֽאָדֹם֙ הַזֶּ֔ה כִּ֥י עָיֵ֖ף אָנֹ֑כִי עַל־כֵּ֥ן קָֽרָא־שְׁמ֖וֹ אֱדֽוֹם: וַיֹּ֖אמֶר יַֽעֲקֹ֑ב מִכְרָ֥ה כַיּ֛וֹם אֶת־בְּכֹרָֽתְךָ֖ לִֽי: וַיֹּ֣אמֶר עֵשָׂ֔ו הִנֵּ֛ה אָֽנֹכִ֥י הוֹלֵ֖ךְ לָמ֑וּת וְלָֽמָּה־זֶּ֥ה לִ֖י בְּכֹרָֽה: וַיֹּ֣אמֶר יַֽעֲקֹ֗ב הִשָּׁ֤בְעָה לִּי֙ כַּיּ֔וֹם וַיִּשָּׁבַ֖ע ל֑וֹ וַיִּמְכֹּ֥ר אֶת־בְּכֹֽרָת֖וֹ לְיַֽעֲקֹֽב: וְיַֽעֲקֹ֞ב נָתַ֣ן לְעֵשָׂ֗ו לֶ֚חֶם וּנְזִ֣יד עֲדָשִׁ֔ים וַיֹּ֣אכַל וַיֵּ֔שְׁתְּ וַיָּ֖קָם וַיֵּלַ֑ךְ וַיִּ֥בֶז עֵשָׂ֖ו אֶת־הַבְּכֹרָֽה:־

The youths grew up. Esau was a man skilled at hunting, a man of the field, while Jacob was a quiet man, a tent dweller. Isaac loved Esau because he provided game to eat, but Rebecca loved Jacob. Once, Jacob was making a stew when Esau returned from the field exhausted. Esau said, “Feed me from that red, red [אָדֹם] stuff, for I am tired.” (Because of this, he was called Edom [אֱדוֹם].) Jacob said, “Sell your birthright to me this very day.” Esau said, “I am close to death. What good is a birthright to me?” Jacob said, “Promise me today,” and he promised him, and sold his birthright to Jacob. Jacob gave Esau bread and lentil stew, and he ate and drank, and then left. Thus Esau despised his birthright. (Genesis 25:27-34)

Explanation for Jacob’s inheriting from his father despite not being the first born? Yep. Morality tale about decisions made in haste? Of course. Parable on the superiority of the settled, agrarian lifestyle over nomadic hunting-gathering? Check. (For thousands of years hunter-gatherers actually ate better than their farming neighbors, but we’re not going to worry about that right now.)

Sunmukimchi, or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Bacteria

I don’t think we ever ate turnips when I was growing up, and as a result I never formed a taste model for them; they always strike me as potatoes that aren’t quite potatoey enough. (Potatoes were slow to catch on after their introduction to the Old World, but supplanted turnips as the dominant root vegetable in much of Eastern Europe after a series of crop failures in the 18th century.) I use turnips when a recipe calls for them, but don’t recall ever having been struck by the sudden hankering for that slightly sharp, moderately starchy experience. So, when we received half a pound of turnips early in our CSA adventures, I had to set about looking for good ideas.

As luck would have it, good ideas were already upon me, hidden in a book I’d purchased years ago yet had barely ever used. Linda Ziedrich’s The Joy of Pickling had entertained me with anecdotes, literary snippets about pickles and interesting flavor ideas, but I’d never followed any of its instructions except to experiment, while I was in college, with pickled garlic cloves.

Erratum: Pesticides and Organic Produce

After my most recent post went up, my friend Joel sent me a message pointing out that I had incorrectly implied that organic-certified fruits are guaranteed to be free of pesticides. That’s not true, of course. According to the USDA’s standards, a whole slew of non-synthetic pesticides may be used on organic produce, where “pesticide” means any substance that kills, inhibits the growth of, or repels pest animals. (Fun fact: Methyl anthranilate, better known as artificial concord grape flavor, is listed as a pesticide because it is sprayed on fruit trees to repel birds.) Substances that have been extracted from plants without major chemical changes may be used on organic produce, as may naturally occurring pesticides such as ethanol (a.k.a. ethyl alcohol, a.k.a. vodka). Oddly enough, some of the permitted “organic” sprays out there are, from a chemical standpoint, inorganic; elemental copper is used by many organic farmers to prevent fungus growth.

Bread, though not for Balak

Well, it finally happened: I missed a week for challot. It wasn’t due to fatigue, laziness or lack of ideas. There was just no call for me to bake bread for Shabbat this week. (I did make a nifty chopped salad with a wild raspberry vinaigrette, but that is another story, and shall be told at another time if I get around to it.) Still, there was baking to be done over the weekend. Terri asked on Thursday if we could arrange for post-Shabbat pizza, which seemed like a simple endeavor until we started running late on Friday afternoon.

One odd thing about pizza is that if you’re going to make it (or at least, make it well) on Saturday night and happen to be shomer Shabbat, you have to start no later than Friday.

Goodbye H&H

The H&H Bagels retail store on 80th and Broadway, an Upper West Side fixture for nearly 40 years, has closed. Lest anyone spend too much time panicking about the looming end of the true New York bagel, Slate’s Brian Palmer offers some insight into the nature of great bagel making. It’s not about terroir, it’s about knowing how to do the job and being willing to put in the effort of doing it right.

More on this soon. Also, stay tuned after Shabbat for Korach-themed bread! (It’s kind of a funny story, actually.)