Making ‘old country’ latkes in the ‘new world’
+ enlarge image
Grandpa’s Potato Pancakes
Sidebar
Advertisements
December 20, 2011
My grandparents really knew how to cook. It seems to me that everyone born in the “old country” — in this case Transylvania — was born with built-in cooking intuition. Somehow they could create the most scrumptious meals using no fancy equipment, or even measuring spoons.
They hosted every holiday humbly, I recall, turning out the expected delicacies with what seemed like the simplest, most relaxed effort. No exotic flavor profiles nor food combos or wine pairings; no attempts at reinventing the wheel, because when the food is that good — make that superb — there’s no need to find a “twist” on the recipe.
On Hanukka we were treated to their potato pancakes, latkes that were classic and simple. My grandfather, a professional chef, wore a manly white waist apron that suited him perfectly. His latkes were made of eggs, onions, potatoes, oil, salt, pepper, and a little matza meal to make them crunchy.
“Corn meal, that’s also good, if you don’t have any matza meal,” he would say reassuringly, though you knew that he secretly wondered what kind of kitchen would not have a handful of matza meal somewhere.
The potatoes were hand-grated so fine — almost to a pudding-like consistency — then lightly fried in a pan that looked as though it, too, had just come over from the old country. Applesauce and sour cream traditionally accompany latkes, but who needed them? Crispy on the edges, with a fluffy, buttery smooth center, Grandpa’s version of this Hanukka delicacy could stand alone.
Born on this side of the Atlantic — Philly, to be exact — I lack the natural cooking instincts of my forebears. It’s a long way from Transylvania to Pennsylvania, and somewhere en route centuries of culinary know-how evaporated. When I married, I was “the bride who knew nothing” about cooking, and I do mean nothing. I had a kitchen twice the size of Grandpa’s boyhood cottage, fully loaded with waffle makers, woks, crepe pans, panini presses, espresso brewers, food processors, and two ovens — and no idea what to do with any of them.
The first Hanukka after my wedding, I called my grandfather for his latkes recipe. He gave it to me with “measurements” like “a sprinkle of salt, a few spoons of matza meal, some oil….” All the while, I wished I had watched him in action when he was in his prime. I could have taken notes, measured out the amounts he used, studied his grating technique.
But I was on my own. Tasked with recreating Grandpa’s latkes, I tried and failed, tried and failed — until I finally produced something that is reminiscent of his glorious, crunchy potato perfection. The recipe went into my first published cookbook, Quick & Kosher: Recipes from the Bride Who Knew Nothing. It’s reprinted here, in loving memory of my grandfather.
My husband and kids say these latkes are the best in the world. They are very good — but they’re not Grandpa’s. Maybe it’s my food processor and that fancy-shmancy skillet.
Grandpa’s Potato Pancakes
4 medium Idaho potatoes
6 Tbsp. canola oil or olive oil
3 eggs, beaten
2 Tbsp. matza meal
2 tsp. kosher salt
1/2 tsp. coarse black pepper
applesauce or sour cream (optional)
Prepare a large bowl filled with cold water.
Peel potatoes, immediately placing in bowl to prevent browning.
Heat oil in a large skillet over medium heat.
Cut potatoes lengthwise into halves or quarters so they fit into food processor feed tube. Process potatoes using the blade that creates thin, shoestring-like strips; transfer to a large bowl.
Add eggs, matza meal, salt, and pepper; mix well. (Tip: Corn meal is a great substitute for matza meal and also will make the latkes nice and crispy.)
For each latkes, drop six to eight spoonfuls of mixture into hot oil. Using the back of a spoon, pat down each latke to flatten. Do not crowd skillet.
Fry three to four minutes on each side, until golden and crisp around the edges; repeat procedure until finished with all the batter.
Blot excess oil with paper towels. Serve warm with applesauce or sour cream, if desired
Yield: eight servings
Follow NJJN
E-Newsletter Signup