The Nine Days before Tisha B’Av are winding down, and so is our desire to eat fish.  I picked up  my cookbooks, turning the pages at the fish recipes, looking for something interesting and different. I found it in Claudia Roden’s Book of Jewish Food. Kefta de Poisson au Coriandre et Citron Confit – fish cakes lightly stewed in a sauce of coriander leaves and preserved lemon.

The combination of onions, plenty of coriander, and lemons, mellowed together with a little pungent turmeric, makes a most delicious tangy sauce for the light fish cakes. We loved the dish. I had to promise the Little One that I’d make it again, many times.

Kefta de Poisson – Fish Cakes Stewed in Herb and Lemon Sauce

Adapted from The Book of Jewish Food, by Claudia Roden

Printable version here.

Serves 6

Ingredients

Sauce:

1 large onion, chopped into large dice

5 Tblsp. olive oil

1/2 tsp. turmeric

The skin of 1 pickled lemon, coarsely chopped. Lacking that, peel a fresh lemon and chop the flesh.

Salt and white pepper

1/2 cup chopped coriander

Fish cakes:

1 kg. – 2 lb. white fish, either filleted or ground

1 slice of white bread (I used a thick slice of Sourdough Walnut Herb Bread). It should be covered in cold water till wet through, then squeezed as dry as possible between your hands till you have damp ball.

1/2 onion, finely chopped

Salt and white pepper

1/4 tsp. turmeric

1/2 tsp. powdered ginger, or 1/4 tsp. freshly grated

4 Tblsp. rinsed, chopped coriander leaves

1 egg

Method:

1. First, make the sauce. Use your biggest frying pan. Pour the olive oil into it and get it hot.

2. Fry the onions in the olive oil till they become translucent.

3. Add the remaining sauce ingredients and sauté everything till it’s all quite soft. Remove from the flame, to be reheated when the fish cakes are ready to cook.


4. Now, prepare the fish.

If you are using whole fillets, whizz them in the food processor, but don’t put them in till you have already processed the moist bread, onions, seasonings, and egg.

When those are very well chopped, then add the fish. Make sure there’s no skin, or you’ll have to fish out rags of skin from the puréed mass afterwards, and that’s no fun.

Process only till everything is well chopped and blended.

If you’re using ground fish, just mix the onions, seasonings and egg up and mix them into the fish, beating well.

2. Reheat the sauce, then turn the flame down to low.

3. With wet hands, form thick patties about 4 cm. – 2″ across. (This feels like handling gefulte fish.) Put them into the hot sauce and let them cook for 15-20 minutes.


Check after 10 minutes; if  each patty has a little “skirt” of egg around it, turn them over.


It doesn’t take long to finish cooking. Check after 5 minutes; the underside should be golden and maybe starting to stick to the pan.

Serve with rice, steamed green beans, and sliced tomatoes for a pretty presentation and satisfying meal.


 

It’s the first anniversary of Israeli Kitchen. I’ve been thinking about the past year, in a way that’s supposed to be reserved for my own birthday, but I was too busy cooking and enjoying my home celebration to meditate much then. Let me think it over now.

It’s been a pleasure, and a challenge, writing every few days about my passion for cooking; about places and events in Israel that compel me to write. Blogging is a commitment to the readers, so many of whom read silently and click away with no comment, but whose presence I feel around me as I type, all the same.

Reviewing the year’s posts, I see myself traipsing through the holidays… talking to taxi drivers… interviewing shop owners… walking through the shuk… re-living family memories. Cooking and developing recipes has been a great part of this blog, but everyday life and reflections weave in and out too. I’ve never been faithful to a diary, but the blog has taken the place of one.

I owe thanks to some people for support and friendship. Especially to Baroness Tapuzina and to Mother in Israel, my thanks for the encouragement and help in maneuvering through the intricacies of the blogosphere. To my husband, love and thanks for his forbearance when I insist on taking photographs of the food on the table. To the Little One, love and thanks for letting me sit here sometimes. I’ve made new friends and consolidated older friendships in this past year – have read widely, traveled, tasted, cooked and learned. Most of all, I’ve have concluded that there’s nothing else I really want to do but write.

For that, reader, I thank you.

Well, what was my very first post last year? I had just discovered that some raspberry wine I’d made had gone sour. Great vinegar, though. From it I made Raspberry Shrub.

See you around!

 

So what’s a dry sauce? I think I made it up, but it could be my unconscious plagiarizing some cookbook I’ve read. But it’s a sauce that’s moist rather than thick and liquid.  We’re eating lots of fish these meatless days. This is what I made for lunch on Friday.

Sauteed Fish in Dry Sauce

Serves 4

Ingredients:

1 kg. of firm white fish fillets, at least 1″ – 2 centimeters thick. For Israelis: Nile Perch is excellent in this dish.

1 large onion

1 skinned and chopped tomato

2 garlic cloves, peeled and coarsely chopped

1 preserved lemon, flesh only. Lacking that, the juice of 1 lemon.

salt and pepper to taste

1 1/2 tsp. ground cumin

1 cup of choppped cilantro or parsley

1 cup of chopped green onions

olive oil

Method:

1. Get your olive oil hot in the skillet. Fry the fish, turning the flame down to medium. Turn the pieces over after 5 minutes and allow them to cook till just underdone, about 5 minutes longer.

2. Remove the fish to a separate plate. Allow it to cool. This is a good time to get rid of the fish’s skin. I used to take my sharpest knife and fight to separate the skin from the raw fish, but discovered over time that it just slips off when the flesh is cooked.

3. In the same skillet, sauté the onion, tomato, garlic and preserved lemon, adding a little olive oil first if needed. No need to wash the skillet, just check it for any loose scales. Sprinkle salt and pepper over the vegetables; add the cumin. If not using preserved lemon, add lemon juice now.

4. When the onions are golden and the tomato chunks soft, put the fish back into the skillet. Break the pieces up into large chunks. Let them stew over medium heat, turning them over after 5 minutes.

5. When you judge that the fish is done (depending on the thickness of the pieces, this might take up to 10 minutes more) and  has taken on the flavorings, add the chopped green herbs. Stir them in gently. Cook only another 2 or 3 minutes. The greens should still be crisp and have a bright color when you serve the dish.

Serve the fish right out of the skillet, accompanied by rice or rice noodles.

 

It amazes me how Israelis love eggplant. We”ve been eating it fried, pickled, grilled, flame-roasted, creamed, combined with all kinds of vegetables and flavorings and eggs – since the austerity years of the 1950s. Meat was expensive and scarce, but eggplant grew easily here and there was always lots of it. Cooks in those hard times found or invented many recipes featuring the meaty, versatile eggplant.  We borrowed from the Arab cuisine, re-invented Eastern European eggplant specialties, developed recipes of our own. It’s still a star vegetable in Israel.

I’ve eaten eggplant every which way, but had never tasted eggplant soup. A recipe in the Jerusalem Post (May 1, 2009) intrigued me, and I cooked it for my birthday dinner. It’s aromatic with basil, oregano, and garlic – creamy yet a little chunky with pine nuts from pesto. Folks loved it. Since then, I’ve discovered a number of eggplant soup recipes, all involving garlic, plenty of herbs, and cream or cheese.

Here’s my adaptation of the one I found in the Post. The original calls for vegetable soup powder, but I don’t keep that around. The first time I made the soup, I simmered up a quick vegetable stock, using the vegetables on hand.  2 carrots, an orange bell pepper, 2 celery stalks, , 1 sliced onion, a zuke, a tomato, a bay leaf, 1/4 tsp. dried thyme, and a couple of cloves of  garlic.

The second time, I happened to have a basket of mushrooms that needed cooking, so I substituted their taste for that of the stock and used water. Both versions are delicious, but the mushroom one is faster.

Eggplant Soup

olive oil over the cut eggplant halves. 4. Grill for 20 minutes or until the eggplant is brown, soft, and separating into cubes. 5. With a spoon, scrape the flesh off the skin. Chop it and put it aside. 6. Heat 3 Tblsp. olive oil in a large pot, over medium heat . Saute the onions and garlic in it for 8 minutes. If using fresh mushrooms, add them now too. 7. When the onions are golden and the mushrooms are starting to release juice, add the stock (or water) and eggplant. Bring everything up to a boil. 8. Reduce the heat, cover, and simmer the soup for 10 minutes. 9. Add basil, oregano, salt and pepper. Cook another 2 minutes. 10. With a slotted spoon or mesh spatula, lift the solids out of the pot. Keep the hot soup aside. 11. Blend the solids in a food processor or blender till smooth. 12. Return the puree to the hot liquid and reheat to a simmer. Now the soup is ready. 13. Put 1 Tblsp. sour cream or yoghurt into each bowl, or drizzle a little whipping cream in. Top with 1/2 Tblsp. pesto each. Serve the soup with crusty bread and follow it with a salad.” target=”_blank”>printable recipe here

serves 6

Ingredients:

2 medium-sized eggplants
Olive oil
2 medium onions, sliced
4 garlic cloves, chopped
8 cups – 2 liters vegetable stock
or
1 cup chopped fresh mushrooms and 8 cups water
2 Tblsp. chopped fresh basil
1 Tblsp. chopped fresh thyme, or 1/2 Tbslp. dried. Oregano may be substituted for the thyme.
Salt and pepper to taste
Light cream, sour cream, or yoghurt
6 Tblsp. prepared pesto

Method:

1. Stand each eggplant on its side and cut it in half.
2. Cut a cross-hatch pattern into the flesh, deeply.
3. Drizzle a little olive oil over the cut eggplant halves.


4. Grill for 20 minutes or until the eggplant is brown, soft, and separating into cubes.


5. With a spoon, scrape the flesh off the skin. Chop the flesh coarsely and put it aside.
6. Heat 3 Tblsp. olive oil in a large pot, over medium heat . Saute the onions and garlic in it for 8 minutes. If using fresh mushrooms, add them now too. If you wish, keep 1/4 cup of mushroom slivers to add to the soup about 5 minutes before serving.


7. When the onions are golden and the mushrooms are starting to release juice, add the stock (or water) and eggplant. Bring everything up to a boil.
8. Reduce the heat, cover, and simmer the soup for 10 minutes.
9. Add basil,thyme, salt and pepper. Cook another 2 minutes.


10. With a slotted spoon or mesh spatula, lift the solids out of the pot. Keep the hot soup aside.
11. Blend the solids in a food processor or blender till smooth.
12. Return the puree to the hot liquid and reheat to a simmer. Now the soup is ready.
13. Put 1 Tblsp. sour cream or yoghurt into each bowl, or drizzle a little whipping cream in.

Top with 1/2 Tblsp. pesto each.

Serve the soup with cornbread or queijadinhas or bruschetta and follow it with a salad.

 

This time, it’s not about economizing; it’s about the Hebrew month of Av. From the first day of the month, which starts today, till the ninth, we observe the Jewish calendar’s darkest days, mourning the destruction of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem and many historic calamities associated with the day. This culminates in the fast of Tisha B’Av, which falls on the night of July 30th this year.

Among the 9-day mourning observances is refraining from meat and wine. So for eight days, observant cooks are challenged to put meatless meals on the table. (Shabbat is the exception, of course, unless Tisha B’Av itself happens to fall on Shabbat).

The meatless days were easier before we discovered that my husband is lactose intolerant – now I have to search my cookbooks for interesting alternatives to milk and meat. Fortunately, fish is permitted, and better yet, my husband does like vegetables and grains. The Little One and I will still be eating milk and cheese, but the focus of most lunches is going to be fish, vegetables, and grains.

So coming up next: eggplant soup.

 

What did we have for Shabbat?…Well, shnitzel.

In Israel, any boned, skinless cut of meat, poultry or fish is called “shnitzel.” Normally shnitzels are breaded and fried, a quick method that  prevents the meat from drying out. They’re easy to make and popular light fare for sizzling summer weather,  when you come in from the street feeling broiled yourself.

These juicy chicken fillets are different,  more interesting than the usual. A crust of  herbs, breadcrumbs and nuts protects the meat, and instead of frying the shnitzels, you bake them quickly. The combination of juicy meat enveloped in a crisp, lively-flavored herbal crust makes a meal festive enough for any time.

Nut and Herb-Crusted Chicken Fillets

printable version here

Serves 6

Ingredients:

6 skinless fillets of chicken breast

1 egg

1 tsp. prepared mustard

1 cup toasted, dry breadcrumbs

1 tsp. salt

1/2 tsp. black pepper

1/8 tsp. cayenne pepper flakes, or more if liked

1/2 cup fresh herbs: parsley, chives, rocket, basil, scallions, cilantro – alone or in combination. (I like half cilantro, half rocket.)

1 cup toasted, ground walnuts

olive oil to drizzle

Method:

Preheat the oven to 450°F – 220°C.

1. Toast the walnuts in a dry skillet for 2 minutes, tossing them around with a spatula once in a while. When a toasted aroma arises from them, remove them from the skillet and allow them to cool.

2. In a bowl, combine the breadcrumbs, the salt, black pepper, and cayenne flakes.

3. In a food processor fitted with the knife blade, blend the walnuts and the herbs till the nuts are

chopped fine. Blend the herb/nut mixture with the dry mixture of breadcrumbs and seasonings.

4. Blend the egg and the mustard in a separate bowl.


5. Dip each side of each chicken fillet into the egg mixture. Then dip each eggy fillet into the crumb mix, pressing it lightly to make the crumb mixture stick.

6. Place the coated fillets on a rack over a baking pan. Drizzle them all over with a thread of olive oil.


7. Bake 12 minutes or until the chicken is no longer pink inside. If it seems like the crust will burn before that, cover the fillets with a sheet of tin foil.

Serve with a rosé wine, cold beer, or lemonade.



 

Jerusalem is contradictory. For all its deep, tangled historical roots and self-conscious cosmopolitan air,  it’s still a small town. Sometimes, climbing onto a crowded bus during rush hour, squeezing past old folks laden with bulging shopping bags and tired soldiers talking into cellphones, hoping you’ll find at least a standing space with some elbow room, you feel like Jerusalem is just a dinky little Middle Eastern backwater.

Then again, sometimes the overwhelming sense of history rising out of every stone grabs you by the throat and obliges you to acknowledge that Jerusalem is indeed the navel of the world.  Nowhere else do you feel so aware of your place in time. Aware that your personal life story pulses and flows with a million, million other stories – lives played out on this ground even before King David conquered it, up till this moment, as you cross the street.

A mundane errand took me to the navel of the world recently. Once it was done, I met a girlfriend for lunch on Agrippas Street, near Shuk Machaneh Yehudah.

We stopped in at a little place serving an Italian menu. My ravioli looked wonderful, and so did my friend’s -

but the chef must have been in a bad mood that day because the pasta was stodgy and heavy as bricks. Mine, stuffed with artichoke purée and bathed in lemon juice, was too sour for pleasure. I sent it back. The replacement wasn’t much better.  Our stomachs protested and we didn’t order dessert.

On our way out, kvetching under our breaths, my friend remembered something.

“Let’s go to the etrog guy,” she said.

I had read an interview with Uzi-Eli Chezi about his medicinal juices based on etrogim – citron fruit. My curiosity was already piqued, so I was glad to walk up to the shuk and find the small juice stand on (where else?) Etrog Street.

The owner wasn’t there, but all the juices were. The salesman offered a variety of fresh fruit juices and refreshers: a goat’s milk yogurt flavored with passiflora; something called “Rambam’s Drink”; ginger and apple juice;

and citron juice mixed with other fruit and with wheatgrass. Even with Gat.

A sign claimed astonishing cures for every kind of ailment – from ringing of the ears to detoxication of vital organs and from increased virility to (logically) recovery after birth.

Prices are low, but I particularly liked the offer of a subscription for frequent customers.

On sale were also Yemenite Zchug, and Etrog Soap.

The salesman offered us a taste of a cool, sweet, dark green, citrusy juice. One sip wasn’t enough. It was so good, we each ordered a large glass. We felt refreshed and oddly energized almost immediately.  My friend said that her stomach felt lighter. I noticed that too.

“Thank you,” I said as I paid the salesman. “What was in that juice?”

“Citron,” said he,

“and Gat.”

Oh.

Well, I had to laugh. Never thought I’d take Gat in any form, but I did that day.

We stepped out of the shuk and decided to meander around the 19th-century neighborhood of Nachlaot.  Crossing Agrippas street again, a shop window reminded me what it’s all about:

There are some lovely streets and courtyards in Nachlaot.

Here is the place where a well once existed. I imagined  children hauling on a rope to bring up a sloshing bucket for their mother before running off to school-  housewives pausing to exchange a word there in the afternoon – and maybe, towards evening, a 19th-century Rachel shyly accepting help from a dark-eyed youth who just happened to be hanging around there…

Then my eye fell on this little piece of graffitti.

Back to the 21st century, with a thud.

One last glimpse of the old, romantic neighborhood before turning on to King George Street and taking the bus home…

The house next to the well, all possible openings painted blue to avert the Evil Eye.

Jerusalem of Gold…till the next time.

 

See that book? It’s  Comer Bem – Eat Well, by a possibly fictitious ” Dona Benta”. It was the “Joy of Cooking” of the Brazilian home when I lived there, 40 years ago.  Like the “Joy,” it provides recipes but also teaches measurements, temperatures, substitutions, and menus.

It’s meant to be the manual of the beginner cook, leading gently on to fine recipes. And like the “Joy,” most homes had a copy of it on a kitchen shelf. For all I know, it’s still sold in updated editions. My well-worn copy, complete with sort of livid-looking photographs, was published in 1969.

We used to refer to Dona Benta as if she were really the grandmotherly figure on the book’s cover:

“Dona Benta says never to cook fish with garlic.”

“Don’t care if she does, I’m putting garlic in.”

Looking at it four decades later, I recognize a retro style that presumes the reader to be a stay-at-home woman. Here, for example, is the heading of the chapter on seasonings and condiments. Arch advice for the Little Wife:  No olvides que a veces más puede un guiso bien sazonado que el más sabio de los maquillajes.  (“Don’t forget that sometimes a well-seasoned stew is more powerful than the most artfully applied makeup.”)  Oy. But perversely, I love it.

Why a quote in Spanish for a Portuguese-speaking reader, I don’t know, but sprinkled throughout the book are quotes and phrases in French and English, too.

I was leafing through the book, enjoying the casual instructions (“add enough flour to make a dough you can roll out”) and looking for something interesting to serve with an eggplant soup I’ll be making tonight. And there were these cheese tartlets. Quejadinhas. A crisp, delicate pastry crust containing a savory cheese filling, devoured while still warm. Overcome by a wave of nostalgia – I’ve eaten plenty of quejadinhas in my time – I had to make them. Here they are.

Quejadinhas – Brazilian Cheese Tartlets

Makes 12 muffin-sized tartlets

Ingredients for Pastry:

1/3 cup hard cheese, grated. Parmesan is good; I used a local Kashkeval.

3 Tblsp. butter

4 Tblsp. milk

1/2 tsp. salt

12 Tblsp. flour. This is an annoying amount which I tried to measure into cups – it came out to 1/2 cup plus 1/3 cup of flour. See what I mean? Easier to just keep track of of the spoonfulls as you measure.

Method for the Pastry Shells:

Grease a 12-mold muffin tin well.

Preheat the oven to 200°C – 400°F.

1. Mix the cheese, butter, milk, and salt in a medium bowl.

2. Add the flour by tablespoons, mixing occasionally till you obtain a soft, pliable dough that holds its shape. It may take more or less than the 12 tablespoons. You don’t want a stiff dough like for bread, rather a tender paste.

3. Roll the dough out onto a lightly floured surface or a sheet of baking paper. Stretch it out with the rolling pin till it’s 1/4″ thin.

4. Cut out circles. I used a tuna-can ring, but realized that the resulting circle would be too small, so I just rolled each circle again to make it 4″ – 10 centimeters wide.

You can re-roll the unused parts to make new circles. Once you have your 12 circles, save any extra pastry to fix tears or build up shells that look low in the muffin tin.

Ingredients for Filling:

150 grams – just under 1 cup – grated cheese. Can be sharp and dry, like Parmesan, or heavier and milder, like Gouda.

1 cup milk

4 eggs, lightly beaten

More grated cheese for sprinkling on top – if using a sharp, dry, light cheese, 4 Tblsp. will do.

Method for Filling:

Just mix it all up together.

Line the greased muffin molds with the pastry circles. They are now shells.

Fill each shell up to halfway with the cheese/milk/egg mixture.

Sprinkle a little more grated cheese over each filled shell.

Pop into the hot oven and bake for 18-25 minutes or until the tartlets are golden-brown.

Allow them to cool in the muffin tin and remove carefully.

They may be frozen and reheated in a hot oven for a few minutes. Best served warm, with cold white wine or beer.

 

The sight of a big, red watermelon always fills me with optimism . I guess it’s because watermelon brings back childhood memories of hot, lazy summer days when we were all small and life was good. At the beach, our mother would lure us out of the water for a break, offering us red, juicy slices cut off a half watermelon that was cold from our insulated box . Hunkering down on the sand in our bathing suits, still dripping salt water and a bit dazed with swimming, we would bite with gusto into the “smile” of the slice, glad to hear that crisp, yielding sound as our teeth met melon. Sweet juice running down our chins and fingers, an almost salty flavor as we got closer to the rind. We’d collapse, replete, onto the sand, careless of stickiness and the heat. Mom would push us towards the sweet-water shower and then we’d rest under the beach umbrella for a while.

Or at home, late in the afternoon when lunch was hours behind us and dinner was still some time ahead. Bowls filled with those juicy red cubes would appear – Mom’s strategy to keep us happy till dinner was ready. We would feast.

So I was glad to see watermelons on display at the supermarket when I was there yesterday. I pushed the shopping cart closer, to reach for a good one. But hist – what was that?! Among the red, there were yellow watermelons. They’re a novelty in Israel. At first I thought they were a hybrid of some sort. Out of curiosity, I  bought half a deep-yellow one. We all sat down to try it out. I didn’t know what to expect, but found that it had the true, sweet, watermelon flavor.

So I typed “yellow watermelons” onto a search engine and came up with this Wikepedia article. There I learned that there are 1200 varieties of this fruit, and what’s more, that it’s not a real fruit but a vegetable. (I was kind of sorry I learned that – I think I’ll forget I learned that and go back to thinking of watermelon as fruit.)

It would be neat to fill up a bowl with balls of red and yellow watermelon – maybe some cantaloupe too – when I give a little dinner party for my birthday next week.

Whee! Summer just got more fun.

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