This week in the NY Times there was an article about Jewish Ashkenazi foods that gave a recipe for a winter delight called cholent. My cousin in NY rang to tell me about this, my old Yiddish-speaking crew from Facebook posted links to this and my other cousin in NY, who I haven't spoken to in almost a year, told me that he and his wife had also gone out to buy cholent making ingredients. In other words, everyone I grew up with on the other side of the Atlantic was suddenly excited by this one pot meal.
I not only got inspired by this Times article, but inspired enough to do a whole evening's research on the internet for the definitive recipe for what is essentially meat, potatoes, beans and barley that cooks for anywhere from 12 to 20 hours in a slow oven. I found thousands of articles giving recipes, re-telling stories from the past, discussing the pros and cons of different methods, ingredients, flavourings and cooking pots. I got involved in reading tales from people's Ashkenazi and Sephardic roots, stories of their mothers and increasingly, fathers, making cholent. Who knew that the NY Times would be responsible for re-opening this particular kosher can of worms?
The very next morning I went on a hunt for the ingredients for the perfect cholent. First stop, the butcher. My mother's cholent, which was spectacular, was heavy on the meat, as are most Ashkenazi recipes. Us Eastern European Jewish descendants are confirmed carnivores. So the hunt was on for a cut of meat called 'short ribs'. I have often bought short ribs in NY to add to soups and for other long slow cooked dishes, but I have never tried to buy them here. I went to my local North London butcher and asked if he had short ribs. After a bit of a joke about his ribs having been cured of this problem after he saw his doctor (hahaha), he admitted he had no idea what cut of meat I was after. He offered me skirt (no) chuck (no) and finally he pointed to a package of something called 'Jacob's Ladder''. These were a single slab of what looked like very meaty beef spare ribs and voila! this was it. He sawed and cut and eventually I had my short ribs. All that remained was to beg a few beef marrow bones and I was away. The rest of the ingredients are readily available so I purchased what I needed and came home.
Today is cholent-making day. This essentially means piling all the ingredients into my heavy, hernia-causing Le Creuset casserole, putting it in the oven and leaving it. I am so excited.
I remember the smells that eminated from our little apartment kitchen in the Bronx early in the morning in winter. We would go to bed on a Friday night, the apartment always a bit too cold since we were all waiting for the 'super' (janitor to the Brits) to send us up heat that came from the furnace in the basement of our building. The cost of heating was included in our rent. There was never enough heat in winter and in order to indicate this we would bang on the iron radiator pipes so the super in the basement would hear us. Sometimes the cacaphony of banging made it hard to have normal conversations. This winter chill indoors meant that putting the pot of cholent in a low heat oven all night was a great way of heating the kitchen. It also meant that on Saturday morning, upon waking, the apartment was filled with the wonderful smell of lunch to come.
My father could never wait until lunchtime and I remember him at breakfast, opening the oven very quietly, pushing aside the lid of the heavy iron casserole and sneaking a spoonful of soft, melting meat and potatoes. I also remember him inevitably being caught by my mother and severely admonished. I would be content to wait until afternoon when my aunt, uncle and cousins would arrive so we could all share in the cheapest and most delicious of delicacies together.
The decision to make this cholent is not such an easy one. The insecurity surrounding the making of an inherited memory is fraught. Will I get it right? Was there a secret ingredient my mother used to add that I can't possibly know? Will it taste as I remember? The answer to will it taste as I remember is a resounding no. Of course not. My mother is not there to make it and my family is not here to share it. The memories of this dish are as important an ingredient as the beef. They add that missing flavour and as much as I try to add that I know it will lack something. As hard as I try to get the flavouring correct there is no way to bottle the nostalgia and warmth that go with the remembered uncovering of the aromatic mingling of beef, beans and potatoes. I certainly won't be adding the one actual ingredient that I do remember - kishke.
Kishke, or to give it its polite English translation, stuffed derma, is a sausage made from intestinal casing filled with a mixture of flour, onions, paprika and assorted stodge. There are as many ways to make this as there are old Jewish mamas, but I will not be adding it to my cholent. Firstly I think my English butcher would not have the requisite cow intestines to sell me and secondly, I cannot face the performance that this involves. The cleaning, boiling and de-fatting of this particularly unsavoury part of a cow's body is not for me. I am by no means squeamish and I can certainly hoover up a plate of kishke slices in gravy with the best of the world's bar mitzvah attending gluttons, but I will not make it. It's a memory too far for me and I guess my cholent will have to fore go this added delicacy.
Tomorrow I have friends coming to share this big pot of food with us. One of my friends is Israeli with Ashkenazi and Sephardic roots. He asked if I was going to add eggs to my cholent. Oy, eggs??? Whoever heard of such a thing? The internet research confirmed to me that Sephardic Jews did indeed add eggs, in their shells, to the cooking pot to hard-boil and absorb the flavours of the slow-cooking cholent. I also learned that there are as many ways to make cholent as there are Jews. Every family has there own preferred way of making a 'richtikeh' pot of cholent. I'm sticking with what I can remember while I still have a memory left.
My anticipation of tomorrow's meal is tempered with a sweet sadness. I miss my parents, my aunt and my uncle's unadulterated joy in sitting down to this simple pot of food. I realise that just as I have memories of childhood and innocence attached to this, so did they. Their memories were all the more poignant because they had so little time to share them with their brothers and sisters and families. I have been very lucky to have had and to still have family I can share this with. I am busy cooking today in order to lay down memories for tomorrow. It may just be a pot of beef and beans, but for me, it's future history.
By the way, for anyone interested, this is the recipe I used (amounts are inexact because they don't matter that much):
- A few beef marrow bones
- 12 oz. dried beans (mixed haricot,lima, kidney, etc) soaked overnight and drained
- 3 sliced onions
- 3 cloves minced garlic
- 4 large peeled quartered potatoes
- 2 lbs (or more) of boneless short ribs of beef (if you can't get boneless, it's easy to de-bone them yourself - don't throw away the bones, they are great in soups)
- 5 oz barley
- 1 TBS paprika
- 1TBS honey
- 1TBS mustard powder
- (Other seasonings can be added to your taste) Pepper can be added but don't add salt until the beans cook through a bit.
- Eggs (if you must) can be added too, but feh!
Put the ingredients in a large heavy casserole or cast iron pot in the order given. Add water mixed with seasonings to cover the entire pot of stuff. Bring to a boil on top of the stove and let simmer covered for about an hour. Then transfer the covered pot to the oven (top up the water if necessary to cover) and leave in a 275 degree Farenheit oven for overnight or longer. Check periodically to make sure there is enough liquid so it doesn't boil dry. Serve with delight to lots of friends and family.
You can, I am told, cook this in something attractively named , a crock pot, but as my mother would never have used such a contraption, neiither do I.
Cholent is an inexact dish. Memory is an inexact science. Season both with as much love and nostalgia for days gone by as you can and I'm sure you can't go wrong.
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