Tzimmes, Rooted In Tradition

If not for its proximity to Christmas, Hanukkah would be largely overlooked as a minor holiday, more akin to the significance of Labor Day in the US, rather than a blockbuster event. Adapted and transformed to align with Christian celebrations, it’s no less significant when it comes to family traditions. Any day is only as important as you believe it to be; Hanukkah, remembered for the miracle of survival, of light in the face of darkness, is every bit as relevant, inspiring, and comforting in the face of modern strife.

Is Hanukkah Really That Important?

That’s why, as a person that considers themselves more culturally Jewish than religious, I do love the rituals; lighting the menorah every night; the smell of frying onions and potatoes wafting through the kitchen; the exchanging of novelty socks. My associations with Hanukkah would no doubt confound my ancestors. Still, I’d like to think it might still resonate. At the heart of it all is the enduring story of hope and resilience, woven into the fabric of the culture, no matter what that might look like.

This year, since the Festival of Lights arrives well ahead of Christmas Day, it’s the perfect time to delve into the heart and soul of Hanukkah cuisine, recognizing our roots beyond latkes. Tzimmes, a humble yet richly symbolic dish embodies the essence of the holiday, encapsulating centuries of tradition and the enduring spirit of the Jewish people.

What Are Tzimmes?

Tzimmes, derived from the Yiddish word ‘tsimlen,’ meaning ‘to make a fuss,’ is more than just a culinary creation; it’s a piece of history on a plate. This sweet, slow-cooked medley of root vegetables, dried fruits, and honey, often accentuated with warm spices, serves as a reminder of the Jewish diaspora’s resilience and adaptability. Its origins date back to Eastern Europe, where Jewish communities sought ways to celebrate Hanukkah using the limited ingredients available to them.

Typically, carrots are an essential factor, sliced into tender rounds like golden coins, to represent a sweet and prosperous future, particularly relevant when observing Rosh Hashanah. In fact, carrots are one of the most commonly used foods in Eastern European meals, both for their symbolism and affordability. The Yiddish word for carrot means to increase or multiply, perhaps like rabbits, though that connection is purely accidental.

A Twist on Tradition

Each ingredient tells a story, though I’d like to write my own narrative. My tzimmes won’t look like your bubbie’s, nor will it look like hers before that. Changing and morphing with our circumstances is part of our collective history. This time, I’m using rainbow carrots for diversity and unity, purple sweet potatoes for their striking hue and abundance, and the figs instead of prunes for added texture and depth. As we gather around the table to savor this modern twist on Tzimmes, we honor our ancestors’ resourcefulness and unwavering determination while embracing the adaptability and creativity of our present.

Join me in celebrating the spirit of the season, creating another set of delicious memories, traditional, unconventional, and everything in between.

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Pavé the Way Forward

This may be a hot take, but I think it’s perfectly fine to skip the Thanksgiving roast, as long as there are potatoes on the table. Mashed, roasted, sauteed, or fried; it’s simply not a harvest feast without some form of spuds. In fact, go ahead and invite more than one to the party. There’s always room for another starchy side.

What Is Potato Pavé?

Some call them “thousand layer potatoes” or “15 hour potatoes” thanks to TikTok, but their roots go much deeper than that. Similar to hasselback, accordion, and tornado potatoes with their endless crispy layers, potato pavé have been around for centuries. These golden bricks of pressed, creamy potato, take their name from the French word for cobblestone. Historically reserved for the tables of fine dining establishments, their time-consuming preparation is too demanding for any old weeknight dinner, but well within reach for a special occasion.

How It’s Made

To create this masterpiece, you’ll layer these paper-thin potato slices in a meticulous mosaic, infusing each crevice with rich coconut milk and sriracha-spiked bee-free honey. The whole assembly is baked, then weighted down to compress and bind the strata into compact tiers, still delicate but stable enough to slice. Traditionally, it’s then fried or seared in hot oil, but I prefer the ease of the air fryer, browning the edges to a crispy, grease-free finish.

If all goes according to plan, you get the best of all worlds: A buttery interior with sheets of silky-smooth potato puree, and crunchy sides that could put breakfast hash browns to shame. Mixed within that textural symphony, the sweet-heat flavor contrast hits all the high notes.

FAQ

This is definitely a more advanced recipe, best prepared ahead of time and practiced before the big event, if possible. It all comes down to technique, with a pinch of food science.

Can I use sweet potatoes or purple potatoes instead?

  • No, I’m afraid not. They’ll become completely smooth in the center, which is also lovely, but not the same experience as you’d get from a multitude of distinct layers.

Can I make potato pavé without a mandolin?

  • You can, in the sense that it’s physically possible and I can’t stop you, but I absolutely do NOT recommend it. Unless you’re a master chef or sword-fighting ninja, there’s no way to ensure completely consistent, wafer-thin slices across three pounds of potatoes. This is absolutely critical for success. To be honest, I should have cut mine even thinner than what’s pictured too.

What do you do with the scraps?

  • If you’re not satisfied by simply eating them as snacks while you work, the excess trimmings can be added to soups or stews, mixed into stuffing, or even sprinkled on top of salads.

Serving Suggestions

Naturally, potato pave would be right at home with the other side dishes, but they could also be served as a starter before the main meal. Include a garlicky aioli for dipping and think of them as bundles of crispy French fries! For a more elegant serving, use them as a separate first course, surrounded by a pool of chestnut puree, gravy, or herbed vegan butter.

If there’s one dish you invest concerted time and effort on this Thanksgiving, make it the potatoes.

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Jerk It Out

Certain foods fly under the radar, overshadowed by classic crowd-pleasers or passing trends. No matter how delicious, versatile, or accessible, they remain firmly out of sight, out of mind. Occasionally, something will shake us out of our stasis, forcing the question: Why don’t I eat this more often?

Speaking for myself, I’m talking about plantains here. Satisfyingly starchy, subtly sweet, I like to think of them as tropical potatoes rather than fruits. Anything spuds can do, plantains can do, too. Not to invoke Bubba Gump, but you can boil them, fry them, saute them, bake them, mash them, stew them… You get the picture.

Thus, inspired by my Za’atar Melting Potatoes from The Everyday Vegan Cheat Sheet, Jerk Melting Plantains are encrusted with jerk seasoning, roasted at high heat to a blackened, crispy finish while retaining a downright buttery interior. The result can only be described as downright juicy, succulent in a way that you might not expect from a starchy vegetable. Hopefully this will help you and me both remember to put plantains on the grocery list more often.

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Do As You Peas

Standing in the kitchen, hands full of half-peeled zucchini in the dark of night, I’m trying to channel my grandmother circa 1984. Five years before I was born, President Ronald Reagan was in office, astronauts went on the first untethered space walk on the moon, and Apple made a splash with its infamous “1984” Macintosh commercial. It was also the year that Bon Appétit magazine published a recipe for Zucchini Cups Stuffed with Peas.

Zucchini Cups Stuffed With Peas - Recipe Card from Bon Appetit Magazine, December 1984

I know this because my grandmother so carefully clipped and preserved this relic of the past. It survived nearly four decades, multiple moves, deaths and births, whole lifetimes. Not once did I ever see zucchini cups with peas grace our table, and I can’t help but wonder…Zucchini cups, cored

Why? Why zucchini cups?

  • Why was this recipe run in December, for starters, when neither zucchini nor peas would be in season?
  • Why was this the standout dish my grandmother kept, of things?
  • Why couldn’t I stop thinking about it, from the minute my mom unearthed it?

Stuffing baked zucchini cups with peas.

These questions have no answers.

My grandmother doesn’t remember the zucchini cups or what inspired her to file the recipe away. I’m okay with not knowing; some things just are that way, and I’m happy to have this taste of the past, maybe even better than what my grandmother had envisioned during her years of entertaining.

Zucchini cups stuffed with peas on a silver platter.

Small changes were necessary, of course, to veganize and enhance the original stuffed zucchini recipe with modern ingredients and technology.

  • Butter is traded for peppery extra virgin olive oil.
  • Dried tarragon gets axed in favor of verdant fresh herbs.
  • Melon ballers belong only in museums at this point, so I reached for my trusty zucchini reamer instead (yes, that’s a thing)- Though you could very happily use a regular pairing knife here.
  • Boiled zucchini sound downright dreadful, which is why the dry heat of the oven, which concentrates flavors and gently browns the surface, had much greater appeal.

The real beauty of the concept, however, is that it doesn’t take much to assemble or enjoy. I suppose they were intended to serve as appetizers or snacks for guests, as every good housewife should be ready to entertain at the drop of a hat, but I happen to think they make a fantastic side dish for any random weekday dinner, too.

Green pea stuffing.

If you have extra peas, those alone are brilliant to pair with just about any protein, such as a meatless loaf, balls, or cutlet, especially with creamy mashed potatoes or al dente pasta as a base. Beyond that, consider using them to top avocado toast, puree to use as a dip, or mash roughly to stuff into sandwiches.

Zucchini cups stuffed with peas on a silver platter.

I’m certain my grandmother never made the original recipe, but I hope I could still do her proud with my rendition. We don’t have many memories together, at least in recent years, so I’m grateful to keep making new ones now.

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Radicalized Radicchio

I do not like radicchio.

Full stop.

Maybe that’s not the most enticing way to start a post about a radicchio recipe, but I’m nothing if not honest here.

Radicchio, miniature heads of tender red leaf lettuce, have a delicate, feathery appearance. They seem ethereal, soft as if they could float away, yet eye-catching for their molted mulberry hue.

Bitterness is not a bad thing in itself; it’s essential for contrast and balance in a dish, to fully appreciate sweetness when it rings true. The bitterness in radicchio, however, is something else. It’s bitter like a freezing rain whipping in a cold wind. It’s bitter like Ebenezer Scrooge before his encounter with three spirits.

Radicchio macro

How can you tame the bitterness of radicchio?

All is not lost when radicchio darkens your vegetable crisper. The secret is really quite simple:

  1. Cut it into thin strips or finely shave it.
  2. Soak it in ice water for at least 30 minutes.
  3. Drain and thoroughly dry.

That’s it! Like magic, the once biting acridity has been de-fanged. Now the question remains…

What’s the best way to cook radicchio?

Actually, that’s a trick question. While it is suitable for stir-frying, sauteing, braising, and roasting, I happen to find the milder version quite pleasant raw.

Radicchio Purple Potato Salad

Allow me to introduce: The Purple Potato Salad.

Unlike conventional takes on the concept, the potatoes are roasted with autumnal herbs and spices for a warm finish and crispy edges. It’s still all about contrasts here, with fresh radicchio providing a tender-crisp bite against the creamy flesh of purple sweet potatoes. More floral and fragrant than their orange brethren, they’re worth seeking out for a truly showstopping magenta masterpiece. Nutty, buttery roasted chestnuts round out any remaining sharp edges to the radicchio, coupled with the crunch of toasted pine nuts. Like any thoughtful salad, it’s not just a random pile of leftover ingredients, but a carefully assembled composition.

How can you make this recipe your own?

Think seasonally and you can’t go too far wrong. Other complimentary additions could include:

Radicchio Purple Potato Salad

Still think radicchio is beyond redemption?

Take it from a reformed hater: It’s all about proper prep. Anything can be made delicious with the right care and attention. If this Radicchio and Roasted Purple Potato Salad doesn’t change your mind, I don’t know what will.

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Stick To Your Ribs

For years, I’ve resisted the lure of corn ribs. Despite the fact that they were everywhere I turned, plastered over Instagram and Pinterest, playing on an endless loop in TikTok videos, it wasn’t hard. The whole concept was a turn off. Who really wants corn that eats like ribs, with all that sticky, messy sauce coating your fingers as much as the food? In age and wisdom, I’ve come to realize two simple truths:

  1. I need to take myself less seriously.
  2. Being messy and playful is the whole point.

The reason why it took off as a food trend is exactly why I couldn’t stand the idea to begin with, which is more of a personal failing than a dig on the social media complex. Yes, some of the appeal is novelty, like most “stunt food,” but it goes deeper than aesthetics. If you let yourself get dirty, digging in with both hands and throwing caution to the wind, you might just enjoy it.

Besides that, the technique yields effortlessly tender-crisp fresh corn with beautifully charred, lightly caramelized edges.

If BBQ isn’t your bag, there are plenty of alternative seasonings to consider for corn ribs:

To be honest, no further garnishes need apply. A touch of green scallion is nice for color and a gentle hint of allium flavor, but you can happily take those corn ribs from the kitchen to the table as is. When you want to pull out all the stops, that’s far from the only choice. Dipping sauce on the side is always welcome for a cooling contrast too.

More tasty toppings for your corn ribs includes:

An air fryer makes easy work of this recipe without heating up the whole house, but it’s a snap to toss into a conventional oven as well. Double, triple, or quadruple as needed to feed a crowd; the formula is flexible and infinitely scalable like that.

If you’re going to serve corn this summer, you might as well have fun with it. Stop worrying and learn to love the mess.

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