Some family cooking traditions make no sense, but we still cling to them. After moving across the country, one writer is revisiting family recipes like icebox caterpillar cake.
On a very hot day in Spain, Emma Rudolph cobbled together a Shabbat dinner with cold items from the market. It’s now her go-to summer Shabbat dish.
The Super Bowl — a time for shameless gluttony and rooting for a game you barely understand. Well, at least that’s my experience. Honestly, I don’t know much about football, but any chance to cuddle up with some buffalo chicken wings and watch the latest pop star belt it out at half-time seems like a good enough excuse to join in on the national pastime. Oh, and then there’s the commercials; I’m a sucker for anything with the Budweiser horses.
I did the most stereotypical thing one can do after the New Year. I went on a juice cleanse. Three full days existing on nothing but sludgy, vitamin and mineral-laden juice. I’ve experienced a variety of feelings: cleansed (yes, seriously), hungry, exhausted, slightly delusional, energetic, sated and, did I mention hungry? My one constant was my ever-present desire to cook. You can pump me up with all the kale juice in the world but you can’t take away my inherent need to cook.
I’m going to be honest with you. I signed up for Birthright mostly because I wanted to spend ten days eating Israeli food. When I found out I was chosen for a summer 2012 trip, my daydreams were filled with visions of pistachio-studded halvah, mounds of falafel, juicy shawarma, and creamy hummus. You could say I was going on the trip for all the wrong reasons, that gorging oneself on Israeli delicacies was not a moral reason to take advantage of a free 10-day trip to the Holy Land. Well sometimes karma bites you back.
People love to ask, “what did you grow up eating?” Having a professional food writer for a mother makes this a particularly complicated question to answer. Yes, I grew up eating amazing homemade food. I have fond memories of ox tail stews and fresh pasta with sauce made of vegetables from our garden. I was undoubtedly a spoiled child when it came to food. I had the palate of a mature adult, requesting escargot on my 6th birthday. But, after all the lavish multi-coursed dinners, and made-from-scratch snacks that I was so lucky to grow up with, my most profound childhood food memory is one of the simplest dishes: roast chicken.