Splish Splash, I Was Given A Bath

The next to last time a man gave me a bath, I called him “Daddy.” No, this is not the beginning of some tawdry sex tale...I called him “Daddy,” because he WAS my Daddy.  And I was about five years old at the time. 

The last time a man gave me a bath was about two weeks ago--in Urgup, Turkey. After a long day of touring and hiking the caves in the city of Cappadocia, my husband and I decided a relaxing experience would do us good. We were staying in a small town nearby and the local hamam (Turkish bath) was just down the street from our inn. I had done some prior research on Turkish baths and thought I had a good idea of what to expect. “It’s a rub-down and a massage. How bad could it be?” It was definitely on the bucket list of my trip, so I was stoked.

Back in the day, Turkish baths stood for much more than a mere cleansing. They were a rite and a ritual and used for purification purposes as well. The building itself was a place where young and old, male and female, rich and poor could come together socially, and in many cases to celebrate holidays and milestones. The hamam we chose looked as if it hadn't changed much from those earlier times.

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 A wave of hot, humid air hit us as we entered the dome-topped stone building. “Oh good.” I thought. “There’s a woman already done with her bath. I will probably get the woman/masseuse who worked on her.” Two young male attendants, one fully dressed, and one wrapped in what looked like a skirt made out of a cotton tablecloth...for a small table, were in the waiting room. One of them handed me a pair of plastic slippers, a wrap (pestemal) similar to the one he was wearing, and a key, and motioned me to one of the small private cubicles that lined the walls. Actually, he motioned my husband and myself to one of the cubicles explaining that we were going to share the room. As we both got in, undressed, and tried to figure out how to strategically fashion the wraps around our bodies, we also made a poor attempt at trying to stifle our nervous laughter.

After reading that the soap and shampoo used in traditional hamams were very basic and oftentimes harsh, I decided to bring my own. With the rest of my belongings locked in the cubicle, there I was, holding my two small bottles of “product,” padding around in my plastic footwear, trying to make sure that my little tablecloth did not reveal even one inch more of skin than was appropriate, waiting for my gal to steer me to my next destination. It was do or die at this point. The same attendant led us into a circular tiled room that was even more warm and humid than the reception area. Surrounding this room were alcoves that contained shower heads, and an enclosed sauna room. In the center of the room was a very large, round, marble platform, a gobektasi. We were told to shower, go into the sauna to work up a sweat, and then hop on the gobektasi.

After going a few rounds with the sauna/cool shower combo, we both plopped sprawled out on the platform and waited. The platform, I discovered, was heated. And as I learned from my research, the tiles on the walls were supposed to remove static electricity from the air, and help to relax the mind and body.  It was quite relaxing--and wet, since the condensation from the heat of the room dripped down on us from the glass pockets in the high domed ceiling above. I would consider myself to be pretty adventurous. And going to a Turkish bath rated a very low score on my adventurous activities scale. But I have to admit that I did have a very hard time relaxing in that room, as I waited for “my gal.” 

After what seemed like an eternity but was probably only fifteen minutes the attendant came in again and led us to a room that had what looked like two massage beds and two sinks. Next to those beds were our bathers--two young gentlemen wearing skirts. “This should be interesting,” I thought. Well, when in Rome, er, Turkey.... The next few minutes were a flurry of warm water, hot water, and soap. (And all of this while I tried my best to remain covered.) My attendant used sandpaper a mitt to scrub my body that I swear fishermen use to descale fish. I knew they were supposed to remove layers of dead skin, but I didn’t know they were going to remove ALL of my skin. Then came the bubbles--LOTS of bubbles from some sort of a contraption I like to call a bubble bag. I know I’m showing my age, but do you remember the Mr. Bubble commercial where they can’t find the little girl because she’s lost in the bubbles? Well, that little girl had nothing on me. Keep in mind that all the while I am going through this, my husband is right across from me getting the same treatment. After I caught the first dumping rinsing of water over my husband’s bubble-covered body, I decided it was best to keep my eyes closed for the remainder of the session. My only regret is that I did not have a video camera, but if Allen Funt (showing my age again) jumped out from the gobekta wearing his own pestemal, I would not have been surprised at all.

Following the skinning scrubbing came the massage. Just what I wanted...someone kneading and rubbing my body after he had removed all of my epidermis. This was a young, skinny guy. How intense could his massaging be? Whaddya think? If I knew how to say “mother of God” in Turkish, I would have. 'Nuff said.

Once we were done being tortured massaged, we were given fresh towels, dry wraps, and left to get dressed. As we exited the cubicle and went to pay, our two attendants were at the desk chatting and eating doner kebabi (gyro subs). Just another day at the office for them. You gotta love it.

I know that some of the other hotels where we stayed in Istanbul offered more sybaritic Turkish baths with fragrant oils, fluffy towels, and aromatherapy. As luxurious as those treatments sounded, we realized they could have been had anywhere. What we experienced was the real deal, and that’s what made it ever so memorable. I loved visiting Turkey and hope someday to return. I may even take a Turkish bath again...my skin may have regained its natural color again by then.

Say "Cheese" for Shavuot

Shavuot is a Jewish holiday that has both agricultural and historical significance. Agriculturally, it commemorates the time when the first fruits were harvested and brought to the Temple. Historically, it celebrates the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai. Literally known as “Weeks,” the holiday is celebrated seven weeks after Passover, as it was assumed that it took the people of Israel seven weeks to make their journey through the desert, finally reaching Mount Sinai.

As is with most Jewish holidays, there is a culinary aspect associated with Shavuot.  Many Jews eat dairy on this holiday, and there are various interpretations as to why this is done. One such explanation is that because the Israelites had not yet received the laws of kashrut (Jewish dietary laws), they had prepared foods that were not in accordance with those laws. When they received the Torah, read the new laws, and realized their meat had not been made kosher according to God’s will, they opted to eat dairy dishes only. 

While eating cheesecake and cheese blintzes is common on this holiday, we had another dairy favorite in my mom’s home. Cheese Knaidlach, called Turogomboc in Hungarian, are quenelle-type dumplings. Light and pillowy, they must be handled ever so gently while both adding them to and removing them from their pot. When rolled in sugar and cinnamon laced brown butter crumbs, they make a delicious dessert. Placing them in a pool of 

strawberry coulis will make an even more decadent treat.

Another tradition that is practiced on Shavuot is the reading of the Book of Ruth. This is a wonderful story of sacrifice and true devotion involving Ruth and her mother-in-law Naomi. The two are righteous women, but it is Ruth who is the star.  She is the daughter-in-law of all daughters-in-law, and a heroine in her own right. I like to think of this holiday as honoring all of my favorites, fruits and vegetables, dairy, and strong women everywhere.

CHEESE KNAIDLACH (Turogomboc)

1 lb. farmer’s cheese

2 eggs, separated

1/4c. farina

1/2 tsp. salt

1 Tbsp. sugar

Crumbs:

1/2c. dry bread crumbs

1 oz. butter

1/8c. canola oil

1 Tbsp. cinnamon

1 Tbsp. sugar

Make Knaidlach: With a wooden spoon, beat together the farmer’s cheese, egg yolks, sugar, salt, and farina. Whip egg whites until the soft peak stage, and gently fold them into cheese mixture.  Chill 30 minutes to one hour. Moisten hands and form mixture into 2-inch balls. Bring a large pot of salted water to a rolling boil. Reduce to a simmer and gently lower knaidlach into the pot.  Cook for 20 minutes or until they rise to the top. Drain. 

Make Crumbs: Add butter and oil to a skillet and heat until butter melts. Add crumbs to skillet and cook until they are a rich reddish brown. Add sugar and cinnamon to browned crumbs. 

Once Knaidlach have cooked, drain and gently roll them in the browned crumbs.

Nearer My Mom, To Thee

The Crafty Crow

I can’t remember the last time I spent Mother’s Day with my mother...in person. She’s been gone almost ten years and before that she lived in Florida while I lived in California. The times we spent together during the Mother’s Days of that period were reduced to the length of a phone call, and there was always an undercurrent of guilt fueling that obligatory call. I felt sad that she was not with her children and grandchildren, and guilty about not making that happen.  Each year I wrestled with the determination of whether it was better to get the call over with earlier in the day or at the last possible moment.  

During those calls, Mom would say she loved whatever gift we sent, and then I would put my boys on the phone so they could wish their grandmother a happy day. She would never say, but I could tell from the tone of her voice whether it really was a happy day or not. Whether she and my dad went out for lunch or dinner (my dad, Mr. Romantic, was one of those guys who would celebrate the day before to avoid the crowds), or whether they did nothing and just stayed home alone. Invariably those phone calls did not do much to contribute to the happiness of my day (thus the hemming and hawing connected to making them). They hearkened me back to the many Mother’s Days of my youth. On those days, my dad would often come home from his morning errands with a big bunch of flowers.  I would always add my own colorful bouquets--the ones with the crepe paper blossoms and pipe cleaner stems, and handmade cards covered with hearts that had been glued on assiduously. A big fuss was made over anything I created, and as ours was a very symbiotic relationship, I was ecstatic to be able to make my mom happy. As I grew older, the homemade gifts were replaced by gifts I actually purchased. One in particular was a white cotton nightgown, delicate and thin as rice paper. A white satin ribbon zigzagged around the neckline, and also the hemline.  My mom wore that nightgown often, until the many runs through the washer made it unwearable, just to show me how special it was.

Yet as celebratory as those times seemed, there was always an undercurrent of melancholia hiding there beneath them--like a piece of fine gauze. Any joy that was experienced in our home was often followed by a loud, wistful sigh, or a remark that began, “If only.” “If only my family were here.” “If only the war had not taken your grandparents away.” I’m not sure whether it was my mother’s survivor’s guilt or merely her inherent unhappiness that caused her to destroy the mood, but she often did.  It was as if she felt obligated to always bring up the past so it wouldn’t be forgotten, and never allowed herself to revel too greatly in her joy and good fortune. It was always incumbent upon us to bring her that joy, but we could not compete with the memories of the Holocaust, and she was wont to let us know, in her own subtle ways.  It was as if the joy, as well as the air, was being sucked out of the room. I felt there was nothing I could say after such remarks to make things better, so very often my younger self would walk away, feeling dejected. Mom could never understand why that was, and quite often she would become angry. She probably didn’t even realize how her demeanor affected us, and it was obvious she didn’t try to.

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The Mother’s Days I spend with my own family are some of my most cherished times. We usually try some obscure place for brunch, and often my guys indulge me and allow themselves to be taken to a chick flick if there’s one playing that day. I love sitting in the theater with them knowing we’re all in one place, together. (Even though some of us are sleeping.) Last Mother’s Day we were all together on a plane to Italy. Once we had taken off and were flying at a pretty high altitude, I felt in my own childish way, as though we were closer to heaven, and thus closer to my mom. I imagined her looking in on the plane, seeing my boys, now young men, sitting there with me and I thought of how bursting with pride she would be. She often said that the only things that gave her pleasure were her children and grandchildren. And yet her pleasure seemed so fleeting at times.Thinking of her while on that plane did not dampen my spirits, as it usually did. In some strange way I felt her presence and as a light blanket on a cool summer night it descended upon me, and I felt happy. This year, I will once again be on a plane on Mother’s Day, this time heading to Turkey. I will think of my mom on that day, hoping to sense her again. I will imagine her smiling, and send her my love.

Book Review: Charlotte Au Chocolat

To a foodie, Charlotte Silver’s childhood might have seemed like a dream come true. The daughter of chefs, Charlotte grew up amongst the pots, pans, pink linen tablecloths, and sparkling chandeliers of Upstairs at the Pudding, an eclectic eatery in a Victorian building in Harvard Square. But in addition to dining on delicacies (her favorite dish was Smoked Pheasant and Roquefort Flan) and the many years spent inhaling the restaurant’s lavishness, there were the many days and nights Charlotte was left to her own devices while her workaholic mom was absorbed with the restaurant business and all its trials and tribulations.  

Ms. Silver's memoir of the decadence, the food, and the colorful characters in the front and back of the house is a delicious entree into the Harvard Square and its environs of the ‘70s and ‘80s. The restaurant and its theatrical atmosphere is definitely the supporting star of this story, but the true headliner is Deborah Hughes, Charlotte’s very glamorous, very driven mother.  Nicknamed “Patton in Pumps” by a staffer, this dynamo in and out of the kitchen singlehandedly saw to every aspect of the business, and still managed to impart lessons of style, manners, and dedication to her daughter. 

 It's not exactly Kitchen Confidential--perhaps with lots more meringue, whipped cream, caramel sauce, and a cherry on top--but it is a glimpse into the world of cheffing, told from a very different perspective. Like the sweet and fanciful confections the restaurant was known for, this is a light tale of a time that really no longer exists. And it is told in a rather wistful way that makes us wish it still did.

HIPPO BIRDIE TO YOU

I don’t remember the birthdays of my childhood very clearly, which leads me to believe that they were not all that memorable. I do remember having a Sweet Sixteen party, during which I almost choked to death on a piece of steak, but that’s not the kind of memorable I am referring to. I’m talking about fun, happiness, giggling--adoring friends and family gathering around and making you feel like the star of the day. I just can’t remember days like that from the archives. So perhaps because of my earlier birthday celebrations, or lack thereof, I was determined to make the birthdays in my own home have a bit more pomp and circumstance. And they did. 


The morning of, the birthday boy (or girl) would walk down a crepe paper-wrapped staircase to an even more crepe paper-decorated kitchen where time allowing, a special breakfast (usually chocolate chip pancakes) would be had.  Birthday party venues ranged from the Petting Zoo and gymnastic studio when the kids were very young, to Laser Tag and Paintball when they were older. One year we had a Halloween-in-July party, complete with ghosts and ghouls. That was the year of the Ghost Cake. You cannot have a respectable birthday party without having cake. The year of the Ninja Turtle party, the cake looked like a pizza, and many years down the road, the toppers were musical symbols and a chocolate-shaped saxophone. 

There was always a separate family night to celebrate the birthday, and that very often took place at a restaurant that was chosen after a detailed search of online “Best Restaurant” lists. Sometimes the winner was chosen from a newspaper or magazine clipping that was tacked to the bulletin board in our laundry room, put there just for that purpose. These celebrations and expressions of love were so much fun that to me, the gifts seemed almost secondary. Of course little boys love games and toys, and my boys were no different, but as they grew older they could never even figure out what they wanted. And lately they say, “Nothing right now” when asked. But the pomp and circumstance are still expected. (And don't get me wrong, we still exchange gifts.)

Rocky Road

My son Will’s birthday is Friday, and he will be twenty. Since he is away at school and won’t be walking down the kitschy staircase that morning, I wanted him to at least have a little something from home for his day. Whenever I attend a child’s birthday party I think of Will and remember my yellow-haired little boy sitting all by himself at so many parties after the others had already run off to play. He knew a good thing when he saw it, and he was not getting up until every last bit of cake was gone from his plate. So I sent him a party in a box--some cupcakes, frosting, spreaders, sprinkles, candles, and some Rocky Road to share with his fraternity brothers. It’s just a little expression of love, because after all, that, and cake, are what birthdays are all about.

The cupcakes came from Joanne Chang’s “Flour” cookbook. The recipe is simple--it’s her take on a "dump cake," where virtually all the ingredients get dumped into the bowl together. I added some chocolate chips to the batter, but that’s optional. The cupcakes are moist and chocolaty, and I think they will travel across the miles very well. I did not frost these cupcakes; a dusting of powdered sugar will do. ( I am embarrassed to say I sent along a can of store-bought frosting for numerous reasons, a few of which had to do with shipping.) But if I had, I would have used Joanne’s recipe as well. I have included it and hope you make it, as taking that extra step to do so makes a world of difference. 

Chocolate Cupcakes with Crispy Magic Frosting

adapted from Joanne Chang's “Flour” cookbook

(makes 12 to 14)

Cupcake Ingredients

2 oz. unsweetened chocolate, chopped

1/4 c. Dutch processed cocoa powder

1 c. granulated sugar

1/2 c. unsalted butter

1/3 c. water

1/2 c. milk

1 egg

1 egg yolk

1/2 tsp. vanilla extract

1 c. all-purpose flour

1 t. baking powder

1/2 t. baking soda

1/2 t. kosher salt

3/4c. mini chocolate chips (opt.)

Crispy Magic Frosting Ingredients

2/3 c. granulated sugar

2 egg whites

1 c. unsalted butter, room temperature, cut into 2-inch chunks

1 2/3 c. confectioners sugar

1/4 tsp. kosher salt

2 T. milk

1 T. vanilla extract

Directions

Position a rack in the center of the oven, and heat the oven to 350 degrees F. Butter and flour a standard 12-cup muffin tin or line with paper liners.

In a small heatproof bowl, combine the chocolate and cocoa powder. In a small saucepan, heat the granulated sugar, butter, and water over medium-high heat, whisking occasionally, for 3 to 4 minutes, or until the butter is melted and the sugar is dissolved. Pour the hot butter-sugar mixture over the chocolate-cocoa mixture and whisk until the chocolate is completely melted and the mixture is homogeneous.

Whisk the milk, egg, egg yolk, and vanilla into the chocolate mixture until thoroughly combined.

In a bowl, stir together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt until well mixed. Dump the flour mixture on top of the chocolate mixture. Whisk until the dry ingredients are totally mixed into the chocolate mixture. Gently fold the mini chocolate chips (if using) into the batter. Let the batter sit for at least 1 hour at room temperature, or transfer to an airtight container and store in the refrigerator for up to 3 days. (This allows the liquid to be totally absorbed into the batter, so the batter thickens up a bit and isn’t so soupy.)

Using a rubber spatula, gently stir the batter to reincorporate the chips. Spoon it into prepared muffin cups, dividing evenly and filling the cups to the rim. Bake for about 30 minutes, or until the tops spring back when pressed with a fingertip. Let cool completely in the pan on a wire rack.

To make the frosting: While the cupcakes are cooling, in a small heatproof bowl, whisk together the granulated sugar and egg whites to make thick slurry. Place the bowl over (not touching) simmering water in a saucepan and heat, whisking occasionally, for 3 to 5 minutes, or until the mixture is hot to the touch. It will thin out a bit as the sugar melts.

Remove from the heat and scrape the mixture into the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a whip attachment. Whip on medium-high speed for 6-8 minutes, or until the mixture becomes a light, white meringue and is cool to the touch. Turn down the speed to medium, add the butter a few chunks at a time and beat for 3-4 minutes, or until the butter is thoroughly incorporated. Add the confectioner’s sugar, salt, milk, and vanilla and continue to beat on medium speed until the mixture is smooth and satiny. You should have about 3 ½ cups. (Use immediately, or transfer to an airtight container and store at room temperature for up to 3 days, then beat with the stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment for a few minutes until smooth before using. Or, store in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 2 weeks, then bring to room temperature and paddle for a few minutes until smooth before using. )

Remove the cupcakes from the muffin tin and spread or pipe (using a pastry bag) the frosting onto the cupcakes.

A MANDEL BREAD FOR ALL SEASONS

Many of the desserts that are kosher for Passover are takeoffs on everyday desserts, substituting matzoh cake meal for traditional flour. And they taste like it. And therein lies the problem. I find the key to avoid having this happen is to throw caution to the wind and prepare desserts that embrace the nutty matzoh taste rather then fight it.

The Mandel Bread (Jewish Biscotti) below does not taste like traditional Mandel Bread...but in a good way. It's a tasty cookie in its own right, and not an "okay so it's Passover and we'll deal with it" stand-in for a cookie. Not only does the recipe contain matzoh cake meal, but it also contains some potato starch which, acting a little like cornstarch, will tenderize the texture a bit. It also contains some coarse matzoh meal to give the cookies a little crunch. This is an easily adaptable recipe, and choosing add-ins such as chocolate chips, nuts, dried apricots, raisins or berries will also enhance the flavor and make it your own. The one absolute here is baking the loaves once, allowing them to cool, and then slicing and baking them a second time. This second go round in the oven   crisps up the cookies and brings the cinnamon/sugar coating to the forefront. The matzoh flavor is still there, but as a secondary flavor. 


The Mandel Bread freezes well, so you can whip up a few batches at the beginning of the holiday, and have enough to last for the rest of the eight days that follow. Because Lord knows, anything that lessens your time in front of the stove or oven during this holiday is a lifesaver.

PASSOVER MANDEL BREAD

(makes two loaves)

scant 3/4c. oil

1 Tbsp. veg. shortening or butter, softened

1 1/4c. sugar

1 egg yolk

3 whole eggs

1/2c. orange juice

2 Tbsp. orange zest

2 3/4c. matzoh cake meal

3/4c. potato starch

1/2c. matzoh meal

1/2 tsp. salt

1 tsp. cinnamon

Add-ins: 1c. dark chocolate, chopped

               1c. milk chocolate, chopped

               1c. chopped walnuts or almonds

               1c. dried cherries

               1c. dried apricots, chopped

Cinnamon/sugar, for sprinkling (1/2c. sugar + 1/4c. cinnamon)

Line a sheet pan with parchment paper and set aside. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In the blow of an electric mixer, fitted with the paddle attachment, cream oil with the softened shortening or butter. Add eggs, sugar, and orange zest and continue to mix for five minutes, until light and fluffy.

Reduce speed to low and add orange juice. Mix until combined and slowly add dry ingredients. Mix  at medium speed until all are combined. Reduce speed again and mix in add-ins of your choice. Once everything is combined, turn dough out onto an ungreased surface and knead for a few minutes. Form dough into two loaves, approximately 4 inches long. Place on prepared baking sheet, flatten them down a bit, and sprinkle tops with a few spoonfuls of cinnamon/sugar. Bake for 30 minutes, rotating pan at the halfway point.

Once the loaves are baked, remove pan from the oven and allow them to cool for ten minutes. Slice the Mandel Bread into 1/4” slices, and place the slices down flat on a cooled sheet pan. Sprinkle liberally with cinnamon/sugar a second time and bake again for 10 minutes, until slices are nicely browned.

                

THE BIG MAC(aroon)S OF PASSOVER

I’ve never been a big fan of the traditional Passover macaroon, and perhaps that has something to do with the fact that I am not a big fan of coconut. (Or maybe it’s the fact that the little dried-up nubbins that come out of a can have been sitting on the supermarket shelves for weeks before the holiday even begins.) Actually, it’s not the flavor of the coconut that I don’t like, it’s more the stringy texture of the strands   

Passover is a lot like Thanksgiving in that some people just need and expect to see certain things at the traditional dinner year after year, so the presence of macaroons is often non-negotiable. The coconut in the macaroons below is combined with almond flour, thus producing a texture that is more cookie-like in the center. When I bite into one, I get creamy coconut flavor rather than a mouthful of fibrous strands. Baking them until they’re golden brown produces a sweet, crackly surface. Dipping the bottoms in dark chocolate offsets the sweetness and adds another dimension to the flavor. These Macs are more than good enough to maintain their yearly place at my Seder table, without any grumbling on my part.

By the way, those canned macaroons that I mentioned earlier have some purpose too. They can be pulverized in a food processor and combined with softened butter to be used as a crust for a Passover Pie. (But that’s another story.)

MACAROONS

(adapted from Oh Nuts!)

(makes 12-15)

4 egg whites, at room temperature

1 1/4c. granulated sugar

1/2 tsp. salt

1 Tbsp. honey

2 1/2c. shredded coconut

1/4c. almond meal

1/2 Tbsp. matzoh cake meal

1 tsp. kosher for Passover vanilla extract

8 oz. dark (60-64%) chocolate, melted (opt.)

Combine the almond meal, egg whites, granulated sugar, salt, honey, coconut, and vanilla extract in a medium-sized saucepan.

 Stir the mixture over medium-low heat until sugar has dissolved and egg whites turn milky--between 5 to 7 minutes. Continue stirring until all is incorporated and mixture thickens.

Once mixture holds together, remove pan from heat and stir in the matzoh cake meal. Scrape mixture into a bowl and allow it to come to room temperature. (The bowl can also be covered with plastic wrap and placed in the refrigerator for later use.)

When you're ready to bake, preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper, and using a cookie scoop or a tablespoon, measure out 12 to 18 mounds of mixture.  

With moistened hands, pinch and press each cookie into a triangular, pyramid shape, being careful not to make the tops too pointy. Bake the macaroons in the preheated oven for 18-20 minutes, rotating them halfway during the baking process.

Once the cookies have cooled completely, you can dip the bottoms into the melted dark chocolate. Place them back on the cooled baking sheet to set. They can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to a week, or (without the chocolate) in a well-sealed container in the freezer for up to a month.