40 New Cookbooks to Buy This Spring
Grilled meats, vegetable-forward cooking, and plenty of baking—these are the cookbooks to get excited about right now.
65 matching results
Grilled meats, vegetable-forward cooking, and plenty of baking—these are the cookbooks to get excited about right now.
一个女人改变了美国厨师在公元21ntury. But you might not even know her name.
Building a cookbook library from scratch? Looking to round out your collection? These cookbooks are your ticket to the wide world of home cooking.
Matzo-ball secrets and new holiday traditions from the legendary Jewish-food maven's newest cookbook, just in time for Passover.
Aranygaluska—also called golden dumpling cake, butter puffs, and monkey bread—has been extolled by Jewish immigrants from Hungary for years.
Turned out onto a platter and featured as one of many foods at a holiday buffet, this dish is always a big success. Even those who swear they would never eat gefilte fish come back for seconds, provided you serve horseradish sauce with it.
An adaptation of the tasty sauce from the short-lived Kutsher’s Restaurant in New York, perfect for Passover Seder.
This comforting vegetarian chickpea and lentil soup features warming spices and a hit of lemon juice.
Need inspiration for your Rosh Hashanah menu? Try these recipes that explore the rich traditions of French-Jewish cooking, from renowned cookbook author Joan Nathan
"Sinkers" or "floaters"? Schmaltz or oil? The lines are drawn in this delicious Passover debate
Liz Alpern and Jeffrey Yoskowitz, co-founders of The Gefilteria and authors of the new cookbook The Gefilte Manifesto, share their go-to recipes for a fall holiday feast.
THIS SABBATH RICE DISH, typical of Provence, reveals the history both of pilau or pilaf, as it is called in French, and of Persian Jews who settled in the area near the Camargue, the rice-growing area of southwestern Provence located on the triangle of land between the two major tributaries of the Rhône River. Jews, first by barge and later by boat, used the river to bring goods here from the Mediterranean. The word and the dish pilau come from Persia, taking various forms as the dish traveled around the world. In India, it became pulao; in modern-day Iran, it is called polo; and in Provence, pelau or pilaf. Rice, and therefore pilaf, traveled with the Jews to Provence, where many Persian Jewish merchants and scholars settled and lived until the end of the fourteenth century or even later. These Jews, who traded rice, cooked it for the Sabbath with fragrant spices like nutmeg, garlic, cumin, cinnamon, and saffron. Some scholars believe that Jews brought saffron to Europe from Asia Minor for their Sabbath rice. The late Karen Hess, author of The Carolina Rice Kitchen, repeatedly told me that Jews first brought rice to the Camargue. In their Inventory of the Culinary Patrimony of France, Philip and Mary Hyman relate that emigrants from the Piedmont paid a dîme of rice to noblemen in the year 1497. And although pilau and riz au safran are no longer particularly Jewish dishes in Provence, they are clearly rooted in the Sabbath tradition. This simple recipe is typically eaten on Rosh Hashanah, alongside a symbolic whole roasted fish with a Sephardic sweet-and-sour greengage-plum sauce.
MOROCCAN COOKS USUALLY MAKE this tasty salad with Swiss chard, but I have seen it also with beet leaves. Eaten all year round, it is prepared by Moroccans on Rosh Hashanah for their Sephardic Seder, when they say a series of blessings over squash, leeks, dates, pomegranates, black-eyed peas, apples, the head of a fish or a lamb, and Swiss chard and beet greens.
Brandy, cinnamon, and lemon zest combine to give this tart unbelievable aroma and wonderful flavor.
The following carrot cake perfectly illustrates the evolution of baking techniques over the last hundred years. Prior to 1850 in Europe, the leavening of baked goods depended on yeast or sour milk and baking soda. Cream of tartar was another possibility but was imported from Italy. With the invention of baking powder or monocalcium phosphate in the United States in 1869, immigrant Eastern European women quickly learned new ways to make cakes. Prior to the advent of baking powder, this particular cake was probably denser than it is today. The eggs may have been separated and the whites beaten stiff, with cream of tartar added, to make the cake rise a bit higher. The cream cheese frosting is certainly a twentieth-century addition.
The gefilte fish in Joseph Wechsberg's mouthwatering description is unfortunately a dish of the past. Today, most people buy frozen or bottled brands. Good cooks, however, insist on preparing the homemade variety for Friday night and the holidays. My late mother-in-law, Peshka Gerson, made it twice a year, at Passover and Rosh Hashanah. She used her mother's recipe, handed down orally, from Zamosc, Poland. Her only concession to modernity was making individual patties rather than stuffing the filling back into the skin as described by Wechsberg. In addition, her filling was less elaborate. Years ago, when I asked Peshka for her recipe, two of her sisters-in-law were present. They all agreed that the rule of thumb is one pound of fat fish to one pound of thin. They also preferred the Polish custom of adding a little sugar. (Lithuanians say sugar is added to freshen already unfresh fish. Needless to say, Lithuanians do not add sugar to their gefilte fish.) Peshka, Chuma, and Rushka disagreed, however, on the seasonings. Chuma insisted on more salt, and Rushka explained that a little almond extract would do the trick. They both took me aside, promising to show me the "real" way to make gefilte fish. I have used their two suggestions as variations on Peshka's basic recipe. Make your fish Lithuanian or Polish, with sugar or without, but just remember—it's the carrots and horseradish that really count! I have been making this recipe since the mid-1970s. The only difference is that I cook the fish for twenty minutes. My mother-in-law cooked it for two hours!
Have you ever visited the marketplace of Jerusalem and noticed small wooden imprinted molds with handles? To be sure, the merchant is hard put to explain their significance. They are ma'amoul molds. Ma'amoul means "filled" in Arabic, and these molds make filled cookies eaten by Jews and Arabs throughout the Middle East, especially in Syria, Lebanon, and Egypt. A piece of short-pastry dough the size of a walnut is pressed into the crevices of the ma'amoul mold. A tablespoon of date or nut filling is inserted, and you close the pastry with your fingers. Holding the handle of the wooden mold, you slam it on the table, letting the enclosed dough fall out. On the top of the cookie is a lovely design. After baking and rolling in confectioners' sugar, the design stands out even more. Of course, the ma'amoul mold is not necessary to the preparation of these sweets, though it certainly adds to their beauty. The tines of a fork, tweezers with a serrated edge, or a tool of your own devising will do quite well. The following ma'amoul recipe came from Aleppo to the Syrian Jewish community on Ocean Parkway, Brooklyn. These cookies are served at Purim. A similar cookie, called karabij here (nataife in Syria), topped with marshmallow fluff, is also served at Purim. Arasibajweh—rolled cookies from the same dough and stuffed with dates—are served at the New Year or Hanukkah.
Chef Michael Skibitcky tweaked this Joan Nathan recipe , deleting the cilantro and adding ground coriander. For an authentic Israeli presentation, load the just-fried balls into pita bread and top them with chopped veggies, pickles, harissa hot sauce, and piquant tahini sauce.