Snack

These crackers combine the sweet flavor of onions in the dough with the taste of Old Bay, the ubiquitous seafood seasoning. The crackers are a great recipe for children because the dough is flavorful and easy to work with, and kids can have fun at the end breaking the large pieces into bite-size bits. They go well with cheese, seafood dips and salads, steak tartare, hummus, baba ghanoush, and of course, good butter.

These sticky buns can be prepped in the skillet the day before, stored in the refrigerator, and baked in the morning for a decadent weekend breakfast indulgence—although they are so good that sometimes we just make them for lunch and ride the sugar high into the afternoon. Soft raisins make a big difference. If yours are dry you may want to soak them in water at least overnight. Instead of rolling out individual buns, we score the top of the bread for easy cutting and bake it as a whole. That way you can control the portion size and the bread itself cooks more evenly—no more doughy centers. We love that.

This onion glass actually tastes like onion soup in a crispy form. The sheets are translucent with a deep golden brown hue. They can be broken into pieces and scattered in a salad. They are wonderful flavor accents on hors d’oeuvres. We like to break them up and use them as a final garnish on braised meats, where they start out crunchy and slowly dissolve back into rich bites of onion syrup. Last, well, we enjoy snacking on them just as they are.

This recipe, made from mashed potatoes fried in little patties, came from Poland to Metz a century ago. I have tasted different versions of Passover and Hanukkah chremslach, whose name refers to the well in the pan in which they were traditionally formed before frying. Sometimes stuffed with meat, they should be eaten piping hot, as directly from the pan as your fingers and tongue can stand.

The French are crazy about seasonal vegetables, and particularly, I am happy to say, about fennel. A flavoring that is mentioned in the Mishnah around 200 C.E., fennel is used in both sweet and savory preparations. This particular dish was served as an accompaniment to fish with beurre-blanc sauce at a Bat Mitzvah that I attended in Geneva. I especially like its intense, sharp flavor.

I used to think that this dish, called carciofi alla giudea, originated in Rome. But now I am not so sure. When I was visiting Barcelona last spring, it seemed as if every restaurant, every bar, every street vendor was selling this crispy delicacy of deep-fried artichoke flavored with herbs and garlic and served cold. I love it. This is a recipe that has come down in the family of Violette Corcos Abulafia Tapiero Budestchu of Paris.

No bread form is so complety identified with Jews as the bagel, which came from eastern Europe with immigrants, mostly from/Lód´z, Poland, at the turn of the last century. Unlike American bagels, French bagels were rather like rolls that were baked but not boiled. When Euro Disney and the United States Army in Europe wanted bagels in the late seventies, they asked Joseph Korcarz, whose family ran a bakery in the Marais, to go to the United States to learn the commercial technique of boiling the dough before baking. Two older bread forms, however, might shed new light on the origins of the bagel. In the mountains of Savoie, near the Swiss border, an area with few if any Jews today, there is a specialty of the region—an ancient anise-flavored bread called riouttes, which were boiled before baking, a technique that kept the bread fresher a longer time. Riouttes might have come to the mountains with Jews or with Arabs, who make ka’ak (“bracelet” in Arabic), small, round, crispy rolls with a hole, flavored with anise and sesame seeds. Probably the oldest bagel-like roll in France, however, dating back to antiquity, is the Provençal brassado, also called brassadeau. Sweet and round, with a hole in the center, they are also first boiled and then baked, much like bagels. The word brassado is related to the Spanish and Portuguese words for the physical act of an embrace or a hug. The unusual inclusion of floral scents like orange-flower and rose water could be the influence of Jews involved in the perfume industry in Grasse. This particular recipe is an adaptation of brassados found by Martine Yana in her Trésors de la Table Juive.

Like many Moroccan Jews who came to France after Morocco became independent in 1956, Deborah Lilliane Denino, a psychologist, and her family were welcomed by the Jewish community in Strasbourg. Down the street from her apartment is a kosher bakery, grocery, and butcher shop called Délices Cacher, where she buys merguez lamb and beef sausage and other Moroccan items on which she grew up in Marrakesh. When she is busy, she asks one of her three children or the American students with the Syracuse University Junior Year Abroad program who live with her to fetch the groceries. She teaches those not familiar with a kosher kitchen about the color- coded forks, towels, and other utensils, to identify and keep separate the meat and milk dishes she cooks in her apartment. For Shabbat, this great cook with a fun- loving family always makes Moroccan challah. But because her children, who were born in Strasbourg, like soft pretzels (as do most Alsatian children—they call them bretzeln), she sets aside some of the dough, forms long fingers out of it, twists them into pretzels, and bakes them as a snack.

On a recent visit to the Marais, I stopped in at Florence Finkelsztajn’s Traiteur Delicatessen, as I always do. The quarter has two Finkelsztajn delicatessens, one trimmed in yellow (Florence’s ex-husband’s) and one in blue (Florence’s—now renamed Kahn). According to Gilles Pudlowski, the gastronomic critic of Polish Jewish origin who writes the popular Pudlo restaurant guides, Florence’s store is the best place to satisfy a nostalgic craving for eastern European cooking. In addition to Central European Yiddish specialties, like herring, chopped liver, and pastrami, Florence also sells Pudlo, baked in the back of the shop. I have made her recipe, which she gave me a few years ago, and I can assure you it is delicious. Pletzl, short for Bialystoker tsibele pletzl, refers to a circular eastern European flat onion bread, often studded with poppy seeds, that came from the city of Bialystok, Poland. The bread is known in America in a smaller version as the bialy. Try it as a snack hot from the oven, or make a “big pletzl sandwich,” as Florence does. Her fillings vary as much as the different ethnicities of Jews living in Paris today: Alsatian pickelfleisch (corned beef), Romanian pastrami, Russian eggplant caviar (see page 34), North African roasted peppers, and French tomato and lettuce.

The elegant Gilbert Simon invited me for tea in her beautiful apartment in Nîmes, a city in the south of France dating back to the Roman Empire. Born in Lyon, Madame Simon, who is in her late eighties, married a Jewish “Nîmois” whom she met at a dance. But then the Nazis came in 1942 and started taking Jewish families away. “We left before they could find us,” she told me. “They were searching for my husband because he was a doctor here, working in the Resistance.” When they left Nîmes, the Simons hid in the mountains. “We found a house to live in with our two little girls. The peasants sold us vegetables; sometimes they killed a lamb; they brought us cheese and butter. When we returned to Nîmes, it was very difficult. There were not very many Jews left.” Today the majority of Jews are Sephardic, having immigrated to Nîmes in the 1960s from North Africa. Thinking back to happier and more prosperous times, this is the pâté she made through the years for her own family on Friday nights and the holidays, as well as for Jewish students who stayed with her while studying in Nîmes or nearby Aix-en-Provence.

Michel and Françoise Kalifa met over a slab of meat. “When I looked at Françoise, I saw only goodness in her eyes,” said Michel, a butcher who has a flowing black mustache. “She had a generosity of heart.” The two met in Michel’s butcher shop on Rue des Écouffes, in the Marais. Françoise’s parents came to the Marais after the Second World War, looking for other Jews from Poland who had survived the Nazi occupation. “They all said they would meet in the Pletzl, as the quarter was called,” Françoise, a caterer, told me. Now she and Michel, who is from Morocco, live in an apartment above their store with their baby. When we arrived at their renovated apartment, located in an old courtyard, a large platter of the charcuterie that Michel had prepared for us was on the table in the living room. “You should eat with your eyes first,” Michel told us. I picked up a thin slice of turkey smoked with beech wood: moist, mellow, and subtle in flavor. As I tasted my way through the platter, I learned to recognize the various flavors that regional differences make in charcuterie. And now that so many butchers, like Michel, are coming from North Africa, regional products like merguez lamb or beef sausage with its harissa-infused flavor are becoming butcher-shop staples. One of Françoise’s amazing specialties is this chopped liver from her Polish family. “On my mother’s side, we add onions to almost everything we eat,” Françoise told me. Not as finely chopped as most American versions, her liver was laced with finely sautéed sweet onions browned in duck fat and cooked until a caramel color. “The onions are the real secret,” Michel added. “They give it the sweet taste.” Although the Kalifas wouldn’t reveal the recipe, food historians Philip and Mary Hyman, who accompanied me, helped me get close, we believe.

Here is an easy everyday yogurt relish. I like to use a good whole-milk yogurt here, but if you prefer a low-fat variety it would work well too. My cherry tomatoes were on the larger side so I cut each into eight portions. Use more if they are smaller and just quarter them. Serve with most Indian meals or eat by itself as a snack.

I use cremini mushrooms here since they are very firm, but ordinary white mushrooms will do as well. You may add finely chopped fresh green chilies (1–2 teaspoons) toward the end of the cooking, as many Indians do, if you want the dish to be hotter. This may be served at a meal but also makes a wonderful snack as a “wrap” if rolled inside any flatbread. Thinly sliced onions, cilantro, and chopped tomatoes may be rolled inside too. Any chutney from this book or good-quality store-bought salsa could be used instead of the onion-cilantro-tomato mixture.

Chaat in India refers to certain kinds of hot-and-sour foods that are generally eaten as snacks but may be served at lunch as well. When I was growing up in Delhi, the servants cooked the main dishes but it was my mother who always made the chaat, not in the kitchen but in the pantry where she kept her chaat seasonings, the most important of which was roasted and ground cumin seeds. Chaat could be made out of many things—various boiled tubers, boiled legumes like chickpeas and mung beans, and even fruit such as bananas, green mangoes, peaches, guavas, and oranges. Chopped cilantro may be sprinkled over the top just before serving. Serve at room temperature with cold chicken, with kebabs, and, for Indians at least, with tea. Indians love hot tea with spicy snacks.

There is nothing quite like sitting at a table by the beach, toes buried in the hot sand, eating these crisp whitebait with a glass of whisky in hand. At least, that is how I love them, but I have also been offered whitebait at a Sri Lankan tea, along with cakes and sandwiches. They were delightful then too. I love to serve them as a first course. To get the fish nice and crisp, they need to be fried twice. The first frying can be done ahead of time, but the second needs to be done just before eating. They may be served just the way they are or with a dipping sambol such as Sri Lankan Coconut Sambol, page 246, or Sri Lankan Cooked Coconut Chutney, page 247.

Known as bhajia, bhaja, pakora, and many other names in different parts of India, fritters are an integral part of every single local cuisine in the nation. The flour that is generally used is the protein-rich chickpea flour (though sometimes rice flour is mixed in for extra crunch). That is the constant. After that, anything can be “frittered”—leaves, roots, fish, roe, vegetables, you take your pick. The batter can be thick or thin, spicy or mild, you take your pick again. Most fritters are served with chutneys. Might I suggest Fresh Green Chutney, page 245, or Peshawari Red Pepper Chutney, page 243, here, but, if you do not have time, bottled tomato ketchup or a last-minute squeeze of lime juice will suffice. In India and Pakistan, fritters are eaten as a snack, with chutneys and tea. In Bangladesh, they can be the first course at a meal, served with rice. In the West, they have acquired another life altogether: they are served as an appetizer in restaurants and with drinks at catered parties. Ideally, these fritters, rather like French fries, are best eaten as soon as they come out of the frying pan. If that is not possible, make them ahead of time and reheat them in a medium oven for 10 minutes.

There is nothing like sitting down for an evening drink with these chickpeas by one’s side. Since they come out of a can, no hard work is involved. I like to use organic canned chickpeas, but any kind will do. If you have access to an Indian grocer, do sprinkle the chickpeas with some chaat masala at the end. It gives them an extra spiciness. But this is not essential. These are best eaten the day they are made.

I love cheese toast the way it is done in India—with some chopped fresh green chilies and cilantro thrown in. We like to serve it with tea, as we seem to love the combination of spicy snacks and very hot tea! You can use any white bread (or brown, if you prefer), any cheese you like (I happen to like sharp cheddar), and the chilies could be fresh green ones (about 1/4 teaspoon, well chopped) but the pickled Greek ones are fine too, and, as I always have them on hand in my refrigerator and I like the tartness they provide, I use them instead. Some Anglo-Indian recipes have the yolks of hard-boiled eggs mixed with mustard spread inside the sandwich as well. I make my sandwich in a frying pan, but a panini press, if you have one of those, would work too.