March 7, 2011
Inviting Writing: Doomed by Soup?
For this month’s Inviting Writing, we asked people to share their stories about food and dating. Of course, as in Lisa’s starter story, dates don’t always end well, and sometimes, in some way, the food is to blame.
Today’s story comes from Evelyn Kim, who lives in Berlin and writes about food and sustainability issues at the cleverly titled blog Edo Ergo Sum (I eat, therefore I am).
The Matzo Ball Blues
By Evelyn Kim
A bowl of matzo ball soup, courtesy of Flickr user imipolexg
There is that moment when you are dating someone and you realize that as much as you think the family accepts you…they don’t. I dated this man through college, after college, and for a time I was even engaged to him. But after we split up, I knew that no matter how many brises, weddings, or bar or bat mitzvahs I went to, I was never really part of the family. How did I know? It was the matzo ball.
I made really lousy matzo ball soup. The soup part was fairly easy, but those matzo balls! I could never get them to turn out right. They had the consistency of school paste and the density of doorstops. They were basically rubber balls in kosher clothing.
It was not for lack of trying. I received all sorts of advice. Trust me, I asked around. Moms, aunts, cousins, rabbanim, the Korean deli on 76th and 3rd—they all had their own methods: club soda, finely ground matzo meal, lard (Kosher food rules were clearly not part of the licensing exam for Korean deli owners in New York), whipped schmaltz, The Jewish Book of Why. None of them worked. I suspected that until I married the guy and converted to Judaism, Moses (or my boyfriend’s grandma) wouldn’t divulge the secret to light and fluffy matzo balls.
For years, I thought dumpling dilemma was due to my lack of culinary skills. Maybe I had the wrong matzo meal. Maybe the eggs were too old. Maybe God was punishing me for eating bacon for breakfast. Clearly, I thought, there was something wrong with me. Maybe the matzo ball and I were like Romeo and Juliet–star-crossed lovers that were only to end in tragedy.
After five years of dating, the guy and I split up. There were the usual reasons: arguments ending with “why aren’t you in therapy,” or “I really don’t care about your career.” But then there was his family: “Oh, I forgot. You’re not Jewish,” “This brisket is good, but not as good as fill-in-the blank,” and my favorite, “But you’re Korean.” Needless to say, I never did get the matzo ball recipe.
And I really didn’t think about the matzo ball—until about three months after we split up, when I sat alone at a deli and blubbered into my hot, steaming bowl of matzo ball soup. I really did miss him. I missed the relationship. I missed his neurotic over-analyzed family. I even missed the smelly shedding cat. And I still couldn’t make those stupid matzo balls.
I knew it was time. Time for the matzo ball showdown. With my self-esteem in the gutter, I trudged through the Safeway aisles. I was determined to make the ur-matzo ball, and nothing was going to stop me.
By 2 a.m., I was a hot, sticky mess. I had egg whites floating all over the place. I had almost exhausted my three-box supply of Manischewitz matzo meal. Little bits of chicken fat were clinging in my hair making me the first Asian with dreadlocks. And in my frustration, all I could think about was those stupid quenelles I mistakenly ordered when I first met his parents in college. Why did I order those pretentious, French fluff-balls?
I started crying all over again. What was wrong with me? Maybe I didn’t deserve to know the secret of the matzo ball. Maybe I didn’t deserve to be part of his family. They probably never liked me. That matzo ball was like Proust’s madeleine—but from hell—a constant reminder of a failed past. In my self-pity, I didn’t realize the answer was right in front of me. That stupid quenelle. If I made matzo balls like quenelles, they would be the perfect consistency. I picked up my pathetic puffy-faced self, and went back for more supplies. At 4:30 a.m., I had my soup. I did it myself. I had conquered the matzo ball. I was going to be O.K.
Matzo Balls
Schmaltz (rendered chicken fat) is the way to go here. You can also use duck or goose fat (it’s delicious). I suppose you could use butter, but the taste and texture might be off. And please, don’t use margarine. I tried cooking the dumplings both in chicken stock and in water. Chicken stock is tasty, but it will color your dumplings yellow. Either way, your tummy will thank you.
4 large eggs, separated
1/4 c. schmaltz (rendered chicken fat), room temperature
2 tbs. Italian (flat-leaf) parsley, minced
1/2 tsp. salt (kosher or sea salt)
freshly ground pepper
2/3 c. unsalted matzo meal
1. In a medium bowl, thoroughly blend egg yolks, schmaltz, parsley and salt. In another medium bowl, with clean beaters, beat egg whites until it holds stiff peaks. Gently fold egg whites into the egg yolk mixture, alternating with matzo meal, in 3 additions, respectively. Cover and chill until firm, about 2 hours (overnight is fine).
2. Bring a large pot of salted water or stock to a boil. Using moistened hands (the mixture WILL stick), form mixture into balls, about 1 1/4 inch in diameter. When all the balls have been formed, drop matzo balls into boiling water. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer until cooked through, about 30 minutes, turning balls over once.
3. Drain and serve immediately with chicken soup of your choice.
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No one makes/made chicken soup, with matzah balls like my Aunt Gertie. She has been gone for…..30 years. Since then I no longer eat wheat and don’t know if I will ever experience matzah balls again.
If you have any leads to good wheat free matzah balls, recipe, or whatever, I would disavow my vow of non-cooking and try it before Passover.
With sincere respect, I remain, Jeanne Simonoff
My Bubbies Matza Ball Soup
She came from the Ukraine in 1924 and in the U.S. with lots of food available !! ( people mostly starved there ) she tried her hand at cooking
After trying to eat her Matza balls one would never go swimming for at least 4 hours as one would sink to the bottom like lead weights were attached to ones stomach. Once she received a letter from the Israel Army asking her to send over some Matza Balls as they were running low on amunition to load into their cannons..
My Mother tried to teach her mother how to make them but like all mothers she would NOT take advise from her daughter.So the rest of the family had to eat Matza smothered with either Maalox or Pepto.
Probably my two most memorable matzoh ball experiences…
1: My dad tried to make low-fat matzoh balls. The darn things were like rocks. Someone, trying to cut through their’s with a spoon was pushing so hard that the spoon slipped off the ball and cracked the bowl.
2: My son was born with an egg allergy which we discovered before he was on solid food due to a flu shot. I had to figure out how to make an eggless matzoh ball. Thank goodness for Jewish Vegans who had already tackled the problem and laid a nice groundwork for me to build upon in perfecting my family’s annual ball of joy.
My wife makes great matza balls. Light and fluffy. No chicken fat or schmaltz is the key.
To thine own self be true!!!!
There is no single perfect kneidlach [matzo balls] recipe just like there is no single perfect kimchi recipe.
You will find a man of compatibility someday, one for whom you will not have to contort yourself.
When I learned to cook, my mother told me about the first time she made chicken soup with matzo balls. She made the chicken soup and then proceeded to put the uncooked matzo balls in the soup. When it was time to serve the soup, she had NO liquid. The matzo balls had soaked up all the liquid!! Hence, when I make my soup. I put the matzo balls in a separate pot of chicken stock and after they are cooked I add them to my homemade chicken soup.
Great story! I grew up on matzo balls. We ate them for every family get together. There was a running joke about who’s matzo balls were best. My cousin liked them very hard like grandma made. He could eat a dozen of them at one meal. My uncle liked them soft like Aunt Hannah made. No one was in agreement. And then there was the controversy about the chicken soup. One aunt made her soup ‘sweet’, adding sugar to the broth. Another relative made her soup too weak. Grandma always used Lipton Chicken Noodle Soup mix and added more noodles and her own unique flavorings. Of course I liked hers best. She always used chicken fat. When I started making them I switched to a mixture of canola oil and fat and then left out the fat altogether. Still great tasting.