Happy Pride Month! Would you like to push your subversive queer agenda whilst enjoying traditional Jewish foods? Here are a few rainbow colored suggestions, but of course we didn’t include rainbow bagels because those are an abomination!

Rainbow challah is not an abomination (experiments tend to come from within the Jewish community, and not mess with the core concept), and is an increasingly popular Jewish treat, either for pride or not. But do you have any idea how many different pride flags there are? A whole lot, and you can try to make an appropriate challah for any of them. We recently published some pretty detailed instructions on how to make a challah resembling the trans pride flag, for example. And what about flags that have specific shapes or symbols? Consider our instructions on how to make poppy seed stencils (and tweet us your photos, of course!).

Rainbow cookies/cake (same food, different names) is not actually clear in its origins; it seems to be about as Jewish as it is Italian (though of course you can be both), a product of the overlapping immigrant communities in America. Regardless, it’s a kiddush staple, and the perfect treat to pass around as you discuss intersectionality in the Jewish community and how it can be more accommodating to queer folks.

Fruit slices may be a Passover treat, but there’s no reason you can’t eat them in June. Besides, you can be political all year, noshing on this dessert at your next seder as you politely explain that the orange on the seder plate actually originally referred to lesbians and gay men specifically, and not women as a whole.

Heck, it’s not rainbow, but eat an orange. Let’s reclaim it.

Rainbow latkes are another holiday dish good year round— and we have the recipe! Chew on the nuanced historical implications of eating these— a queer meaning juxtaposed with the a fun aesthetic twist on a traditional Chanukah food. But said food only dates back a few hundred years since potatoes are a New World food that through colonization became the central to many Ashkenazi communities’ diets— the original latke was actually fried cheese, and Italian.

Plus, Chanukah is a complicated celebration to begin with since it’s originally a military holiday for an arguably just rebellion that ultimately established a corrupt theocratic monarchy, only to have religious authorities later superimpose an ahistorical theology on it. Then, of course, ultimately to the whole thing was converted into a commercialized Christmas stand-in for American Jews, with all the various problematic aspects of capitalism coming into play.

That’s all a very queer thing to think about.

Finally, a shout out to my Facebook friends, who had some amazing responses to my question of what a “Jewish queer food” is, providing this bonus list:

“Ladies, just put two bagels on the same plate for a yonic delight. Make them Everything bagels to be sure you have pansexual representation.”

“Bacon wrapped shrimp because the best part of being queer is breaking taboos.”

“Kosher wine makes great sangria, which is pretty gay.”

“I feel like anything out of The Alice B. Toklas Cook Book would do.”

“Vodka. Just vodka.”

Challah photo by Hannah Simpson. Rainbow cake photo via Wikimedia. Fruit slices photo by Tim Sackton, via Flickr.

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Here’s how to make some amazing #trans challah (as well as non-binary, intersex, and rainbow) this #PRIDE month, and any month.

1. Start with your favorite challah recipe, but the interwebs have countless recipes suit any dietary need like whole grain, vegan, or gluten freedom. There’s a challah out there for everyone, the way there’s a gender identity for everyone, even if it isn’t one you’ve ever encountered before.

2. For bold and solid rainbow colors, split your dough up while mixing into separate bowls and add food coloring into each mixture. For lighter, softer, marbled colors, which works great specifically for the trans flag, mix the dough fully. Only add in a drop or two of color at a time and keep kneading it, until the color appears consistently throughout. It’s kind of like hormone replacement therapy; a little goes a long way. Add drops of red and purple to make pink, and use blue very sparingly to keep it light.

Note to divide your challah up in the correct proportions: Trans flags have five stripes, so the one bowl that stays white should have half as much dough as the other two that will get pink and blue. For the pride rainbow, six equal portions can be used.

3a. (For sweet Challah) Transgender challah, like the people it represents, should be extra sweet on the inside, under that crispy shell the world gives us. As you form your strands to braid, roll in dried cranberries, raisins, or why not both? Add as many as you like to each strand until the rolls are smooth again. They should be secure within the dough strands, not clinging to the outside. Make a dusting of cinnamon sugar along the table, and roll your strands in that next.

3b. You can also make a savory transgender challah swapping out the cinnamon-sugar and raisins for garlic powder, sesame seeds, and lots of onion flakes. Pride, like challah, is best when it embraces all of our senses and tastes. It is Jewish tradition to place two challahs on every Shabbat table, to commemorate the extra portions God sustained us with over the sabbath, so one you can make one the main course and another for dessert.

4. Braiding of any 5 stranded challah requires a little thinking, as compared to a three or six strand, but the basic pattern is three strands over then two back and repeat. If you make a mistake, it will still look and taste awesome. When you are done, fold each of the ends under and place it either onto a flat plan or a bread-loaf tray.

5. A special part of consecrating kosher challah is to set aside a small piece of dough from each batch to burn. For transgender challah, and any pride challah, we intentionally take from both the uncolored and colored dough, to remind us that the queer community both visibly and remaining in closets.

6. (It’s part of the recipe, so you have to do it!) Share with friends and family, celebrating whomever they love and however they identify! Spread the light of Shabbat unto our world by affirming that as Jews, queers, and allies, that asserting our own and ensuring others’ freedom of expression, is the greatest expression of freedom there is. Shabbat Shalom!

Photos courtesy of the author.

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“See that God has given to y’all the Shabbat. Therefore God gives to y’all, on the sixth day bread, for two days.” (Exodus 16:29)

“Man does not live by bread alone.” (Deuteronomy 8:3)

I love fruit—mango season may be my favorite season—but if I had to choose only one food group for the rest of my life, it would be bread.  Bread is the universal staff of life onto which most cultures have held since the dawn of domesticated agriculture and civilizations. It’s also one of the few examples of foods that’s universally identified within the Jewish tradition as Jewish. (I am not saying all bread is Jewish, just that there are breads with unique or deep roots in Judaism.)

Case in point: matzah. “For seven days you will eat matzah [unleavened bread cakes]…” (Exodus 12: 15)

Matzah, the flatbread unique to Passover and kitschy Brooklyn startups, is described in the Torah, detailed over the ensuing millennia in various commentaries, and maintained as an annual ritual for Jews of all backgrounds and identities. There are different manifestations of matzah—some are more cracker-like while others tend towards a large, dry pita; but, the chemistry is the same: flour + water + hot, dry oven = kosher for Passover matzah in under 18 minutes.

Some other popular, historically Jewish breads include bagels (real bagels; don’t be fooled by the circular breads sold at McDonald’s, Einstein’s, and many other bakeries that are not boiled before baking), jachnun, and Moroccan mofleta (served at their post-Passover mimouna celebrations).

Aside from bagels, none of these are quite so famous or ubiquitous as challah.  This enriched bread is prepared for Shabbat and most other holidays (not Passover!). Recalling the showbreads in the temple, these loaves are historically grander and more refined than weekday breads. Furthermore, challah is presented in pairs, recalling the double portion of manna the Jews collected in the desert every Friday morning. For Shabbat evening in a traditional Jewish home, even if it’s a small gathering, the festive meal begins with a blessing over two loaves.

At a Shabbat meal I recently was welcomed to in Tel Aviv-Jaffa, one of the guests was so surprised to see two substantial challah loaves on the table. She asked why we needed two huge breads. Our host explained the tradition of remembering the commandment for Jews living in the land of Israel to tithe their bread (Numbers 15:20). The injunction to set aside a “challah” is the basis for the mitzvah of hafrashat challah, and a good reason for why the challah loaves for Shabbat are generally quite large. (Most orthodox rabbis hold that the dough must use between 3.66 and 5.5 lbs of flour to be eligible for a blessing.)   

I don’t make such large batches of challah, meaning that I don’t normally say the blessing. I still want to do something special with my challah. When I bring challah to a friend’s meal, or if I am hosting, I want people to take a moment to reflect on challah and Shabbat, which is how I came to make challah messages.

At the end of the day (or week), messages and bread sacrifices are simply proverbial cherries in my practice. Simply serving challah and matzah, the two core Jewish breads, makes that meal significant. A blessing over these breads, an explanation, or even a pause before eating, helps these cultural carbs create a link to a national history and communal identity.

These foods with their gluten (or not), bind me to Jews across history because at their very core, they are Hebrew breadstuffs derived from the Torah. From atheists to ultra-Orthodox, Zionist and not, using these Biblical Hebrew names reminds us that we are connected.

Jews are not a unified people—including in many aspects of cuisine— but we are brought together by our cultural breads. Hopefully we will always have a space to break bread with others, giving us a delicious space to share of ourselves, our history, and our tradition.

Image Credit: Pixabay

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I was recently invited to a friend’s for a potluck Shabbat dinner, and decided to bring homemade challah. As I was shaping my loaf, I was thinking about how beautiful it would be to have a rainbow challah. Growing up, my mother would occasionally dye the braids different colors to celebrate different holidays (Halloween was orange and black; Memorial Day and July 4 were red, white, and blue; Valentine’s Day was red, pink, and white in a heart shape) or big sport weekends (maize and blue for Thanksgiving Shabbos, orange and blue for Tigers opening day, red and white when the Wings made the playoffs, etcetera). But I thought of the color scheme too late to dye the sections.

I then thought I could dye sesame seeds and put them in a stripe pattern, inspired by the seeded challahs at Breads Bakery and My Most Favorite Food. But I didn’t have enough food coloring, so I had to do something else. Fortunately, I was struck with a great idea: make a stenciled message! So lo and behold, I made a Hebrew stencil.

You can use most any challah recipe you’d like for the dough (though check out the award-winning one from my family below), and then follow the instructions below to step up your challah game.

Some inspiration for messages include Shabbat Shalom (this one says so, in Hebrew) or Good Shabbos in Yiddish/English, heart shapes or peace signs, the name of the weekly parsha, an edible wedding proposal, or simple stripes of seeds. Do whatever you feel comfortable with, and it will be great.

1. Prepare a stencil (cut the letters out of wax paper with a utility knife).
2. Brush braided and risen challah with egg wash. Then lay the stencil on the challah.
   
3. Carefully pour/place seeds over stencil.
4. Blow or shake off extra seeds. Careful— they may go onto uncovered sections of your challah.
   
5. Remove stencil (gently!). Disclaimer about using a lot of small seeds: you will need to sweep.
6. If desired, carefully fill the void around stenciled design. This is unnecessary and purely aesthetic, but the black-on-white looks good.
7. Sweep up or vacuum the floor, which may by now be covered in seeds.

You can use any recipe, but I have been using my mother’s for as long as I could make a braid, and you’re welcome to it, too.

It has never lost a challah competition (but it has tied for first in a handful)!

Davida Robinson’s Challah recipe

• 2 packages of dry yeast (4.5 tsp)
• 3/4 cup + 1 teaspoon sugar
• 3 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 2 cups hot water + ¼ cup
• 3 eggs
• 7 – 8 cups flour (can split it whole wheat and white, but all white works too)
• 1 tablespoon honey

1. Dissolve yeast with one teaspoon of sugar in warm water.  Let stand 10 minutes to “proof.” (It will bubble up.)
2. Mix sugar, and oil in hot water.  Beat in 2 eggs, and then add proofed yeast mixture.
3. Gradually add flour and knead until smooth (not sticky).
4. Place dough in greased bowl, cover, and let rise for about one hour.
5. Divide dough in half to make two challot. At this point you can braid, wrap or knot your dough into whatever shape you wish and let rise on cookie sheet with parchment paper for another hour.
6. Brush with egg yolk and honey mixture and bake in oven at 350F for 30 minutes.  If you push in the top and it springs back it is done.

Feel free to share pictures of your decorated Challah! Tweet @JewcyMag, or tell us about it in the comments below.

Avery Robinson is a culinary historian from Detroit. He limits his baking during the summer to special occasions and when his roommate is not home.

Images courtesy of Avery Robinson

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 And then there’s the Jewish holidays: the cost, the timing and the general toll of transatlantic travel mean I’m more often absent than present when my family sits down at the table together.

 Passover remains the exception. When I left for Brussels, my mother and I reached an accord that I would make it home every spring to celebrate with them. I’ve kept that promise and next Thursday I’ll be boarding an Air Canada flight (well two) to Toronto. Truthfully, I wouldn’t miss my family’s seder for anything: the debating of the historical inaccuracies of the story, the good-humoured ridiculing (my late grandfather still gets the brunt of it) and the off-key singing are hard to substitute.

 Passover aside, I’ve had to adapt and forge my own traditions – specifically when it comes to Rosh Hashanah. When I lived in DC, it was rather fluid. I joined a synagogue and celebrated holidays with others who, for whatever reason, did not travel to their families. It was beautifully simple.

 Brussels is in some ways similar and in others rather different. Like DC, it is a city replete with young professional “orphans”. But the Jewish community within the EU bubble is rather small and most travel home. So I’ve become more industrious.

 And so Jew Year’s Eve was born.

 It started rather modestly: my Israeli flatmate and I invited ten friends – some Jewish, some not – for a home-cooked dinner and a fair bit of wine.  In five years, the celebration has morphed into more of an extravaganza. Last year’s affairs (well this year if we’re going by the Jewish calendar) was attended by nearly 40 people, raging from one and a half to 55-years of age, and lasted until the wee hours. The simple dinner is now a vegetarian smorgasbord of traditional dishes and other culinary delights. There’s challah (affectionately known as Jewish brioche), soup with matzah balls, lokshen (noodle) kugel, tzimmes (roasted carrots, pineapple and prunes), and honey cake (paired with a salty cinnamon vanilla ice cream), to name a few. Still all homemade. It’s a two-day labour of love.

 For my Jewish friends not able to make it home, it’s a comforting alternative. What’s most interesting, however, is how my non-Jewish friends – who comprise over 90% of those in attendance – connect to it.

 One Greek-French friend noted it was the first Jewish celebration of any kind he had ever been to and was overwhelmed by the cultural experience (so much so that he washed all the dishes, bless him).  Another friend of Korean heritage was surprised by how similar lokshen kugel is in taste to her mother’s yakbap, a sweet rice cake. And indeed they are, as I discovered a few week’s later when over at her place for dinner.

The best aspect of it all, however, might just be the curiosity my friend’s bring to the evening. They don’t just want to eat (and drink), but they want to learn more about how what is in front of them became a part of my tradition. It has wonderfully forced me to trace my history and I think I’ve learnt to appreciate it all a bit more.

 I may leave Brussels before the next Jew Year’s Eve and if I do, I will truly miss this wonderful tradition. How I celebrate Rosh Hashanah in the future will depend on where I next land. But to keep the Brussels memory alive in some form, I think I’ll forego the lokshen kugel and serve yakbap instead.

Joshua Goodman is a Brussels-based radio host and an LLM candidate in Public International Law at the University of Kent, Brussels. Follow him on Twitter @lumber_josh.    

(Image: The famous Jewish brioche. Credit: Joshua Goodman)

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A new study claims that comfort food actually does nothing to comfort people, reports New York Magazine. Apparently when it comes to our feelings, all foods are created equal, and the thing that really makes us feel better is… time. (Or rather, the passing of it.)

You know what I say to that? F*&k science. F*&k empirical evidence. I believe in comfort food. Comfort food is the 14th principle of Jewish faith. That distant rolling sound you’re hearing is 500,000 bubbes clutching their pearls in horror, because they know what you need right now: a hot bowl of homemade motherf*&king chicken soup. Not some bullshit “study” suggesting you eat a “neutral” food like a “granola” bar. That granola bar can kish mir in tuchus. I’m making one of these Jewish-y comfort food recipes for dinner tonight. You should too.

1. Dulce de leche Cheesecake for Shavuot (or the late-Fall blues)
2. Joan Nathan’s Chicken Soup
3. Stuffed Cabbage Kugel
4. Spelt Honey Challah
5. Kasha Mac and Cheese
6. Southern Chili Cholent
7. Sufganiyot (Israeli jelly donuts)
8. S’mores Rugelach
9. Shakshuka
10. Chicken Schnitzel

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Last Friday at 5am I awoke to a moment of clarity: challah-shaped pretzels. Or pretzel-style challahs, if you will. What could be a more perfect way to start Shabbat than a hot pretzel straight from the oven?

I tested my theory and it was a success (if I do say so myself).

I adapted the kitchn’s recipe for soft pretzels. My recipe makes approximately five small braided challahs, so you will likely want to double the recipe. You can also make larger challahs by rolling thicker and longer ropes, but keep in mind that you will need to be able to manoeuvre the challahs in and out of the water bath. You will also need to adjust the baking time accordingly.

For added authenticity, serve the challahs with shot glasses of mustard. L’chaim!

Challah Pretzels

Ingredients

1 cup warm water
2 teaspoons active dry yeast
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon sugar
1½ teaspoons salt
¼ cup baking soda
1 tablespoon molasses or dark brown sugar
Coarse sea salt

Directions

1. Combine the warm water, sugar and yeast in a large bowl. Let stand for a few minutes, then stir to dissolve yeast. Add the flour and salt. Mix on a low speed using a dough hook attachment or wooden spoon to combine.

2. Knead the dough by using a dough hook at a low speed for 5 minutes or by hand on the counter top for 5 to 7 minutes. The dough is ready when it is able to form a ball shape and is only slightly sticky. If your dough is too sticky, add an additional tablespoon of flour and mix until combined.

3. Coat a large, clean bowl with oil and put the dough in the bowl. Cover the bowl and leave in a warm place to rise for an hour.

4. To make braided challahs: Pinch off three golf-ball portions of dough. Roll each piece of dough between your hands to form three ropes. Lay down the ropes so the tips of each of the strands are stacked on each other and the tails are fanned out. Pinch the tips together and then braid the strands together. When there is no more dough to braid, pinch the tails of the ropes together.

To make snail-shaped challahs: Pinch off an egg-size amount of dough. Roll the dough between your hands to form a rope.  Shape the dough into a spiral, starting from the base and winding up.

5. Place the challahs on parchment paper, cover the challahs loosely and leave to rise for 20-30 minutes.

6. While the challahs are rising, pour 8 cups of water into a wide pot and bring to a rapid simmer. Add the molasses and baking soda. The baking soda will foam up.

7. Pre-heat the oven to 450 degrees Fahrenheit (230 degrees Celsius).

8. Lower one or two challahs into the pot. Use a slotted spoon to flip the challahs after thirty seconds. After a further thirty seconds, remove the challahs from the pot and place them on a tray lined with baking paper.

9 Sprinkle coarse salt over the challahs and place them into the oven. Bake for approximately 12 to 15 minutes, until the challahs are deep brown. Rotate the tray after 8 minutes of baking.

10. Place baked challahs on a cooling rack.

11. Serve while challahs are warm. To freeze, wait until challahs have cooled and place in an airtight container. Once thawed, reheat in an oven before serving.

Ari Perlow is an antipodean Jewess who is obsessed with vegan analogues and digital media. She co-hosts the podcast Yeah Nah But and tweets at @ari_perlow.

(Image by the author)

The post Not Your Bubbe’s Recipe: Challah Pretzels appeared first on Jewcy.

This White Chocolate-Sour Cherry-Browned Butter Challah Pudding (whew!) is the lavish result of a frugal plot. Composed of leftover challah, Sparkling Sour Cherry Float remnants, and the standard fridge triumvirate of butter, eggs, and milk, it has modest beginnings but a rich finish.

The white chocolate chips provide a sweet, melty contrast to the sour cherries, and the thick custard that binds the recipe together adds a tart edge. This bread pudding would be the star of any Sunday brunch, and also doubles as a dairy-delicious Shavuot dessert.

White Chocolate Cherry Challah Pudding
Yields 3-4 cups of liquid (about 6 serves)

Ingredients

Butter, or cooking spray for casserole dish
8 cups stale challah cubes* (5-6 1-inch slices)
4 tablespoons butter
1½ cups white chocolate chips
Reserved Sparkling Sour Cherry Float cherries or 1 can of Morello cherries, drained
5 eggs
1 cup milk (not skim)
1 cup sour cream, Greek yogurt, crème fraiche
3/4 cup sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract or ½ vanilla bean scrapings
½ cup semi-sweet chocolate chips or white choc chips, optional

Directions

1. Place challah cubes in a well-buttered casserole dish (13″x9″).

2. Melt butter in a small skillet over medium-high heat. Continue cooking, constantly swirling pan until butter is dark golden brown (about 1-2 minutes). Drizzle the browned butter evenly over the challah cubes.

3. Spread the chocolate chips and cherries over the challah cubes. Set aside momentarily as you prepare the custard.

4. In a large mixing bowl whisk the eggs, then add the milk, sour cream/greek yogurt/crème fraiche, sugar, and vanilla. Pour the egg mixture over the bread cubes. Push down on the bread cubes with the back of a spoon, making sure the bread is submerged and fully absorbing the eggy mixture.

5. Allow to sit for at least 30 minutes and up to 2 hours. Bake uncovered at 350F for 40-50 minutes or until  golden brown, and when a knife inserted in center comes out clean.

Optional: Melt extra choc chips (semi-sweet or white) and drizzle artfully over cooled pudding.

*To dry challah cubes: Spread the challah out in a single layer on a baking sheet. Bake at 300F for 10-15 minutes, stirring 2 or three times.

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