Have you ever heard complaints about Ashkenazi cuisine? Not quibbles with individual dishes, mind you, but declarations that the entirety of the ethnicity’s food culture is simply Not Good? And have these assertions ever come from other Ashkenazi Jews?

Jeffrey Yoskowitz and Liz Alpern sure had heard it all. But for a few years now, they’ve been making old recipes new through their business, Gefilteria. They’ve tackled everything from kvass to the black and white cookie, but as the name suggests, they’ve especially burdened themselves with the challenge of reclaiming that divisive Jewish offering: gefilte fish.

And now, in time for the High Holy Days, they have released a book: The Gefilte Manifesto: New Recipes for Old World Jewish Foods. As the subtitle suggests, it is by and large a cookbook, but also a series of personal reflections on the food, a history of Ashkenazi cuisine, and tips on how to modernize dishes based on current food culture and technology. They largely don’t make changes for the sake of shaking things up, but there are definitively creations like the kimchi-stuffed cabbage that shtetl-dwellers couldn’t have enjoyed.

Most of all, Yoskowitz and Alpern have something to prove. Through vivid discussions of spices and flavors, and gorgeous photographs of dishes, they’re gently, but firmly insisting that the problem isn’t the cuisine— it’s the way you’ve encountered it, as a watered-down, mass-manufactured facsimile of what your ancestors enjoyed on far more limited means.

In an era of a new, thoughtful approach to food (and in a place like Brooklyn, where the Gefilteria is based,) Yoskowitz and Alpern also touch on concerns of sustainability and seasonability that are both popular now, and were essential in the Old World. Take the new recipe for challah with a marble rye twist— Alpern suggests using slightly stale challah to make french toast, a newer way to solve an old problem. In fact, the book has an entire troubleshooting guide in the back of suggestions of what to do with extra ingredients: “If this book is good for anything,” it says, “it’s for what to do with your leftover pickle brine.”

Ultimately, the book’s message is simple: continue to enjoy the food that sustained European Jews for so long.

“Gefilte is not just about your bubbe,” Yoskowitz, Alpern, and their co-founder Jackie Lilinshtein write in the titular manifesto, “Gefilte is about reclaiming our time-honored foods and caring how they taste and how they’re sourced… It is about taking food traditions seriously and reclaiming the glory of Ashkenazi food— what it has been and what it can be.”

The book also contains over 100 recipes, from mains to drinks, so if you don’t like something (or have dietary restrictions, like vegetarianism), there’s bound to be something you can enjoy. In my (pescetarian) household, my husband prepared both the book’s kale salad (“really delicious,” quoth he,) and sauerkraut (“good, and easy to follow”).

While we have yet to tackle the book’s instructions on how to make gefilte, I’ve had the Gefilteria’s product, and it is some good stuff. If I could recreate that in my own home, I’d be well on my way to converting nonbelievers to the joys of gefilte fish, and Ashkenazi cuisine.

Images courtesy of The Gefilte Manifesto

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Two weeks ago, somewhere in our nation’s capital, seven young Jewish men and seven young Jewish women got together for a Shabbat dinner. But it wasn’t just any dinner—it was the now infamous Craigslist Shabbat dinner, organized by seven very confident young Jews who took to the ultimate online personals section to find their besherts. We spoke with Elissa*, one of the seven lucky “chosen” female attendees, about her experience.

So, you’re a chosen ‘chosen one’—mazel tov. How did you find the Craigslist ad? And why did you decide to apply?

I honestly thought the entire thing was a joke. I’m fairly incompetent using the Internet (I just found out that there were articles written about this before it happened), and when my former college roommate posted this on my Facebook wall, I thought, ‘How ridiculous.’ He (ah, liberal arts education) and I decided to apply purely out of curiosity and because we thought it would be hilarious. Never did I ever think this would actually take place, that I would be invited to join, or that I would go. I’ve never met anybody on the Internet (I meet enough creeps in real life), I’ve never been on a blind date, and I’ve never dated an American Jew. So this was way out of my comfort zone.

How long did you spend on your application? Did you take it seriously or just fire something off?

It probably took me longer to read the posting than to write a response. My ‘application’ began with “Dear circumcised gentlemen” and ended with “Pick me and make my bubbe kvell.” I used Maimonides and Zach Braff in the same sentence and told them they better not be schmucks. They asked for a picture so I sent one of me at a prayerbook vending machine in Jerusalem. 

How did you find out you were selected?

A few days later, I got the ‘acceptance’ email:

Following strip bingo night with the local Hadassah chapter, we carefully reviewed your application, engaged in Talmudic discussion over the merits of your presence at our Shabbat dinner table, and Googled the hell out of you.

On behalf of Seven White Single Jewish Males, I’d like to stomp on a glass and wish you a Mazel Tov! You are officially one of the seven chosen people.

The challah is practically in the oven, the gefilte fish are swimming about, the Manischewitz is on ice, and you’ll want to give up your birthright for this lentil soup. We just need to know by noon tomorrow, how much herring to cover in wine sauce.

Also, if you have any food allergies or dietary restrictions, please let us know too. For the sake of inclusion, all food will be kosher.

We also trust that you will use your discretion, and keep this in the family (of 14).

This invitation is non-transferrable, unless you are transferring it to Bar Refaeli or Elena Kagan.

David Ben Gurion

Clearly, I’m not keeping this in ‘the family’ (that’s how Jewish genetic diseases started, after all), but this whole experience was too absurd not to share.

So how did the actual event go down?

I love a good story and routinely get myself into strange predicaments, but I truly didn’t know how to handle this and was debating whether or not I should go. It started to get even more surreal as the plans were being made. The guys were extremely vague and secretive in their communication with us. They continued using the alias David Ben Gurion and waited until the last minute to provide us with an address (they were contacted by several media sources and were understandably worried about guests showing up to the dinner unwelcome), and I started to get freaked out.
 
I demanded that they meet me in a public place first (it turned out that I was the only one with this requirement), and established a “safe word” with a friend who, if I called or texted, would either come to my rescue or notify the authorities. Not to be outdone, the father of one of the chosen Jewesses even hired a bodyguard to be on call a few blocks from our location. I was still extremely anxious (it’s part of my heritage, okay?), although the guys did their best to quell my fears before the event. Their mothers clearly raised them right.
 
The dinner took place at a very nice apartment, and at first we just sat around having drinks and discussing the absurdity of the situation. Our hosts admitted they sifted through hundreds of responses to the ad—one enthusiastic woman offered to fly in from the Midwest and a group of “Protestant Princesses” even reached out to them. It was kind of a hilarious ego boost, except that I learned just how much they gleaned from a simple Google search of my name. Excuse me while I reconsider my relationship with the Internet.

According to the ad, the group of male hosts included five good-looking guys and two ugly guys. Was that true?

Well, disappointingly, there were only five guys there—two of them ended up not being able to make it—and six of us Jewesses (one bailed at the last minute). We joked that it was the ugly guys who had dropped out. One particular guy and I had our differences: he made a joke early on about it being good that we had all met on “Craigslist and not Schindler’s list,” to which I responded, “Too soon.” From that moment on, he seemed to openly dislike me. Oh well.
 
The quality of the company overall ended up being quite enjoyable, though, and I think that’s what counts the most. No one was remarkably schlubby or nebbishy, though the fresh babka was the biggest turn-on for me. Yum.
 
Tell us a little about the dinner. How was the food? How were the other chosen ladies?
 
The dinner itself was surprisingly comfortable. The guys cooked and served a delightful multi-course meal, the wine was flowing, and the people were funny and interesting. I was honestly shocked. I don’t have many Jewish friends and am not yet part of a Jewish community here in D.C., so it was refreshing to be around people with shared backgrounds and experiences.
 
And the other girls were lovely. We all engaged each other and it never felt like one of those catty reality shows where the women are competing for the men or vice-versa. Having gone into this half-expecting to be murdered by a serial killer (and yet I went, sigh) or be so bored that I’d try to gouge my eyeballs out with a Shabbat candle, I was pleasantly surprised. It’s not often that a bunch of guys cook, clean, and entertain a group of ladies completely of their own accord. Note to gentlemen everywhere: this should be done more often.
 
The evening was so “normal” in fact, that during dessert we joked that we needed to do something to spice it up, like perform an impromptu brit milah at the dinner table.

So, did you hit it off with any of the guys? Was your beshert at the dinner?

The dinner ended up lasting more than five hours, at which point us Jewesses all left together (we’re all still in touch and actually got another dinner party invitation—so, to be continued!). Interestingly, no phone numbers were exchanged across the genders at the actual event, though three of the girls were later contacted by three guys and are seeing each other again. Yentl the matchmaker would be so proud!
 
Personally, I did not find my beshert that night (and later met up with a French goy I’ve been casually dating…oops. My mother would be so disappointed). While I met some great people, my first foray into Jewish dating didn’t end up successful in the traditional sense. I guess it’s back to the land of the uncircumcised for me for now. Oy.
 
That weekend (after Shabbos ended, of course), I sent the guys an email thanking them for not being serial killers and for hosting a lovely evening, and they sent the chosen few a “shaynem dank” email:

Thank you for indulging our Shabbat fantasies. It was the ultimate double mitzvah. We had a great time hosting you, and may these experiences be fruitful and multiply. Never forget.

*Last name omitted so her mother never finds out.

(image via Shutterstock)

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Growing up in Ohio, the child of a southern mother and an east coast father, family dinner meant roasted chicken, collard greens, and macaroni and cheese. We’d have a family meal every Sunday after church, with my sister and I still dressed in our Sunday best.

For Jack Lebewohl, the owner of Manhattan’s Second Avenue Deli, family dinners growing up meant something a little different. “On Friday night we had gefilte fish, and on Saturday we had chopped liver—it’s what we did,” he told the crowd on Thursday at Gefilte Talk, an event dedicated to that most polarizing of Jewish food: gefilte fish.

Though gefilte fish and chopped liver weren’t on my plate growing up, I could easily relate to Lebewohl’s strong associations with his family’s classic dishes. And I wasn’t the only one. Nearly 200 people had gathered in the auditorium of the Center for Jewish History, eager to listen to a panel of gefilte-mongers that included Zach Kutsher of Kutsher’s Tribeca, Israeli chef Omer Miller, Gefilteria founders Elizabeth Alpern and Jeffrey Yoskowitz (who I profiled for Jewcy in March), and Lebewohl.

The Beard Foundation’s Mitchell Davis, a cookbook author and food writer, moderated the panel. I admit that at first I wondered not only how they’d occupy a full hour talking about chopped fish, but also why so many people showed up to listen to it. The answer, it turned out, had a lot to do with nostalgia.

Every panelist, you see, had distinct childhood memories of gefilte fish. For Miller, gefilte fish was something his grandmother, a Holocaust survivor, would serve him to help him be strong. For Kutsher, his family’s famous gefilte fish recipe was the best he’d ever had, hands down. For Yoskowitz and Alpern, making gefilte fish was about giving new life to an old Ashkenazi culinary tradition—the Gefilteria is a boutique operation that aims to put an artisanal spin on the classic dish.

While Kutsher uses halibut instead of carp or whitefish and tops his gefilte fish with a parsley arugula emulsion, Alpern and Yoskowitz are all about sticking closely to original recipes. “We made a lot of gefilte fish,” Alpern explained. “We tried different spices, tried to make it new and different before turning to a more traditional recipe because it tasted the best.”

There is something refreshing about the Gefilteria’s inspired creations—at the event, Davis called the team “hipster Jews bringing gefilte fish to the masses.” The trio got together over the simple shared idea that gefilte fish should be more delicious than they remembered it.

“We see ourselves as part of the food movement that’s happening right now,” Yoskowitz told the audience. “Gefilte fish isn’t scary food.” The Gefilteria, which has been selling their kosher-certified, old-world Ashkenazi grub in pop-up stores and markets around New York City, is currently taking orders for Rosh Hashanah. But hurry—they sold out for Pesach, and they’ve got at least 200 new fans since last Thursday.

Previously: In Brooklyn, Putting Gefilte Fish Back on the Menu

The post Getting 200 Jews Talking About Gefilte Fish appeared first on Jewcy.

The Gefilteria will host its launch party at Smooch in Brooklyn on Sunday. I talked with the co-founders about Ashkenazi soul food and Kvass, the Jewish kombucha.

How did the three of you get together?

This idea started as a concept, a way to re-imagine Jewish Ashkenazi food which came to me at the Hazon food conference. I mentioned it to Liz and she was really excited. We both work in the food world in various ways. We started to brainstorm ideas about Ashkenazi food and ways to make it in a way that was in-line with our values: sustainably sourced, responsible, slow comfort food.

Jackie and I were “deli friends”—whenever we would meet up in New York we’d meet at the original 2nd Ave Deli. After a while we realized that we needed to bring in Jackie’s business-sense as well as her family history of cooking these types of foods into the project. Jackie’s parents are from Russia and she grew up in Brighton Beach eating this kind of food daily; we needed her. The three of us got together with the idea of the “carp in the bathtub concept”—a philosophy of freshness and good quality ingredients that the carp in the bathtub represents.

Why gefilte fish?

The idea started with gefilte fish as a concept because it’s the most misunderstood Ashkenazi food. Most people won’t even touch it. Most people’s association with gefilte fish is jarred, ugly, grey oblong, gelatinous vessels of poor flavor and that’s not what is. Before making our initial batch of gefilte fish, it had been missing from family meals for almost a generation.

One of our guiding principles is that the beauty of Ashkenazi food is peasant in origin. It’s our culture’s tradition of making food last longer or feeding more people because in Europe we weren’t necessarily the wealthiest people. You had to make one carp feed an entire family for a full meal. We wanted to make gefilte fish inspire pride and be relevant again. It’s a relevant concept now, especially in a recession. And it’s a really delicious and a nutritious food.

Where does this kind of Jewish food originate?

Gefilte fish can be found in various versions around Europe—from Poland to Hungary to Russia. Depending on the region the gefilte fish will taste different—gefilte fish from one area is sweeter than gefilte fish from another area. Just as there are many different versions of gefilte there are just as many varieties of borscht depending on where you’re from. It’s the food that was eaten by the people.

When the Jewish people from these various countries came to the United States they brought their foods with them. Borscht, for example, isn’t uniquely Jewish. There’s Russian borscht, Polish borscht, Hungarian borscht and the flavors depended on what food grew in the varying regions. There is beet borscht in some areas and more cabbage-heavy borscht in other areas.

The tradition of pickling can be found in every culture. Peoples from nearly every culture have a variety of fermented vegetables. It’s not “Jewish food” but it is food that Jews brought with them to the US and is the origin of the deli. This is the food that we grew up with, the food that we know.

What do you hope to accomplish by re-imagining Ashkenazi food through The Gefilteria?

Pride. Some of the jokes about Ashkenazi food are pretty funny, we’ve got to admit, though they’re not founded in what we believe to be the essence of Ashkenazi cuisine. We are proud of the humble peasant roots of our ancestors and the creativity with which they made the most out of cabbage, beets, and potatoes.

We see The Gefilteria as a sort of laboratory, an exploration of some of the dishes of our past. The food that doesn’t make it onto the deli menus, the food that isn’t as exciting to people because they’re not used to eating it. Gefilte fish wasn’t supposed to be “ugly” food—it was a Sabbath food, eaten on special occasions. To have it be something put in a jar and without care saddens us. We’re not re-imagining it, but bringing it back to what it should be and what it has been. We want people to be excited and happy about eating this kind of old-world food.

It’s about upping Ashkenazi food in the minds of our generation. The idea that these foods are humble; beets, potatoes and cabbage are all ground vegetables, root vegetables and they possess that kind of ground energy. We call our business a roots-driven business because the roots are so powerful, this is our way of expressing our past-part theater, part art, all food.

What other Ashkenazi fare will The Gefilteria be re-introducing to people?

We’ve come across a phenomenal cold Borscht recipe. Kvass, which is the borscht base, is the “Jewish Kombucha” it’s probiotic, it has a nice tang like kombucha, but it is made without the added sugar. We’re doing a variety of fermented vegetables-sauerkraut, horseradish and pickles in the summer—the sides that would have been eaten with this type of European peasant food. We’re also doing a black and white cookie stick which will bring the two flavors together in a way that the traditional shape of a black and white cookie can’t.

How are you a part of the Slow Food, Farm-To-Table, DIY Food movement that’s happening in NYC now?

While we’re reimagining gefilte fish in a way that’s basic, we want to make sure we are sourcing them well also. We’re consulting with sustainable seafood companies, searching for the best ways to source the fish with a focus on sustainable fishing. We’re local vegetables and working only with seasonal vegetables.

We’re a craft-food business and we like the imagery of a laboratory. We’ll be selling Gefilte Fish kits using our sustainably sourced fish, our recipe and our manifesto in the hopes of giving gefilte fish back to the people.

We want to pay respect to this humble, European food as well as the deli and New York street-food. This is the food of the street and we want to be serving this food to the people on the street.

What can people expect at The Gefilteria launch?

We’ll be serving all of our food hors d’oeuvre-style. We’ve made a really beautiful carrot and beet horseradish that the gefilte will sit on which looks really beautiful. We’re serving our kvass as cocktails and we’ll have copies of our Manifesto for people to read. There will be music, nosh, and hopefully great conversation about gefilte. We’ll also be taking orders for Pesach—but the launch is mainly about the food and reintroducing it to Brooklyn.

Starting March 11th, we’ll be taking online orders for gefilte fish by the loaf or by the kit-in both cases it will come with horseradish. After the holiday we’ll be selling at fairs and festivals. We’ll be selling our kvass by the jar, seasonal fermented vegetables by the jar, and sauerkraut on line.

Five years from now, what’s happening with The Gefilteria?

What we hope to achieve is longevity. This food is healthy, cheap and delicious. It should be transformed and reinterpreted through every generation. Just because we don’t live in Eastern Europe where the food originated doesn’t mean it isn’t ours and can’t be enjoyed with our ever evolving taste buds.

(image credit: The Gefilteria)

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If your mother descends upon chometz in your house like a one-woman swarm of locusts (8th plague reference!), then you know it’s wise to decline her dinner invitation the week before Passover.  I mean, you can’t blame the woman.  She wants to rid her pantry of all breadthings forbidden on Passover, but without wasting food.  So she thinks it’s okay to serve you pasta tossed with breadcrumbs with a freezer-burnt hot dog bun and a side of green jello.  Her heart’s in the right place, but your digestive track won’t be if you comply. You can try and reason with her.  For example, you can suggest using Allrecipes.com’s new handy tool that allows you to menu plan based on what you have in your pantry.  If that doesn’t work, perhaps a cautionary tale will:

T’was the week before Passover, and Haley was excited that her mom packed her up a whole duffle’s worth of homemade frozen food for her to bring back to college with her.  Likewise, her mom was excited to free up some of her freezer space for Passover.

When Haley got back to Boston already missing home, she decided to heat up her mom’s chicken soup. She put it in a pot to defrost over a low flame. Slowly, her apartment began to smell like fish. Fishy fish.  She and her roommates sniffed around, and found it was coming from the pot. Haley tasted the clear liquid. She gagged. It was not chicken soup – not even close.

Her mom gave her last Passover’s extra gefilte fish jelly.  Gefilte fish jelly!  Frozen, it looked like chicken soup.  Her apartment never smelled the same again.

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