Issue #151: Matzo Brei
The Question of Jewish Cuisine, An Annual Breakfast Treat, Some Thoughts on Passover 5784
Whether there is any coherent system or cuisine that unifies the notion of “Jewish food” is a longstanding debate. The laws of kashrut in Leviticus proscribe many things, but they offer no recipes. There is little to say what can be eaten. Mostly, the decision about what to cook and eat is left to Jews living and worshipping wherever they happen to be. Thus, the food of Jewish communities around the world more closely resembles that of their neighbors than it does of the Jewish communities themselves.
The Jewish Holiday Table, a beautiful new cookbook by the Jewish Food Society written by Naama Shefi with Devra Ferst, is a testament to the global nature of Jewish food. With stories and recipes from around the Jewish diaspora, you see influences from Morocco, Persia, Mexico, Ethiopia, Turkey, Iraq, France, and more on these holiday tables. Full disclosure: I contributed a menu and recipes to the chapter on Rosh Hashana, influenced by my family’s somewhat less exotic trajectory from New Jersey to Toronto and back (with me) to New York. You can order the book here.
This time of year, during Passover, there is one recipe that Jews around the world share: matzo. Known as “the bread of affliction,” matzo is made simply from flour and water without yeast or other leavening to recall how the Jews escaping from Egypt had no time to let their bread rise. In a seminal graduate class at NYU, I recall the great Jewish food scholar, anthropologist, folklorist, and friend Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett say there is only one recipe in the Bible, matzo, the rest is interpretation. Matzo plays a central role in the Seder, the ceremonial meal that begins the celebration, and it is the only “bread” observant Jews are allowed to eat during the eight days of the holiday.
If matzo is the only recipe in the Old Testament, you’d think there would be a recipe for matzo brei in the New Testament. It should come as no surprise that faced with eight days of eating dry crackers, for centuries Jews have also been looking for ways to doctor up matzo to make it more versatile, more palatable. Enter matzo brei.
Made with broken matzo moistened with water to soften it, matzo brei is like a cross between an omelet and pancake. Think of it as a tortilla or frittata. If matzo were leavened it might be a stratta or bread pudding. But the distinctive taste and texture of matzo makes matzo brei a unique thing unto itself. It is typically served for breakfast.
It wasn’t until I was an adult working in food in New York City and writing a Jewish cookbook (see The Mensch Chef) that I learned not everyone’s matzo brei was sweet. My mother usually put apples and raisins in our matzo brei and topped it with cinnamon sugar. While researching The Mensch Chef, I heard shocking stories of savory matzo breis made with onions and…gasp…smoked salmon. What’s more, my mother always served her matzo brei as a large, singular pancake (except when it broke during flipping). On a friend’s advice, I once ordered matzo brei at the famed Barney Greengrass on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, and to my surprise, it came scrambled.
So, you see, there really is no such thing as a codified Jewish cuisine. We Jews have no Escoffier or Artusi to tell us definitively what and how we should cook. Sure, we have our doyenne Joan Nathan, whose life as a chronicler of Jewish recipes around the world is now itself the subject of a new memoir, My Life in Recipes. But as for the great debate of whether or not there is any such thing as Jewish cuisine, the jury is still out.
I eat matzo brei once a year, usually on the first or second day of Passover. I love it, but truthfully, once a year is enough. Ever since I started making my own peppery matzos, based on a Medieval Spanish recipe printed in the New York Times in the 1990s, I’ve had to scrounge around for a few square matzot (the Hebrew plural of matzo) for just this purpose. Last night I “borrowed” three matzos from the farm Seder we attended, our first in New Hampshire, our first outdoors, thanks to the Sprague family, who own and operate Edgewater Farm.
And this morning we enjoyed a large sweet, pancake-like matzo brei…ahem…just as it was meant to be.
RECIPE: Mitchell’s Family’s Matzo Brei
(Serves 2 to 3)
2 tablespoons golden raisins or sultanas
2 tablespoons sugar, divided
¼ teaspoon cinnamon
3 matzos
2 large eggs
1 small apple, peeled
Pinch salt
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
Maple syrup for serving (optional)
Place the raisins in a small bowl and cover with warm water to soak. In another small bowl, combine 1 tablespoon of the sugar with the cinnamon and mix well. Set aside.
Into a medium bowl, break the matzos up into small pieces, no bigger than an inch. The more uniform, the better. Cover the broken matzos with water, let sit 1 minute, and drain off any excess, using your hand to hold back the solids. To the soaked matzos add the eggs. With a small paring knife, chip the flesh of the peeled apple into the bowl. (I think thin pieces of apple distribute and integrate better with the layers of broken matzo than dices; see photo.) Drain the raisins and add them along with the remaining tablespoon of sugar and a pinch of salt. With a fork, stir this mixture together until nicely blended.
In a large nonstick pan, melt the butter over medium-high heat. Add the matzo brei mixture to the hot pan, flattening it into an even layer with a spatula. Let cook about 6 or 7 minutes unil the underside is nicely browned. You will be able to smell a distinct toasty flavor of the matzo. Using a large flat plate or the lid of a pan (in the photo I’m using a large, round cake lifter), flip the matzo brei out of the pan and then slide it back in. Sprinkle the cinnamon-sugar over the top of the pancake while it cooks for another 4 or 5 minutes to solidify. Slide it onto a serving platter and, if you like serve with plenty of maple syrup on the side.
A Note about Passover 5784
All over the world this year, in addition to celebrating the Passover holiday that commemorates the escape of Jews from slavery under the Egyptian Pharaoh, Jews are wrestling with the realities of what’s happening in the Middle East right now. Alive or dead some 120 Israeli hostages remain in captivity by Hamas, tens of thousands of Palestinians have been killed and many more are starving, scores of young soldiers are being injured or killed in the fighting. What’s more, from the widespread rebuke of Israel’s response has risen a wave of antisemitism that has made Jews around the world fear for their safety. College campuses across the United States have become crucibles of intractable animosity festering in communities around the country. More than six months into the nightmare that began October 7 (or long before that from the perspective of many Palestinians), it doesn’t feel like a moment to celebrate. Thinking back to Passover last year, it’s hard to imagine how we got here.
By design, the Seder has always been a moment for families and friends who gather to ask questions beyond the famous four, to reflect and introspect, to engage in meaningful debate. My hope is that this year people dug deep to think about the resonance of this holiday and how from what we remember and learn from our history we might find the willingness to change our course rather than repeat it. The true test will not be what we discuss around the Seder table, but what we do and say when we get up from it.
Ha. Thanks. I linked to the matzo recipe in the post.
Thank you, Mitchell. I have only once had matzo brei and it was not a success--my hostess was not gifted in the kitchen but somehow felt she had to defend the family tradition. But now you've intrigued me enough to give it another try. And thank you too for the note about the thought-fulness of Passover. Important.