Foto Friday – Hanukkah in Jerusalem
Filed under: Foto Friday, General, Holidays, Israeliness, Life, Pop Culture, Travel
Hanukkah, the Festival of Lights, starts tonight with the lighting of the first candle on the hannukiya – the seven-branched menorah. Jerusalemites have a tradition of lighting oil based hannukiyot encased in glass boxes against the wind. It is a beautiful sight.
© pmos_nmos
Of course, it is more dramatic when lit up at night!
© RomKri
© RomKri
Hanukkah this year fell on a chilly Friday but despite the foreboding clouds it felt like the city was settling into a holiday mood, with young couples taking their babies out for a stroll at the new Mamilla Mall and overwhelming demand for sufganiyot at the Roladin bakery-cafe.
Both Nicky and David have blogged about the caloric and nutritional disaster that is our local holiday fare, so I will only add that Roladin has, for several years now, taken up the mantle of master sufganiya baker. They’ve created a whole series of so-called gourmet doughnut delights – the “Hanukkah Collection 2009″ – ranging from pistachio and banana to dulce de leche as well as the traditional red mystery jam. They’ve also devised a gaily decorated long square box for easy transport.
This week’s photos of Hanukkah in Jerusalem are courtesy of the wonderful Jerusalem Shots site. I should note that, as I do each time before sitting down to write the holiday column, I tried to figure out the current spelling of the Festival of Lights’ name, this time putting Google on the case with the following results: Hanukkah – 1,920,000 hits; Chanuka – 222,000; Hanuka – 219,000; Hannukah – 141,000 ; Channukah – 129,000; Chanukka – 71,800; Hannuka – 66,100. So, (although it’s not spelled as it was when I was a girl) — Hanukkah wins.
Nostalgia Sunday – Petit Beurre
Marcel Proust, perhaps the leading light in the nostalgia biz, famously dipped a Madeleine cookie into a cup of tea and was instantly transported into a remembrance of things past. (You can read about this in Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past). Israelis, too, have a cookie (or biscuit as the Brits call it), with Proustian or Pavlovian qualities but somehow, the Osem Petit Beurre lacks the class of say, a Madeleine or even the original LU Petit Beurre.
Here’s the blurb on LU: “Delicious French biscuits are baked in the heart of Normandy, an area famed for it’s dairy produce and gastronomy. Petit Beurre are a simple but classic French biscuit, a superior tea biscuit that both adults and children enjoy.” It’s a popular cookie throughout our region, which is why I’ve included a picture of the Turkish make too. Israeli children can use it to create flags on Israel Independence Day.
On the other hand, here’s what A Nice Cup of Tea and A Sit Down, the authoritative website reviewing all things teatime-related: “Back in the 19th century the little chap must have thought Petit Beurres were cutting edge biscuit heaven. Nowadays they are ranked somewhat below balsa wood, charcoal briquettes and airline food in the league table of appetising things to eat.” I cannot but agree. Bluntly put, the Osem Petit Beurre is the crystal meth of cookies: cheap, easy to score and higly addictive.
I may be a tad resentful because I hold it, along with potfuls of hot Wissotsky tea, as responsible for a Freshman 10, nah, make it 20 kilo weight gain in the late 70s that came with living on kibbutz and dorm life in Jerusalem. Every afternoon, a carton of the stuff was put out, along with poisonous red-colored jam with the taste and texture of hair gel. And every afternoon, we consumed handfulls of Petit Beurre – which, I would like to point out, is neither small nor buttery – either slathered with mystery jam and margarine, or dunked in tea.
Dunking the Petit Beurre is, in itself, an art that requires expert timing; dip it a moment too long and it would break in half, leaving you with tan-colored mush at the bottom of your teacup. The ideal was to dip and raise, so you could watch the cookie expand to twice its original size. Phallic, yes, but that pretty much suited the general topic of conversation of the time.
Petit Beurre expansive qualities could also be put to good use in creating a poor man’s version of tiramissu, perfect for those communal living quarters that lacked an oven. Here’s how it was done: line a baking tin all the way around with Petit Beurre, create a mixture of Elite powdered coffee, sugar and 9% white cheese purloined from the dining room and pour over the cookie crust. The culinarily ambitious might dust the top with a bit of chocolate milk powder. After that, chill until the cookies soaked in all the liquid and did their magic expanding act. Cut, serve and eat with friends, preferably while bemoaning cruel fate, men, etc.
Petit Beurre is so entrenched in the Israeli psyche that you can’t go on a hike or to reserve duty without a package. Always ready to mess with success, Osem has created a whole line of the things: chocolate, snack-sized, whole wheat… what sacrilege! We want our Petit Beurre the old fashioned way: unhealthy, cardboardy and absorbent. Hmmm… I feel like a cup of tea right now…
I’ll eat anything.
I’ve been living in Israel for quite some time now and have pretty much eaten my way through the country. I’ve eaten everything from turkey testicles (delicious if you can get past the fact you are eating balls) to a raw meatball of sorts prepared by Druze in the north to calf’s foot soup in the inner depths of Meah Shearim. It is incredibly rare for me to come across an item of food that I have never eaten. Last week I had to go to the Licensing Bureau to renew my license. The closest branch to my home is in Ramle so I took a ride over with dreams of either Indian food or hummus in mind. After the arduous process of basically waiting in line for an hour and running back and forth between numerous windows and locales I took a detour on the way back to my car via the shuk. I had plans to stop by at Hummus Khlalil for lunch but while walking through the shuk the smell of something being fried immediately caught my olfactory system. I asked the young man what he was frying and he told me they were samboosaks. Now sambooksaks are common throughout the middle east and are readily available in Israel as well – though I had only seen them baked – never fried. The young man explained to me that they are stuffed with mashed chickpeas spiced with garlic, paprika and other flavorings. The verdict is that they were incredible. Crispy, delicate, flavorful and deliciously oily. Yes, I know, deep fried anything isn’t so healthy, but everything in moderation.
Walking further through the shuk I came upon a bakery that was selling my absolute favorite Bukharian bread. I had only known of one place in the shuk in Jerusalem that sells it (and it always sells out rather quickly early in the day). After noshing on the samboosak and gnawing on the bread I actually headed over to Khalil for some hummus. I waddled back to my car, unbuttoned the top of my pants, drove home and took a nap.
Nabbing the Elusive Rye
For the culinarily curious, Israel is heaven on earth. With Israeli immigrants – who know how to cook – hailing from all over the world, you could eat a different ethnic/national cuisine every day for a month. Not to mention feasting on the staples of Israeli cuisine – falafel, grilled meats, and the rest (note to those looking for an arguement – tabbuleh and humus were perfected by Jews from Syria and Lebanon, who brought them here when they got thrown out of their host Arab countries! But that’s for a different post.)
You can even get “American food” in Israel – fast food, of course, but there are also restaurants, many of them kosher nowadays, that specialize in burgers, barbecued wings, chili, etc. And deli – they have that here, too, with pastrami, corned beef, and the like available at an increasing number of restaurants, takeout places, and butchers.
There’s only one thing missing – an American style bread bakery. There’s a good place in Jerusalem for brownies and seven layer cake, if you’re in the mood – but bread is something else. In recent years, bagels have become an in thing among Israeli foodies – but they’re not the bagels you remember from the “appetizing store,” as we used to call it in the old country. Here the bagels seem to be baked, not boiled – definitely not what any self-respecting H&H frequenter would call a “bagel.” And don’t even ask about bialies!
Forget the bialies – I’ll settle for a Jewish-style rye loaf. But it just hasn’t been available in Israel. Rye bread lovers are forced to settle for “black bread” (“lechem shachor”), a poor substitute. Somehow, among the pitas, pretzels, “lachuch” (Yemenite style sponge bread), and all the rest, that New York Jewish staple – rye bread – got lost in the shuffle.
Until this morning, that is – when the Saidel Bakery opened for business in the Ginot Shomron neighborhood of Karnei Shomron (a Jewish community in Samaria, inside the security fence, about 15 minutes from Kfar Sava). Les, the chief baker (pictured standing in front of what he said was “the largest brick oven in the Shomron”) works all night turning out sublime New York style rye bread, rolls, and bagels – which is really an accomplishment, since he’s from South Africa!
A refugee from the dot-com world (he used to design web sites), Les has been baking since he was a kid, taking an example from a rebbe of his, who used to bake whole wheat bread with his students, as an educational, social, and relaxation activity. Les refurbished the bakery area (in the back of his house) and built the display cases – and the oven – himself. A real renaissance man! Baking bread is a tough business, as anyone who has spent time around commercial bakeries and restaurants knows – so it’s clear that the goods this bakery produces are not just food, but a labor of love.
And the taste – fantastic! Les hopes to expand his offerings and supply stores in the area as well, but for now, the only place in the country to get a real Jewish rye is in this pleasant but a bit out of the way community over the Green Line. Naturally, the fact that the bakery is in the Shomron will prevent some Israelis from enjoying Les’ bread, hesitating to come out here because of their political views. They certainly have a right to feel that way – but I can’t say I’m too sorry. Fewer of them means more rye and bagels for us!
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