I love Jewish food—tender gravy-laden brisket; fluffy potato latkes with sour cream; and of course, smoked fish galore. But, after spending nearly a decade dating a Jewish man as a shiksa (the Yiddish word for a gentile girl), my relationship with the Jewish holidays has been rocky. The laws, traditions and foods were new territory for this Presbyterian girl from Illinois, and even though I tried to consult guidebooks to navigate Shabbat dinners and the high holidays, it turns out learning the hard way is a Presbyterian specialty.
With Rosh Hashanah right around the corner, though, I thought I might help you avoid the embarrassing, humiliating, and deeply awkward moments I’ve had. If you’re a shiksa and dream of the day Bubby calls you mishpocheh, here are five things I know from experience:
1) Handle your gefilte fish discreetly
Gefilte fish is a love-it-or-hate-it food, and if we’re talking about the kind that comes plopping out of a jar, I’ve found that most gentiles and Labradors hate it. One Passover, I couldn’t choke down any more of the horseradish-covered, gelatinous carp meatball. I stabbed it with my fork and flicked my fish to the floor. The resident chocolate Labrador, as voracious as they come, didn’t miss a beat. He got up from his doggy-bed, trotted over like he needed a pat on the head and dove toward my feet in pursuit of the “prize.”
After dinner, while washing the dishes, someone exclaimed, “Why is there gefilte fish on the floor?” “Where?” roared another. Everyone rushed the table to assess the location of the fish. I kept my head down and hands busy in the sudsy dishwater but felt eyeballs on my back. I looked down to the Lab who lay on his bed and he looked up at me, only moving his eyes. “Sorry,” he pleaded. “I don’t blame you,” I thought.
Better idea: Leave a good recipe for homemade gefilte fish tucked into the couch or bathroom reading material at your Passover host’s house. Hopefully (s)he’ll take the hint and give it a go. If do-it-yourself gefilte fish is out of the question, suggest a cheat. There’s a brilliant maneuver that only requires simmering gefilte fish (straight from the jar!) for 10 minutes in a broth made from a bay leaf, peppercorns, a fish head (if you’ve got it), and a handful each of chopped celery, carrot, onion, parsley and dill. This technique will round out the fish’s flavor and loosen all the goo that the jarred fish was suspended in.
2) Think twice about your hostess gift
Bringing the perfect hostess gift to a Jewish gathering is more difficult than it seems. Once, I famously brought an appetizer to Yom Kippur. What’s a holiday party without jumbo shrimp cocktail, I thought? The hostess of the party smiled politely when I arrived with it. “It’s just a little somethin’ somethin’ to get us through happy hour,” I said as I looked around for the punch bowl. I watched the hostess carry my contribution into an empty, quiet kitchen… and then I realized that there are no appetizers served on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, when you’re supposed to fast until dinner is served at sundown. She made space for my beautiful shrimp on a table hidden by giant platters of food, shielded from hungry guests by tin foil. Oh well, I figured, more food for the feast. Then, a teenage boy walked over to the table and his eyes widened in horror when he saw the shrimp. Double whammy—shellfish is not kosher.
Another time, I showed up to a Shabbat with a fabulous bouquet of flowers (Observant Jews aren’t supposed to cut flowers or put them in water after Shabbat begins); to Passover with still-warm oatmeal raisin cookies (the batter is chametz, a leavened food banned during Passover); and to Rosh Hashanah with a store-bought loaf of challah—I was sure I had this one right. But then my loaf looked sad and tacky next to Bubbe’s golden homemade loaf.
Better idea: Don’t be shy: Ask your hostess what to bring. Duh. And for Rosh Hashanah, bring great-quality honey (apples and honey are traditionally enjoyed to ensure a sweet new year).
3) Maneschevitz is not for sangria
At my first Rosh Hashanah, I was delighted as my boyfriend poured me a glass of Maneschevitz. How cool! Jews have their own wine, I thought! When I took a sip, my mouth puckered as I gulped down the cloying, Concord grape-flavored wine. It reminded me of Dimetapp or something sweet you’d use in college to take the bite off of hard liquor. Hmmm…..a mixer! After a couple of glasses, I merrily suggested we toss in the sliced apples and stir in some of the honey on the table to make sangria. No one else thought turning the apples and honey (usually eaten while a prayer is recited) and the kosher wine into Spanish fruit punch was a good idea.
Better idea: Bring something else to drink, like a modern Kosher wine, which can be very good. Kosher wines come in two types: mevushal and non-mevushal. Both are made under the supervision of a rabbi but mevushal wine is pasteurized and remains kosher even if opened by a waiter or a shiksa. Herzog wines are good, popular and available in most wine stores. I really like Goose Bay wines from New Zealand and for a splurge I’ll pick up a bottle (online) of Capcanes Peraj Ha’bib from Spain. (And click here for a good starter guide to Kosher wines.)
4) Do not talk (or even think) about bacon
I’m almost certain most Kosher-keeping Jews know or have a sneaking suspicion that bacon is awesome. Don’t rub it in. Once I jokingly told my boyfriend’s mother that her blue-ribbon brisket would be even better topped with lardons. Her smile changed to a vacant stare; a sad, yearning look. I imagined her thought to be, “I know.”
Better idea: Introduce the Kosher Jews in your life to lamb bacon. Cured lamb belly has been replacing the porcine thing on restaurant menus for the last few years and although it’s not as fatty as pork bacon (some think this is a bonus) it’s gamey, rich and perfect for jazzing up brisket or kreplach. I’ve got my friends hooked on it, and this recipe is super easy.
5) Don’t mess with Bubby’s recipes
After attending enough Jewish feasts, you’ll cozy up to traditional dishes and want to cook your favorites on non-holidays. My boyfriend’s Bubby made killer matzo balls. Killer matzo balls, the kind of life-changing matzo ball that is the equivalent of eating handmade, perfectly cooked pasta in Italy. Bubby’s were the size of small limes, lumpy and rustic, and soft but chewy. She also made divine kugel. Creamy, wobbly, cinnamon custard holding together a mess of egg noodles dotted with plump raisins and baked until crisp on top. Bubby generously shared these coveted recipes with me. Since cooking is my gig, after learning her methods, I decided to do some experimenting and made sour-cherry, cream cheese kugel. When I reported my fun variation to Bubby, however, she was horrified.
Better idea: If you’re lucky enough to get Bubby to divulge her recipe to you, treat it like the secret formula it is. There is nothing like a family recipe. Nothing.
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