A Rosh Hashanah Interlude: Making Gefilte Fish

My grandma has long wanted to show me the art of making gefilte fish, with multiple calls at random times absolutely insisting that we set a date. (Or else she would withhold honey cake and mandel bread.) Since it's so labor intensive, she and my mother will make one giant batch for the High Holidays and hope it lasts. Luckily for me, I just happened to be home this past Labor Day weekend for Gefilte Fish-athon 2010. (This also presented a perfect opportunity for a Rosh Hasahanah post in order to make me feel better for being the non-observant that Jew I am.)

We were unable to convince my grandma to relax and let us all do the work and have her supervise-- she apparently woke up at 6 AM the day before to grind the fish-- not something my mother and I were willing to do (generational thing, I guess). Even still I "sacrificed" by getting up at 9AM after a long night of partying to help make the gefilte.

This is a lot more fish than it looks-- around 8 pounds of walleye and whitefish. With so much, everything needed to be done in three batches, and we were constantly dividing all the instructions by a third-- something neither myself nor my grandma and mother are particularly good at-- so things mostly end up being eyeballed. This also conveniently allows me to get away with not giving a specific recipe, which I feel would be a breach of my grandma's trust, though I doubt she would really care.

I'm A Super Heebster

Sunday, by coincidence, turned into a minor Lower East Side food tour. The Quaker and his girlfriend asked if I wanted to join them on a trip to The Doughnut Plant after I woke up from a late Saturday night.

Sure, why not.

We took the 4 train to Brooklyn Bridge and planned on switching to the J, but after sweating underground for 30 minutes waiting for a train that never came, we decided to walk. We cut through Chinatown, making a stop at Banh Mi Saigon on Mott. I split a spicy #1 with The Quaker while cruising down Grand Street. Lately, I've been taking my banh mi business to Banh Mi So #1 on Broome, but Saigon was very good today-- especially because it was fresh (unlike lately, when it's served off the pre-made shelf).

The Pot Calling the Kettle Yellow and Montreal Smoked Meats

Despite all the buzz around Mile End, the first time I heard about this small deli located the Boerum Hill neighborhood of Brooklyn was when Chief suggested it for lunch before attending an Orientation to the Profession class presented by the good people at the Second Judicial Department. A three-hour class discussing legal ethics sounded about as much fun as attending a family reunion; mandatory, awkward and extremely boring with only the promise of good grub to help you through the excruciating pain. I kid, I kid! I don't despise my extended family that much, but the metaphor serves its purpose by emphasizing how good food can make a dull experience into an otherwise tolerable one. I've visited Montreal before, albeit only briefly, but was able to eat Montreal bagels and poutine so I was eager to see how this deli imported from Montreal stacked up.

All Hail Souper Soup

I grew up on my grandma's matzoh ball soup. An enduring memory of my childhood is watching football on a Sunday afternoon in the middle of winter with a giant bowl of matzoh ball soup on my lap.

When I moved to the city, one of the first things I sought out was matzoh ball soup that could rival my grandma's. It certainly wasn't to be found at Katz's-- their matzoh balls were way too dense-- basically sinking to the bottom of the bowl. At Sarge's Delicatessen on 3rd Avenue, I found a "souper soup" that recreates these memories where other matzoh ball soups had failed. For $6.95 you get a gigantic container of soup with noodles, a fluffy matzoh ball, and a fist-sized meat kreplach that tastes strongly of onions. The broth is rich and round, but I like to add a little togarashi for some heat and smokiness. Just the smell takes me back to numerous Sundays spent slurping soup, eating cold cuts and smelts, while watching the Bengals get blown out.

The souper soup is a meal in itself, but when I'm really feeling like a fat-ass I'll get a triple-decker pastrami and turkey rueben, or even the fabled Deli Wellington, made from pastrami and corn beef scraps.

Sarge's Deli, 548 Third Ave. (36th-37th Sts.)
212-679-0442