Latkes

Crispy, oily and delicious.

While other’s have been busy baking during lock down, I was and still am on a latke kick.

I learned to make them from my mother who is not Eastern European nor Jewish.  They seem to be one of those quintessential recipes one learns growing up in Queens that every immigrant family makes regardless of country of origin.  So latkes, like keftedes are very much part of my blood.

The reasons as to why I went on a latke kick was one, I didn’t want to turn my oven on everyday to bake, especially during the summer and two, the free food boxes we received periodically were always stuffed full of potatoes and onions.  Seriously, those boxes “from Trump” were mostly spuds. 

What else does one make with potatoes and onions and 3 liters of EVOO my dad bought me from Titan Foods? 

That’s right.

Latkes.

Now, currently we can’t afford all the usual fixings like lox (yes we’re bougie bitches in this house), sour cream and chives.  Sometimes the free school lunches give the kids an abundance of apple sauce, which is also traditional.  But in my house it’s Himalayan sea salt sprinkled on top as soon as they come out of their bubbly oil bath.

The first bite is heaven, and so is the tenth.  One does not grow tired of latkes.

Now, I’m not going to include how I make them.  I don’t have a recipe, if someone tells you they have a recipe for latkes, run. A recipe in the American sense doesn’t exist.  I dump stuff in a bowl until it feels right and then fry them.  It’s not science, it’s certainly not witchcraft, it’s years of systemic poverty that granted generations of grandmothers marvelous culinary skills.

So, I’m sorry if you don’t know how to make them.  When I reach my crone years, maybe I’ll teach people, but they must be prepared to get their ass smacked with my wooden spoon.

😉