October 17, 2012 | 3:00 pm

Meme’s Anise Tea Biscuits [RECIPE]

Posted by Rob Eshman

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A few weeks ago, I spent Shabbat evening at David Suissa’s house. His mother, Suzanne, who was visiting from Montreal, cooked.

At the end of the perfect Moroccan-Jewish festive dinner came a plate of galettes — anise-scented tea biscuits. Light, not too sweet — perfect for coffee. For breakfast. For the office. I asked her to teach me how to make them.

“Mais oui,” she said.

My cooking lesson with Suzanne was set for 12 p.m. I arrived at 12 p.m. She swung open the door, kissed me on both cheeks, then hurried back to the kitchen.

“You know when a Moroccan says 12 p.m.,” she said, “he comes at 1.”

She was happy to welcome me into David’s Beverlywood home, but too busy to stay in one place for more than a second. In a couple of days, her grandson was to be wed, and Suzanne was in the midst of preparing food for a pre-wedding henna ceremony. Moroccan meat pastries, chicken, meat, vegetables, salads —for 100 people.

Everyone calls Suzanne “Meme”— Meh-meh — an endearment for Mama. She is 79 years old. Family, food and work, in that order, have defined her life. As David wrote in the Jewish Journal in 2007: 

“... here in her tiny kitchen in Montreal, these were my childhood memories. Memories of a small apartment kitchen where Meme cooked for 100 people who came for my brother Samy’s bar mitzvah, in 1967. Memories of seders, Shabbat meals, hot soups on winter nights, summer picnics, afternoon snacks — big meals, small meals or spectacular meals, always coming out of tiny kitchens.”

Meme insisted I must eat before my cooking lesson. It was noon, after all. Between prepping dinner for 100 guests and giving me a cooking lesson, she made me lunch: pureed red lentil soup, spiced with onion and cumin; a grilled chicken paillard; a salad of carrot, celery and cilantro; another salad with smoked roasted eggplant.

She asked if I’d like a glass of wine — I said, “Of course.” When I started to reach for a water glass, Meme rushed over and replaced it with a proper wine glass.

“No, no, no, no,” she said.

Galettes is a simple recipe; then again, so is pasta, so is bread, so is cheese. The great foods of the world rely not on mysterious recipes or ingredients, but on technique. I’m a confident cook, and I can certainly follow a recipe, but I can really learn to cook a great dish only by watching someone who excels at it —who loves it — do it. 

That’s why I didn’t simply ask Meme for her galette recipe — it’s just a list of ingredients. I wanted to watch her make it. That takes time, but skill and touch and taste and love — the key ingredients to great food— are only revealed with time. Before we lose the generation that knows these recipes — whether in the hill towns of Puglia or on the streets of Beverlywood — we need to preserve them on tape. Great food is not a question of what, but how.

Meme started by mixing eggs, sugar and oil. (“I always check my eggs,” Meme said, as she cracked each into a small dish before adding it to the mixing bowl.)

She added more anise seed than you’ve bought in your life, along with flour and baking powder. She kneaded it all in a KitchenAid mixer.

“My mother put everything in like this, all at once, and mixed with her hands,” Meme said.

When the mass had come together and was smooth, she rolled it out by hand on a lightly floured surface — at home she uses an electric pasta machine for this — then she used a dough docker to poke the signature holes in the dough. Afterward, she used a ruffled rolling cutter to shape the final biscuits.

When I asked to try my hand at rolling, docking and cutting, I tossed a small scrap of dough, no bigger than a Nicoise olive, toward the trash. Meme looked at me like I’d just driven a school bus full of children off a cliff.

“I don’t throw anything away, Rob!” Meme said.

I made a video of her until my iPhone battery died, so you can see what I saw. If doing something 10,000 times makes you an expert — as they say — you’ll be watching a woman who has made tens of thousands of galettes. Pay attention.

Then, after an hour, I had to leave. The thing about Meme’s hospitality is I felt as bad for coming right on time as I did for leaving when I said I had to. The cookies were still in the oven. She had made me lunch and given me the gift of this lesson.

Another double kiss, and I was gone, but not before Meme had given me a dozen hot galettes from the first batch for the office.

On the way back to work. I ate them all.

Merci, Meme.

MEME SUISSA’S GALETTES

4 eggs

1 cup sugar

1 cup vegetable oil

1 cup water

6  1/2 cups flour

2 tablespoons baking powder

1 cup anise seeds

Beat first four ingredients together in bowl.

Add the rest of the ingredients, then mix by hand or with a sturdy spoon until a stiff dough comes together. Put the dough in the bowl of a KitchenAid mixer and use dough hook to knead at low speed for three minutes.

Divide the dough into quarters. Roll out to 1/8-inch thickness. Pierce with dough docker, then cut into 1 1/2-by-2 inch rectangles with a ruffle-edged cutter.

Place the cookies, separated slightly, on a Silpat- or parchment-lined cookie sheet.

Bake in preheated 350 F oven for 8 to 10  minutes, until just brown. Halfway through baking time, switch pans (upper to lower rack, and vice versa) for even baking.

Makes about 64 cookies. 

October 11, 2012 | 10:47 pm

Meme Suissa’s Anise Tea Biscuits [VIDEO RECIPE]

Posted by Rob Eshman

A few weeks ago I spent Shabbat evening at David Suissa’s house.  His mother Suzanne, visiting from Montreal, cooked.

At the end of the perfect Morroccan Jewish festive dinner came a plate of galettes—anise-scented tea biscuits.  Light, not too sweet—perfect for coffee. For breakfast. For the office.  I asked her to teach me how to make them.

“Mais oui,” she said.

My cooking lesson with Suzanne was set for 12 pm.    I arrived at 12 pm.  She swung open the door, kissed me on both cheeks, then hurried back to the kitchen.

“You know when a Moroccan says 12 pm,” she said,  “they come at 1.”

She was happy to welcome me into David’s Beverlywood home, but too busy to stay in one place for more than a second.  In a couple of days her grandson was to be wed, and Suzanne was in the midst  of preparing food for a pre-wedding henna ceremony.  Moroccan meat pastries, chicken, meat, vegetables, salads—for 100 people.

Everyone calls Suzanne “Meme”-- Meh-meh—an endearment for Mama. She is 79 years old.  Family, food and work, in that order, have defined her life.  As David wrote in the Jewish Journal in 2007:  

...here in her tiny kitchen in Montreal, these were my childhood memories. Memories of a small apartment kitchen where Meme cooked for 100 people who came for my brother Samy's bar mitzvah, in 1967. Memories of seders, Shabbat meals, hot soups on winter nights, summer picnics, afternoon snacks -- big meals, small meals or spectacular meals, always coming out of tiny kitchens.

Meme stopped the preparations to make me lunch, which she insisted I must eat before my cooking lesson. It was noon, after all. Between prepping dinner for 100 guests and giving me a cooking lesson, she made me lunch: pureed red lentil soup, spiced with onion and cumin, a grilled chicken paillard, a salad of carrot, celery and cilantro, another salad with smoked roasted eggplant. 

She asked if I’d like a glass of wine—I said of course.  When I started to reach for a water glass, Meme rushed over and replaced it with a proper wine glass. 

“No no no no,” she said.

Galettes is a simple recipe, then again, so is pasta, so is bread, so is cheese. The great foods of the world rely not on mysterious recipes or ingredients, but on technique.  I’m a confident cook, and I can certainly follow a recipe, but I can only really learn to cook a great dish by watching someone who excels at it—who loves it—do it. 

That’s why I didn’t simply ask Meme for her galette recipe—it’s just a list of ingredients.  I asked to watch her make it.  That takes time, but skill and touch and taste and love—the key ingredients to great food, are only revealed in time.  Before we lose the generation that knows these recipes—whether in the hill towns of Puglia or the streets of Beverlywood—we need to preserve them on tape.  Great food is not a question of what, but how.

Meme started by mixing eggs, sugar and oil.  (“I always check my eggs,” Meme said, as she cracked each into a small dish before adding it to the mixing bowl.)

She added more anise seed than you’ve bought in your life, along with flower and baking soda.  She kneaded it all in a KitchenAid mixer.  

“My mother put everything in like this all at once and mixed with her hands,” Meme said.  She told me her mother was also an excellent cook. When Meme told me one of her favoirte dishes from Casablanca was a salad of green peppers, tomatoes and argan oil, I promised to send her argan oil, which I said was now becoming popular in LA.

"Really!" she said-- but I'm not sure she believed me.

When the mass had come together and was smooth, she rolled it out by hand on a lightly floured surface—at home she uses an electric pasta machine for this—then she used a dough docker to poke the signature holes in the dough.  Afterwards she used a ruffled rolling cutter to shape the final biscuits.

When I asked to try my hand at rolling,  docking and cutting, I tossed a small scrap of dough, no bigger than a Nicoise olive, toward the trash.  Meme looked at me like I just drove a school bus full of children off a cliff.

“I don’t throw anything away Rob!” Meme said.

I took a video until my iPhone battery died, so you can see what I saw.  If doing something 10,000 times makes you an expert—so they say—you’re watching a woman who has made tens of thousands of galettes. Pay  attention.

Then, after an hour,  I had to leave.  The thing about Meme’s hospitality is I felt as bad for coming right on time as I did for leaving when I said I had to.  The cookies were still in the oven.  She had made me lunch and given me the gift of this lesson.

Another double kiss and I was gone, but not before Meme gave me a dozen hot galettes from the first batch.  

I ate them in the car on the way back to work.

Merci, Meme.

[RECIPE]

Meme Suissa’s Galettes

INGEDIENTS
4 eggs
1 c. sugar
1 c. vegetable oil
1 c. water
6 ½ c. flour, approximately
2 T. baking powder
1 c. anise seeds

Beat the first four ingredients together in bowl.

Add the rest of the ingredients, then mix by hand or with a sturdy spoon until a stiff dough comes together.  Put in a KitchenAid and use a dough hook to knead at low speed for three minutes. ( If you don't have a KitchenAid, you can knead by hand.  Why not start by putting all the ingredients in the KitchenAid?  Because you need to use your hands to feel when the dough has come together properly. Plus it's more fun.)

Divide the dough into quarters.  Roll each quarter out to 1/8 inch thickness. (At home in Montreal, Meme divides the dough into smaller pieces and rolls it through the electric pasta machine attachment on her KitchenAid.) Pierce with a dough docker, then cut into 1 ½ inch by 2 inch rectangles with a ruffle-edged cutter.

Place the cookies on Silpat- or parchment-lined cookie sheet, slightly separated.

Bake in a 350 degree oven for 8 to 10  minutes, until just brown. Switch pans for even cooking.

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October 10, 2012 | 4:51 pm

Meme Suissa’s Moroccan Galettes [VIDEO]

Posted by Rob Eshman

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October 9, 2012 | 10:36 pm

The New York Times Kosher Los Angeles Article Is…Wrong

Posted by Rob Eshman

There are about 70 kosher restaurants in Los Angeles. 

The New York Times article on kosher dining in Los Angeles mentions four of them.  Why?  Who knows?  Maybe the writer, Jennifer Medina, had a limited expense account.  Maybe she doesn’t drive, so she could only go to the places within a few blocks (let’s say she has uncomfortable shoes, too).  Maybe the New York Times figures, Hey, it’s LA, who cares?

The article, which appears in the Oct. 10, 2012, Dining & Wine section, is entitled, “Los Angeles Kosher: Beyond Corned Beef and a Knish.” You might assume what follows is a definitive, Times-esque journey through, well, kosher Los Angeles.

Nope.

We learn about Mexikosher—we spend a lot of time at Mexikosher. Katsuji Tanabe’s fusion of Mexican, kosher and a bit of Asian cuisine really does stand out.  I long ago wrote that in a just world Tanabe's habanero orange salsa would replace ketchup. The Mexico City born non-Jewish Tanabe, who first learned kosher cooking at Shilo's, is a genuine kosher star.

Medina smartly, rightly singles him out.  She also enjoys Kabab Mahaleh, an authentic if standard Persian kebab house, Haifa, a stalwart Israeli joint, and a newish place called Beverly Hills Thai.

The way she justifies such a short list is by making the claim that LA’s kosher restaurant mirrors its exceptional ethnic dining scene.

Hmm.  Are there Mexican kosher restaurants in New York?  Four. Are there Thai kosher restaurants in New York? Two.  Persian kosher in New York?  At least six, including the renowned Colbeh.  How do I know Colbeh is renowned?  Because I read about it in the New York Times.  
I won’t even bother asking how an Israeli place like Haifa, which does have good food, qualifies as ethnic in the context of kosher.

So, if a handful of ethnic kosher restaurants does not set LA’s kosher dining scene apart from New York’s, or any other city’s, what does?

Restlessness.

Places come and go faster than a low-rated sitcom.  A place like La Seine, headed by a tattooed Top Chef, featuring pitch-perfect cocktails, sushi, sous vide short ribs and Saturday night jazz—flared up and flamed out in a year. 

Prime Grill, which defines high-end kosher in Manhattan, crashed and burned here.  LA’s equivalent of Prime Grill, where the kosher mover and shakers meet, is Pat’s—dependable, haimish, not New York, not really even LA.

In what other Jewish city in the world will Steven Spielberg’s mother seat you at your table, as Leah Adler does at her kosher dairy restaurant Milky Way?  How's the food?  Did I mention Leah Adler is  Steven Spielberg’s mother?

Then there’s Thursday nights at Bocca in Encino, where the Israelis cut loose with dancing and wine  and abandon—it’s like a scene from Tony and Tina’s Chuppah.

Go to GotKosher on Pico for an authentic Tunsian tuna sandwich—along with the (non-kosher) Tuna Conserva Sandwich  at GTA on Abbot Kinney, it's  among the best tuna sandwiches in town. And ask owner Alain Cohen to shave some of his stash of kosher bottarga on your pasta.  

Come on NYT.  "Kosher in LA?" You didn't even get past the appetizers. There’s Afshan downtown, whose Persian food meets the discriminating palates of the near-100 percent Iranian clientele at the shamata and jewelry markets.  The kosher Subway came and went, along with its $9 meatball sub, but Nagila Pizza has now fed generations of loud, rambunctious families.  There’s the outdoor, impromptu kosher hot dog grillers on Pico Blvd. after Shabbat, with their whiff of beef and danger, and there’s Jeff’s Gourmet Sausage, where you can get home-cured sausages from duck to goose.  Jeff’s is across from Doheny Meats—and at both you can buy air-dried beef strips—biltong—as good as in Jo’berg, or so my South African friends tell me.

The vegan rabbis I know—a larger number than you’d think, even for LA--  take their meetings at one of two Real Food Daily restaurants, both kosher. Sit long enough at the outdoor tables at Delice Cafe, where Julien turns out Parisian-level pastries and sandwiches, and you'll soon see half the people you meant to call that day. And for sheer culture clash, seeing the Chabadniks serve the bikini-clad surfer babes at the Fish Grill in Malibu on Pacific Coast Highway—now that’s a New York Times story and a sitcom.

And of course—of course—Tierra Sur.  It's in Oxnard, but a creature of the LA kosher consumer market.  It’s former chef (and current advisor) Todd Aarons left behind a legacy of locally-sourced, seasonal, simple California Mediterranean food, much of it made in an outdoor wood-fired oven. 

The main criticism I have of kosher restaurants in LA is that more don’t aspire to—or the city’s kosher diners won’t support—more places that care as much about ingredients, and cooking, and service, as Tierra Sur.   Inshallah.

The point is kosher dining in LA is quirky and dynamic—much like the city’s Jews.

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August 19, 2012 | 1:15 pm

Sunday at Kenny and Zuke’s Delicatessen [SLIDESHOW]

Posted by Rob Eshman

More than Jews have kept delis, the deli has kept the Jews.

Yes, that’s a direct ripoff of Ahad Ha’am’s famous dictum about the Sabbath.

I didn’t know Heschel, but I bet if I could have gotten him alone over a cup of cold beet borscht at Rattner’s, he would have thought it over, wiped the sour cream from the corner of his mouth, and said, “You know, you may have a point.”

The deli is where we eat, meet, laugh, commiserate, celebrate, feast, deal, cry. Take pulpit and prayer out of a synagogue, add corned beef, and you’d end up with something like a deli.  God is, of course, in both.

LA has the country’s, maybe the world’s, best delis. That’s according to David Sax, author of “Save the Deli.” Brents, Langers, Juniors, Factors, Sauls, Izzy’s, Pico Kosher, Nate n Als, Canters—  but even with this embarrassment of kishke, business is tough. The venerable Canters on Fairfax depends for its bottom line on the Kibbitz Room bar.  There is more profit in selling shots to hipsters at 3 am than in turning out a great lox, eggs and onions. Time, which Heschel said stands still, is Eternal, on the Sabbath, passes delis by.

In his book,  Sax described a deli that is trying to keep up with the times, if not change them.  Kenny and Zukes is part of Portland, OR’s farm-to-table, handmade, local,  sustainable food movement. They pickle their own cucumbers. They cure their own lox. They brine and smoke their own pastrami.  They boil and bake their own bagels.  The rye, the sauerkraut—all housemade, all from local ingredients.

I had to try it.

And last month, on a family trip to Portland, I finally did.

We got to Kenny and Zuke’s on the last day of a long vacation weekend.  It was way up their on our list of must-see Portland sites, along with the Columbia River Gorge and… well, Kenny and Zuke’s Deli.  I mean, Rose Gardens? Museums?  Every city has those.  But there is only one deli in America that is trying to reinvent the deli.

Portland is a city that prays at the alter of local, sustainable, farm-to-table food. At a place called McMenimin’s Edgefield, they roast their own coffee, brew their own beer, grow and bottle their own wine, and distill their own spirits.  The next step, I can only imagine, is raising their own customers.

So how was it?

If Kenny and Zuke’s is the future of the deli, then the deli has a very good future.  We arrived hungry at 4 pm on a Sunday, and ate our way through a menu that is as well-curated as a think tank web site, and features all the greatest hits, and then some. (Note: Kenny and Zuke’s is not kosher—it’s kosher-style.)

How’s the lox?  Thinly cut, hand-sliced sheets, the color of a late summer peach, draped over a chewy, hand-shaped bagel. Capers, onion, bright red tomato and a light, fresh cream cheese. Perfect.

The homemade pastrami, I rushed to Tweet at the time, was peppery and tender, but still no Langers.  I immediately heard back via Tweet from Kenny himself that his pastrami is house-cured from natural, local beef.  He didn’t have to protest—it was a great sandwich—and kudos for consciousness—but Langers’ pastrami is meat crack— you can’t beat the high.

But in every other category, Kenny and Zuke showed the power of homemade food from great local ingredients.  The pickles and the pickled vegetable plate, the fluffy, salty potato knish, one of the world’s lighter kugels, which actually tasted of high quality potatoes, a rich chicken soup with a very light matzo ball, and a rye bread that reminded me of the dense, high loaves we bought fresh at Bea’s, and—oh—the egg creams have a good shock of bitter chocolate and a head like a Portland ale.

The deli is retro and clean, with big windows onto busy Stark Street. But you will not mistake Kenny and Zuke’s for Canter’s or Nate n’ Al’s. The wait staff is young and friendly, and most sport whatever is the city’s minimum legal requirement of piercings and tattoos. We missed the neurotic buzz of worn vinyl booths alive with the song of a thousand kvetches, handlings, wisecracks, and shmoozes. There’s a book of Yiddish curse words on display, but no Yiddish in the air. It seems everything in Portland is local and sustainable except a sizeable Jewish population. 

But that’s not Kenny and Zuke’s fault. If anything, they are doing their best to revive old traditions, to build the Jewish equivalent of a baseball field in the hopes that, if you build it, they will nosh. 

It inspired me, it excited me.  When I returned to LA, I gushed to Al Canter about it.  At 80-something, Al still goes in each morning to check the register receipts at Canters on Fairfax.

They make their own pastrami, I said to Al.  They cure their own lox.

“You know who else used to do that?” Al said.  “We did.  But try getting the Health Department to approve barrels full of cured pastrami.”

Maybe LA’s laws have to change to make it easier for a pastrami-curer to come to a restaurant near you.  Maybe a new generation has to be willing to take the time, to work out the recipes, to develop the clientele, for such retro-treats.

But local, sustainable, hand-made are not just trends—the next generation demands them, deserves them—along with a place to laugh, eat, shmooze, deal and celebrate—a synagogue without a pulpit, but with many blessings.

You really should follow Foodaism on Twitter @foodaism.

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August 14, 2012 | 11:11 pm

Restaurant Review: Superba Snack Bar

Posted by Rob Eshman

Say you want to go home and eat, but you don’t want to go home.  You want to eat the kind of food you’d make yourself, if you had the day to buy it, think it over, cook it, invite some friends over and eat it.  Careful food, but not daunting. Doable.

As our ingredients improve and our skills sharpen, and as dining out becomes more casual, there is bound to be a kind of chowtime Singularity, when eating at the great new restaurant feels just like eating at home. There’s a whole new style of restaurants that seem to aim just that high—a better class of home cooking.  Or, in the case of the Superba Snack Bar, a way better class.

Last night we ate at Superba, which just opened on Rose Ave.  in Venice. I took one look at the menu and told my son, “This is the kind of food we’d cook at home.”

“Yeah,” he said, “if you made chicken liver mousse. With balsamic cherries”

I don’t.  But the point is I could, and if I did I would use great local chicken, and serve it in a careful mound like a scoop of mocha gelato, with a drizzle of thick, dark balsamic soaked cherries.

Anyway, we didn’t order the mousse, but we did work through most of the menu.  It’s carefully curated, divided up by Cold Cuts—homemade charcuterie—“Snacks,” and two larger categories, “From Our Backyards” and “From Our Hands.”

The produce, said our waiter, mostly comes from a single local farm, Eclectic Acres near San Bernardino, that the owners “have a relationship with.” 

The animating philosophy is local, sustainable, delicious, community—buzzwords, sure, but when done right, you end up with a neighborhood restaurant that attracts people from miles away.

Superba strikes that balance because it combines the homegrown, deply rooted owner with a chef who has cooked far and wide.  Paul Hibler started Pitfire Artisan Pizza – a thoughtful sustainable ersion of a small chain restaurant—and he lives in the hood (like, two blocks from me).  “You’re the guy with the artichokes,” he says when he sees me.

Yes, and he’s the guy with the great friggin’ restaurant.

Chef Jason Neroni cooked at Mario Batali’s Lupo, in Manhattan and at El Bulli, neither of which even remotely qualify as a snack bar.

So, neither does the Superba Snack Bar, despite the name The atmosphere is casual, Venice, young—Rose Ave. is Abbot Kinney 15 years ago. But food (and prices) don’t exactly evoke a couple of taquitos and a Coke.

I’ll post photos shortly, but for now the English language will have to suffice. Pan con tomato, olive oil & sea salt ($ 8 ) was better than any we’d had last summer in Spain—two pieces of toasted French bread rubbed with cookd-down tomato pulp and doused with good olive oil.

Fried duck egg, papas bravas, truffle vinaigrette & tuna prosciutto ($14 ) had the Spanish paprika smoke, crisp potatoes and vaporous sheets of tuna prosciutto, which reminded me the ocean was around here somewhere. I really liked the Cauliflower t-bone, basil puree, orange/olive pistou ($14 )— a thick crosswise slice of roasted cauliflower, piled with sweet-tart and earthy flavors. Gather restaurant in Berkeley has something called vegan charcuterie—this would have fit right in. 

The centerfold dish was something called Charred watermelon, burrata, candied olives & pickled garlic vinaigrette ($15 ).  It sounds fussy: it wasn’t.  And Negroni’s candied olives may be the new adult M & M’s.

Superba specializes in housemade (“from Our Hands”) pasta.  They were, like I said, like homemade, but superb.
Of them all, the Gnocchi, burrata, braised broccoli necks, vincotto & hazelnut bread crumbs ($18)—just some of the finest gnocchi you’ll eat. When they’re gone, you’ll be sad.
For dessert we had a stone fruit tart and a very very smoky S’mores in a jar.  All good, but he had me at gnocchi.

Okay, you cannot do this food at home.  Because you didn’t train at El Bulli and Lupo.  But you recognize the food—the local good stuff, the simple-seeming preparations—it’s familiar but better than familiar.

Hibler told me his next endeavor is a bakery on Lincoln Blvd.  that will deliver fresh bread to the neighborhood on bikes, and offer one or two dishes a day for eating in.  He’s forging it out of one of the street’s endless supply of used car lots.  His restaurants are good at that—making us feel at home, even when we already live here.

Superba Snack Bar

Location
533 Rose Ave.
Venice, CA. 90291

Phone
310-399-6400

Hours
Mon - Thurs: 5:00 pm - 10:30 pm
Fri & Sat: 5:00 pm - 11:30 pm
Sun: 5:00 pm - 10:00 pm

Coming Soon:
Weekday Lunch & Weekend Brunch

You know what would be fun?  Following what I eat on Twitter @foodaism.

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July 18, 2012 | 5:01 pm

Kosher WHAT?

Posted by Rob Eshman

Last week, we launched our newest blog at jewishjournal.com. It’s called “Kosher Bacon.”

Just about everyone who hears the name is offended by it. They assume we’re being cheeky just for the sake of provocation. After all, would we call a funeral blog “Shivah Me Timbers”? Would we call a dating blog “Plenty o’ Shiksas”?

No—but in this case there’s a perfectly good explanation.

A few months ago, I met a chef named Michael Israel for coffee in Culver City. He chose the place—The Conservatory for Coffee, Tea & Cocoa, a small cafe across from Sony Studios where the centerpiece is a huffing, puffing coffee roaster and the family behind the counter manages to turn out one perfect cup after another with exacting standards and zero attitude.

Michael struck me as the same sort of person. In 2005, he graduated from the Culinary Institute of America. He went on to work in restaurants throughout Italy, then at Thomas Keller’s three-Michelin-star Per Se in New York City—considered by many the best restaurant in the country.

“It was the best food education I could ever get,” Michael told me. “The standards were so high, and the focus on detail was incredible.”

After several years, Michael, eager to work for himself, decided to move on. He ended up in Los Angeles, where he started a kosher food truck business, M.O. Eggrolls. In many ways, it was a return to his roots. In his native Montreal, evidently, eggrolls, stuffed with a variety of fillings and fried, are the rage.  

The truck has been a success. Not only is he offering a convenient fried food—“convenience” and “fried” are practically food groups in America—but Michael’s craftsmanship and high standards ensure that the quality of the eggrolls is far above fast food.

The kosher food truck was Michael’s first step in his journey to reconcile his love of food and cooking with his deepening Jewish observance. Step two has been the blog—that’s what he came to discuss at The Conservatory.

“I’ve struggled,” Michael said, “with these two parts of me.”

There’s the part of him that really cares about great food, about curing his own meat, about sourcing the best-quality ingredients—the part of him that wants to cook and eat and try everything great. The part that knows just what a strip of bacon can do for a coq au vin. And then there’s the part of him that honors his tradition.  

In many ways, Michael is the poster child for the next generation of Jewish foodie. For him, kosher is necessary, but it’s not sufficient:  Food has to be excellent; it has to make at least a nod toward ethics and sustainability; it has to strive for Per Se, not a temple sisterhood buffet.

Michael is a young father, hardworking and soft-spoken—he doesn’t come across as a snob or an evangelist. And he is not alone. Last week, I attended a Southern barbecue dinner hosted by Pico-Robertson’s Kosher Supper Club. I expected to find a room of elderly Jews complaining about the mediocre food (“And such small portions!”), but instead I found 20- and 30-somethings listening to Best Coast, enjoying excellent kosher versions of grits and shrimp (sea bass) and greens and ham hocks (home-smoked turkey) prepared by chefs Katsuji Tanabe and Daly Thompson. (Tanabe is the Japanese-Mexican owner of MexiKosher on Pico Boulevard. Thompson owns Memphis Bar-BQ Catering and used to own a restaurant called The Pig next to the Yeshiva Rav Isacsohn on La Brea Avenue. It closed.) Like Michael, they are dissatisfied with much of what passes as “gourmet” kosher—they want to show, if only through their dining group—that it could be better.

Michael’s “Kosher Bacon” blog shares that goal.

“I just want people to know they can cook ‘Jewishly’  and celebrate Judaism,” he said. “You don’t have to choose between a good meal and a kosher one.”

In other words, you can find a way to infuse kosher food with the same power, the same umami, the same indispensible, ineluctable attraction … as bacon.

The way Michael plans to do this is by reviewing the more than 300 recipes in Gil Marks’ definitive book, “Encyclopedia of Jewish Food.”

“My goal,” Michael wrote in his initial entry, “is to cook every recipe in Gil Marks’ brilliant book, with a new approach and an undying respect for everyone who has contributed to Jewish cuisine.

“Discovering ‘Encyclopedia of Jewish Food’ has changed my life as a cook. I have always wanted to explore classic Jewish cuisine and find ways to contribute to its modernization. I am a firm believer that any craftsman, whether carpenter or chef, must understand the classics before trying to create something different. Gil Marks codified historic Jewish recipes. With the help of this text, I am able to study classic Jewish cuisine and begin creating new recipes.”

Lucky us, we get to eat it.

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Find Michael Israel’s recipe for Agraz Pico de Gallo here, and follow me on Twitter @foodaism.

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June 27, 2012 | 2:33 pm

Nissan Leaf Fast Charger Comes to Los Angeles

Posted by Rob Eshman

Los Angeles finally has its first fast charger for electric vehicles.

The 480-volt charger is located in the parking lot across from the Toy Factory Lofts downtown, along with a bank of ten 220-volt chargers. 

For Nissan Leaf drivers like me—and Tesla drivers like Arnold Schwarzenegger—this means you can plug in and go from 0 to 100 percent charge in 30 minutes. The more common 220 volt chargers take about 8 hours for a full charge, and regular household current takes 14-16 hours.

This is the first fast-charger in Los Angeles, and the ninth in California.

Len Hill and Yuval Bar-Zemer, partners in Linear City development company, installed the chargers at the Toy Factory, a former warehouse built in 1924 by the land development arm of the Atchison and Topeka Railroad.  Later it served as a toy factory.  In 2004, Linear City, which also developed the Biscuit Company Lofts, converted the space in 121 condos.

The charging stations are one more amenity to a development that includes, “a market, restaurant, gym, art gallery, chocolatier, clothing stores, yoga studio, roof-top pool with infinity viewing deck, cabanas and fireplace, lower roof garden with innovative planting arrangements and a stainless steel barbeque, oversized hallways, a chic lobby enclosing a unique shipping container mail room, and three levels of interior parking.”

I called Bar-Zemer, who told me that he drives a Nissan Leaf, and has been looking for ways to add “green” and convenience to the company’s projects.  He enabled residents to install raised bed gardens, as well.

(Foodaism plus: Linear City also owns Church & State restaurant and Little Bear.)

More details: Ecotality installed the chargers, and users must sign up for a Blink card in order to operate them.  Right now you can juice up for free, but soon Bar-Zemer told me he expects the cost will be one dollar per hour for the 220v and a flat fee for the 480v.

The Jewish Journal will be doing a longer story on Hill and Bar-Zemer, who ALSO produced the indie comedy “Dorfman,” winner of Best Comedy at the 2012 Los Angeles Jewish Film Festival.

I’ve had a year of headaches and range anxiety over charging my Leaf, but at least now I know I can get a full, fast charge downtown.
 
The Toy Loft is at 1855 Industrial Street, Los Angeles 90021

Here’s a list of 480v Nissan Leaf Chargers in California:

1. May 2010, Vacaville, Eaton brand - PGE (public utility) open to public March 2011 only, free then, now private

2. Spring 2011, Cypress, Eaton brand - Mitsubishi (auto manufacturer) open to public, free

3. Fall 2010, Sacramento, AeroVironment brand - Nissan (auto manufacturer), private

4. March 2012, San Bernadino, Eaton brand - 7-11 store (retail public, private capital funds), public, free

5. April 2012, San Diego, JFE brand - SDG&E (public utility) private

6. April 2012, Palo Alto, unknown brand - 350green (retail public, public/private funds) public, fee

7. May 2012, Belmont, Blink brand - Volkswagon Tech Center (private / public funding) free

8. May 2012, San Ramon, Blink brand - (public / private funding) free

9.. June 2012, Los Angeles, Blink brand. Toy Lofts, downtown

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