Happy Hanukkah with Potato Latkes...sort of...

Last night was the first night of Hanukkah.  Initially, Evan and I thought it would be nice to have a family dinner at our house.  Of course, when I say he and I had this thought, I mean I did.  I came up with it and he acquiesced, but not before he exhibited distinct signs of absolute panic as I blurted out to his father, “Why, let’s have Hanukkah here!”  Panic or no, the thing had already left our hands entirely somewhere between the words “Hanukkah” and “here.”

We—I—do this all of the time.  I make an offer and The Family instantaneously kicks into full activity in a completely inactive sort of way.  There are calls made and tentative information is exchanged, which is followed by promises to call back with revised plans and concrete information, which is entangled in failed attempts to force the plans and information out of those who will never call back anyway…and on it goes, with me, all the while, standing on the sidelines, so pissed that I stutter.  My guess is it’s the stuttering that makes it impossible for anyone to register that I’m asking to be included in the plans of the event I’m supposed to be having, but it’s hard to know.

A few years ago, we actually pulled off a Hanukkah dinner here.  I made blue and white felt gift bags, Star of David and all, and filled them with treats—chocolates and bubble gum, colorful magnets, little wooden dreidels (yes, our household remains "green" even in the midst of being utterly wasteful) for the kids and adults alike.  

We made brisket and latkes for dinner, and little chocolate cakes for dessert, and there was singing and chattering throughout the night.  We played the dreidel game and traded stories of Hanukkahs and Christmases past, and it was as much fun as the typical family gathering can be, tension and all.  It felt good to have it, and them, here.

We tried to do it again the following year.  The calls flew, the plans made and altered. 

One person was only available on the second and fifth nights of the eight day holiday, while another could be here on the fourth day for lunch or the third night, and only if he could bring six extra people, with the father concluding, after a good week of negotiations (which completely excluded Evan and me, but of course), that we’d have to do it after Christmas because of time conflicts….Needless to say, we skipped that year. 

Last year was much the same, with phone calls accompanied by planning and replanning and unplanning, every bit of which took place without us.  In the end, we skipped last year, too.

This year, I jumped right in, brain clearly leaking out of the back of my head, and offered to do it here.  Evan’s father, who was visiting for the day, immediately got on the phone to Make The Plan.  He called someone in his family, they conversed at length, and, after he hung up, he informed me that I would be advised of the plan…once it was formed.

Oh.  

Okay.

Evan’s father having left, I mulled this over for the evening and the following day, growing more and more pissed and stuttering, I have no doubt, more and more loudly.  Finally, after having a small tantrum, during which I lamented ever having made the offer in the first place, while simultaneously wondering aloud (loudly?) when I would ever learn, I decided that the chances of the dynamic ever changing were nil and I had, essentially, wasted a perfectly good hissy fit on nothing.  

Poor Evan. 

So, I called Evan’s father and had a very nice conversation with him about everything but Hanukkah.  We made no plans and there was no mention of who was available when and under what conditions.  He may still be planning a gathering; I haven’t a clue. 

And I don’t much care. 

The key to learning from experience, it would appear, is to actually learn.  This, I will venture to say, requires that one stop, completely and fully, doing the thing that leads one (okay, me) to feel shitty.  It is essential that I begin to change my own patterns, and that I understand and truly embrace the reality that I will never, ever, ever be able to change someone else’s behaviors.  Especially—I’ll go out on a limb here—the behaviors of a  family that works around The Shiksa.

In celebration of my new and improved efforts to maintain (or, at this point, rediscover) sanity amidst insanity, I made a traditional Hanukkah dinner of potato latkes for just the two of us last night.

Okay, it wasn’t exactly traditional.  For two days, I pondered the acceptability of baked, rather than fried, potato latkes, until Evan said, completely in passing, “How can that be bad?”  So, baked, it was.  And the cooking began.

Ah, yes, well, not quite that simple.  I prepared my ingredients, chopping and shredding, all the while wondering if the onions might not cook enough if baked.  “I’ll sauté them first,” I decided with conviction.  I placed the chopped onions in the oiled, heated pan, just as Evan walked through the kitchen.  “Too strong a taste if sautéd,” he declared with more conviction, “They’ll be delicious baked.” 

Since he’s usually right about such things, I mixed in the shredded potatoes and other ingredients, only to discover that the extra oil had made it all very moist, too moist to stick together in true latke form. 

On the verge of OhShitNowWhat moment, Evan walked through the kitchen again and very calmly said, “Just spread the mixture out thinly in a glass pan.  And put cheese on top.”  “But it isn’t traditional, it’s not really a latke that way,” I (no doubt) whined.  “Who cares.  Really, how can it be bad?”  I love this man.

So, one huge latke it was, baked, not fried, with cheese on top it was.  And sour cream on the side, of course, and a salad.  It was delicious and, though still not particularly healthy, it wasn’t fried. 

It was a wonderful first night of Hanukkah. It was just the two of us, a warm fire, a gaggle of snuggly cats (or is it a herd?) and our delicious latke-esque dinner.  Later, we called Evan’s father and his girlfriend.  Together we lit the first candles on the menorah, ours here and theirs in their house, while Evan and his father sang together in rich, beautiful voices.  What could be better?  

Next year, I think I’ll skip the part where I annoy the crap out of myself and jump right to the happy, warm, HowMuchCanYouReallyFuckUpShreddedPotatoesAnyway part of the holiday.  I'll be happier (translate into ever so much less of a pain in the ass) and I'm thinking Evan is probably asking for that for Christmas this year.

BAKED POTATO LATKE-ESQUE CASSEROLE

Makes 2 large casseroles

Ingredients

4 or 5 medium potatoes, grated

1 large sweet onion, finely chopped

2 eggs, lightly beaten

1 egg white

1 cup matzo meal, or finely crumbled matzo crackers
Salt and pepper to taste            
Extra virgin olive oil

Grated Asiago and Fontinella cheeses

You'll have a huge pile of grated potatoes.

Preparation

1.      Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.  Heavily coat the bottoms of 2 large glass baking dishes with extra virgin olive oil and place them inside, on the highest rack, to warm.  (The oven doesn’t have to have reached 400 degrees—you’re just warming the oil.)

2.      Squeeze the excess moisture out of the potatoes, and mix in the onions, eggs, egg whites.  Add the matzo meal or crumbled matzo crackers ¼ cup at a time, until any moisture is absorbed.  (A bit of remaining moisture is just fine if you’re making the casserole.  No moisture should be remaining if you want to make these into pancakes.).  Salt and pepper to taste.

3.      Remove glass casserole pans from the oven and, dividing the mixture evenly between the two dishes, spread a thin layer of the potato mixture in the bottom of each.

4.      Bake for about 20-30 minutes on the bottom rack of your oven.

Clearly, the only purpose of this photograph is to show off my clean oven, really...

5.      After the tops and bottoms of the casseroles have browned a bit, spread the grated cheeses over the top of each casserole.  (We love cheese, so I use a lot of it.  Add it according to your own taste, but a solid cover of cheese makes a nice topping when it’s browned.)

6.      Turn on your broiler and return the casseroles to the oven, putting them in about the middle of the oven.  You want the tops to brown, but you don’t want any exposed potatoes or matzo to burn.  Broil until browned.  (The time will depend entirely on your broiler and the distance of the casseroles from the flame.  Mine took about 15 to 20 minutes a decent distance from the high flame.)

7.      When browned to your liking, remove and enjoy with sour cream or apple sauce on the side.

8.      These babies can also be made into latkes and baked.  Everything is the same, except for the shape.  You’ll take about 2 tablespoons or so of the potato mixture and shape them into round, flattish pancakes (about ¼ inch thick).  Place them on a heavily oiled cookie sheet and bake for about 20 minutes on each side.  When they’re golden brown, they’re ready.

Happy Hanukkah!