You Don't Have to Fast to Love Rugelach

So here we are in the thick of the High Holy days, between Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year) and Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement), and I’m confronted with my annual religious ambivalence. Year after year I go to services with my father (my mother having handed in her resignation from organized religion 25 years ago) and year after year I wonder why. How do you explain to yourself why you enter a house of worship if you are unsure whether or not you actually believe in God?

When I was a child I hated anything to do with fantasy, magical places or whimsy. I refused to read the Chronicles of Narnia, thought Alice should not have traveled Through the Looking Glass and didn’t understand why Wendy, Michael and John got out of bed to join Peter Pan in Neverland. I think that same thinking is what has kept me from connecting to anything spiritual; I’m just too pragmatic. From yoga to Judaism, skepticism and a healthy dose of anxiety holds me back from considering the idea that there is something bigger out there. And don’t get me started on astronomy—I know I’d have a panic attack if I ever went to the planetarium because then I’d have to start thinking about infinity and might not ever recover.
I see all of this as one big character flaw. I know so many people who find real meaning in their lives through different faiths and philosophies and I wish I could join them. I just try to use morality as my guide, but I do feel like I am missing out on something I will never understand. And frankly, my angst is a luxury. I have relatives who went through hell to live in a country where freedom of religion is a right, not a privilege. In many ways, where would I get off not observing in some way?
So in the meantime, as I wrestle with my faith-based demons, I check in with my religion a couple of times a year when it seems most important to. As much as I complain about dressing like a grown-up, and shivering in our drafty, albeit beautiful, temple, I do have to admit that I enjoy the ritual of it. There is something comforting about the fact that I’ve been sitting in the same sanctuary since I was a child listening to the same rabbi (who was a seriously cute guy with the thickest head of hair in the 70’s and who is now completely bald and slightly stooped), the walk through the park afterwards and of course the people watching. (Last week there was a woman dressed from head to toe in bright red. And by head I mean she was wearing a hat so big, over her too-long, dyed yellow hair, she looked like she made a wrong turn on her way to Ascot.) Although I’ve never been among the people who chat and crowd the sidewalk before or after the service, it is indeed a feast for the eyes.
And speaking of feasts…of course food plays a part in all of this. My mother, despite her atheism, diligently makes matzoh ball soup (which I don’t eat because I hate chicken soup but which I hear is quite good), for the pre-fast, Kol Nidre dinner and I take care of dessert.

When we were growing up I don’t remember us making a big deal out of breaking the Yom Kippur fast. I know my father fasted, and there was always a big glass of orange juice waiting for him at 6pm, but then we just had dinner. It wasn’t until I was out of college that I heard “break fast” being used as a noun. But when I was invited to one, and witnessed the bountiful spread of bagels and smoked salmon, cheeses and noodle pudding, I couldn’t believe I had been living in a Zabar’s-less world for so long. Where had I been and how could I make up for lost time?
I’ll tell you how: by insisting that my family step it up and join the rest of New York’s Jews by going to carb-town. Now every year my mother handles the bagels and bialys, smoked fish, white fish salad, egg salad, an assortment of cheeses, more breads and a few pieces of smelly herring for my father while my sister takes care of the fruit salad and I bake the kugel and the rugelach. Somehow we are incredibly traditional in this area with none of the men (all of whom know how to cook and cook well) in our lives doing a thing. Hmmmn.
This year I’m actually looking forward to fasting, not only because I’m a fan of all the foods that await me, but also because my parents’ prodigal son has returned. My brother hasn’t lived in New York for five years and he is finally coming “home.” This will be his first break fast watching our nieces lick the cream cheese off their bagels and attempting to unfurl their rugelach. Although Niece 2 has decided she doesn’t “yike him because he’s a boy,” I’m sure he will be able to win her over. And I guess this is exactly what the high holidays mean to me. With apologies to God (if there is one), it’s all about family.
This rugelach recipe is just perfect, no surprise since it belongs to Ina Garten, aka The Barefoot Contessa—a nice Jewish girl herself. The pastry is so flaky and the filling has the chew from the currants (I use them instead of raisins because it makes life easier when you cut the dough into wedges), the crunch from the walnuts, the sticky, sweet-tart from the apricot jam and the warmth from the cinnamon. There is no reason to starve yourself all day in order to enjoy one (or three) and in fact, you don’t even need to be Jewish. As, yes, my people say, wishing you a good year—“Shana Tova.”

NOTE: If this sticky dough becomes hard to work with at any point, pop it back into the fridge for a few minutes to firm up. Be sure to liberally sprinkle both your rolling out surface, as well as the rolling pin and the dough.

You Don't Have to Fast to Love Rugelach
From Ina Garten, The Barefoot Contessa Parties!, 2001
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Ingredients
8 ounces cream cheese, at room temperature
1/2-pound unsalted butter, at room temperature
1/4 cup granulated sugar plus 9 tablespoons, divided
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup light brown sugar, packed
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon, divided
3/4 cup raisins or currants
1 cup walnuts, finely chopped
1/2 cup apricot preserves, pureed in a food processor
1 egg beaten with 1 tablespoon milk, for egg wash

Directions
Cream the cheese and butter in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment until light. Add 1/4 cup granulated sugar, the salt, and vanilla.
With the mixer on low speed, add the flour and mix until just combined. Dump the dough out onto a well-floured board and roll it into a ball. Cut the ball in quarters, wrap each piece in plastic, and refrigerate for 1 hour.
To make the filling, combine 6 tablespoons of granulated sugar, the brown sugar, 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon, the raisins, and walnuts.

On a well-floured board or piece of parchment, roll each ball of dough into a 9-inch circle. (Keeping each ball of dough in fridge till you are ready to roll).
Spread the dough with 2 tablespoons apricot preserves and sprinkle with 1/2 cup of the filling. Press the filling lightly into the dough.
Cut the circle into 12 equal wedges—cutting the whole circle in quarters, then each quarter into thirds.
Starting with the wide edge, roll up each wedge. Place the cookies, points tucked under, on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Chill for 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 350

Brush each cookie with the egg wash. Combine 3 tablespoons granulated sugar and 1 teaspoon cinnamon and sprinkle on the cookies.
Bake for 15 to 20 minutes, until lightly browned. Remove to a wire rack and let cool.
Yield: 4 dozen cookies

Back to School Olive Oil Cake with Blackberries

There’s something about a store display of school supplies that can make the most antique of alumna wistful for a new pencil case. Rows of folders, six packs of pens, index cards, spiral notebooks—oh If only I had a reason to buy a Mead Trapper Keeper! That’s all I wanted as a kid—all those folders and compartments, organized bliss. Just like Buster Brown shoes and Sears Toughskins, the Trapper Keeper was something I only saw on TV (nostalgia fans click here to watch the commercial) but never had an opportunity to purchase. I went to a school that issued special pygmy size, black loose-leaf notebooks, thus robbing us girls of the chance to stuff our back packs with assorted 8 ½ x11 inch accoutrements.
Regardless of whether you celebrate Rosh Hashanah I don’t think you ever get over thinking of September as the start of a new year. And in many ways I envy students who are headed back to school. Imagine sitting in a classroom and learning something completely new. That’s so exciting. And if it weren’t for homework, testing and grades I would have been happy to stay in school forever. Unfortunately, back in the day I often greeted the first day of school with jitters and some dread. Now when I take a class it’s because I’ve chosen to explore something that I think might be interesting and the whole experience feels more on my terms.
Over the years I’ve taken a variety of courses and what at first I couldn’t get over I have now come to expect: no matter how old we all are there is always a clown, a know-it-all, a dimwit and a teacher’s pet. Once I thought I might like pottery and spent ten Sunday evenings in the fluorescent basement of the JCC turning out misshapen vessels that looked a bit like my five year-old niece had had some fun with clay. There was one girl in the class who had a speech impediment and at our first class I decided I felt sorry for her, how hard it must be to be her, to speak in such a strange way. By the second class I hated her. Despite her hollow speech and lisp she was bossy, obnoxious and filled with a simmering rage at having to do our first few pieces by hand before ultimately being eased into working on the potter’s wheel. “You know, I’ve worked on the wheel before!” she snapped at the instructor who was so patient when, if I were her, I would have choked that student with a wire clay cutter. Not to mention, during my semester exploring ceramics, the horrible girl stared back at me blankly when I said “hi” at the supermarket.
But it wasn’t until I went to pastry school that I really got to sink my teeth (a little nod to Grandpa Sol’s propensity for bad puns, sorry) into something I knew I was interested in. Our afternoons were spent learning the hows and whys of baking: a bit of a lecture, a demo by our chef instructor and then off to put it to practice, usually in teams of two. What could be better? And of course the usual archetypes emerged. There was the know-it-all; a guy who brought his own infrared instant-read thermometer from home because the one the school provided wasn’t accurate enough. There was the teacher’s pet who offered to volunteer at every school function while making sure we all knew she was also holding down two jobs. There was the clown who actually wasn’t remotely funny and then there was the dim wit. She was like the love child of Charlie Brown’s dirty friend Pig Pen and Lindsay Lohan. Her apron was consistently smeared with chocolate, her fingers stained with raspberry puree, her shoes spattered with egg yolks (Pig Pen’s side of the family). One day she left a message for our instructor saying she was sick with the flu and wouldn’t be in class. The next day she walked in and her mouth looked like someone had punched her. Clearly her illness had driven her into the syringe of a sympathetic dermatologist who decided shooting her lips up with collagen was a sure way to lower her fever (LiLo’s side). Thank goodness for the woman who had become my bff (another must when you’re in school) because I would have burst if I hadn’t had someone with whom to exchange glances. Which brings me to another great thing about adult education; you get to know people from so many different walks of life you otherwise wouldn’t have had the good fortune to meet. Bff Meg had been a New York City cop—how cool is that? As tough as her prior career choice demanded she be she has the biggest heart, rescues kittens, was a wiz at decorative cake work and now she and her mother own Oh Sweet Day Marketplace, a lovely, crafty store in Westchester.

But there was one student who was obviously headed to the pastry big time. She was the most committed and talented in the class and so it was no surprise when I opened the July issue of Food and Wine and saw Jennifer Shelbo featured in the article, “The Year of the Pastry Chef.” After tours of duty in other Danny Meyer restaurants Jen is now dessert queen at his newest place, Maialino. (She also contributed a recipe for cantaloupe sorbet in this week's New York magazine. I don't have an ice cream maker so a trip to the restaurant for a taste is on my to-do list.) This incredibly moist olive oil cake is hers and it couldn’t be easier. It is an example of the “One Step” or “Dump” mixing method; you mix all the dry ingredients together, you mix all the wet ingredients together, and you add the dry to the wet. The olive oil gives the cake a mellow fruitiness that is offset so beautifully by the acidity of the blackberries while the infusion of orange perks the whole thing up. This recipe is definitely one for my files; I think I just found a reason to buy my first Trapper Keeper!
Note: I found the recipe made more batter than I needed to fill my cake pan 2/3-3/4 full so I wound up using up the leftover by making four little cupcakes as well. My 9-inch pan is 1 ½-inches deep, if yours is deeper that’s great. If it’s not either use a larger pan, waste the extra batter or do the cupcake thing. If you go with the cupcakes you won’t need one hour for them to bake. Mine were done in about 30 minutes.

Back to School Olive Oil Cake with Blackberries
From Jennifer Shelbo, Food and Wine, July 2010
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Ingredients-Cake
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 3/4 cups sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 1/3 cups extra-virgin olive oil
1 1/4 cups whole milk
3 large eggs
1 1/2 tablespoons grated orange zest
1/4 cup fresh orange juice
1/4 cup Grand Marnier

Ingredients-Blackberries
2 cups blackberries
1 1/2 tablespoons sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 teaspoon grated orange zest

Directions-Cake
Preheat the oven to 350°. Spray a 9-inch cake pan with cooking spray and line the bottom with parchment paper.

In a bowl, whisk the flour, sugar, salt, baking soda and powder.
In another bowl, whisk the olive oil, milk, eggs, orange zest and juice and Grand Marnier.
Add the dry ingredients; whisk until just combined.
Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake for 1 hour, until the top is golden and a cake tester comes out clean. Transfer the cake to a rack and let cool for 30 minutes. Run a knife around the edge of the pan, invert the cake onto the rack and let cool completely, 2 hours.

Directions-Blackberries
Meanwhile, in a bowl, toss the blackberries, sugar, oil and zest. Let stand, tossing occasionally, until the sugar dissolves and the berries release some of their juices, about 30 minutes.
Cut the cake into slices, plate and top with berries.
Yield: 8 servings

End of Summer Ice Cream Terrine

So, here we are again; the end of another summer where I just never quite got the hang of it. I’m not sure if it was the endless crashing of heat waves or the crushing reality of stepping up a job search but whatever it was, the show is over people. I’m cranky because traditionally summer is my favorite season—which is a little like saying New Year’s Eve is my favorite eve (it isn’t), because in addition to warm nights and peaches summer brings lots of expectation. Are you happy and carefree? Have you had your fill of lobster rolls, blueberry pie, and mint chocolate chip ice cream? Taken any long walks on the beach with a special someone? Spread out your blanket and picnic basket while taking in the Philharmonic under the stars? Do you look like a cross between Malibu Barbie and Gidget? No? Sorry, you’ve failed Summer 101.
I know it’s immature to think that summer has magical properties and that’s really where the potential for disappointment is born. One of my closest friends (who was my beachiest pal growing up) recently said she was sick of people asking her, “How’s your summer going?” as if the season was any different than fall, winter or spring to this self-employed, single mother. She’s still multi-tasking herself into stretched too thin, all while trying to keep her school’s-out-for-summer daughter busy every day.
Maybe it’s time I look at June, July and August as three months of the year when it just happens to be hot and the produce just happens to be better. I’m kind of ready for a new season, a bit of a fresh start. If you ever saw the movie Mother with Debbie Reynolds playing Albert Brooks’ well, mother, you’ll remember a brilliant scene when he is sitting in her kitchen and she offers him a scoop from a long suffering ½ gallon of sherbet, revealing its layer of frost. “Look under the protective ice!” she says in her defense (the scene is 43 seconds into the trailer). I can’t tell you how many times I’ve accused my mother of letting freezer burn grow all over the battered, half-eaten containers of Breyer’s waiting patiently for a warm piece of pie or a warmer day. So, to avoid the unpleasant exchange that will happen over Thanksgiving weekend when I open the freezer and think Mom has bought a new carton of vanilla to go with my pecan pie only to learn it is six months old, I cleaned out her freezer. Purging is so satisfying when you’re craving a clean slate.
This terrine is an excellent way to use up all the ice cream you’ve collected this summer and it’s especially great if you have been renting a house and will be trashing all the leftovers before you head home anyway.
To call it a recipe is absurd, as you will see, but the result is delicious and the bit of cookie crunch beats the taste of ice crystals any day. The point is to use what you have and clearly I wasn't after a perfect look. We had some Oreos left over from a visit from nieces but anything sweet and crunchy would be great.I’m keeping this short and, of course, sweet so you can get out there and enjoy this last summer weekend. And who am I kidding? I need to work on my Malibu Barbie tan.
End of Summer Ice Cream Terrine
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Ingredients
3 pints (6 cups) ice cream, of 3 assorted left-over flavors, slightly softened
1 cup favorite cookie crumbs, divided (I used 8 Oreos and buzzed them in the processor)
Directions
Line a standard 6 cup loaf pan (9 ½”x4”x3”) with 2 criss-crossed pieces of plastic wrap, leaving several inches of overhang on all sides.
Spread first pint of ice cream evenly across the bottom of the pan.Sprinkle ½ cup cookie crumbs evenly across ice cream. Press crumbs gently into ice cream and place pan in freezer for about 1 hour until firm.Spread second pint of ice cream over cookie crumbs and top with second ½ cup of cookie crumbs.

Freeze again for another hour until firm.
Spread third pint of ice cream over second layer of cookies crumbs, fold plastic wrap over exposed ice cream and freeze overnight.To unmold, peel plastic wrap off of top of pan and let hang.
Place serving platter over top of pan and invert.Place a warm, wet kitchen towel over pan for 30 seconds, lift off pan, peel off plastic wrap, slice and serve with leftover anything else…extra cookies, hot fudge sauce brought by a generous house guest, etc.Yield: 12 servings.
Note: During the intervals when the layers of the terrine are freezing keep the waiting ice creams in the freezer until about 10-15 minutes before you take out the terrine. That will be enough time for them to soften to a spreadable consistency.