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What do you eat while getting drunk on ginandtonicas, down in Tijuanica?
Latkes are to Hanukah what turkey is to Thanksgiving. I'm not going to retell the story of the Maccabees, although I will link to Tree Guy's excellent diary on regime change; suffice to note that after the dust had settled and the bodies buried, a miracle helped stretch one day's supply of oil (used for energy back then, just as it is now) into eight. Oil has nothing to do with latkes. Latkes are cooked in oil. So are doughnuts, fried chicken, and a lot of other food, but somehow latkes are associated with Hanukah. Go figure.
Latkes, made with potatoes, seem to have originated among Eastern European Jews ("latke" is a Yiddish word). Similar foods can be found in Korea (gamjajeon), India (samosas), Ireland (boxty), and America (hash browns). That's right, latkes are hash browns!
Everyone's grandmother has her own recipe for latkes. Here's a fairly traditional recipe to serve four people as a side dish or appetizer, with tips for lazy cooks and avante garde variations. Note that, like all my recipes, you can add or subtract quantities as noted. Cooking is a Zen exercise that is best experienced hands on, not read about; potatoes do not lend themselves to accurate measurements. Do, however, respect the following points:
-- Latkes need to be served hot. Cold latkes are like cold French fries, except grosser. Plan on serving them immediately after cooking, or make them ahead of time and then reheat in an oven at 200 degrees until ready to serve.
-- Latkes need to be fried in oil. The miracle of the oil is the whole point of the story, remember? Olive oil is preferred. You can use a minimal amount of oil or you can deep fry them. Because oil and water mix like, uh, oil and water, the latkes need to be as dry as possible before cooking, so water must be drained from the potatoes and onion.
-- Potatoes turn an unattractive gray color once they're cut, so plan to cook them immediately upon mixing them.
Begin with the onion. Dice, slice, or grate in a food processor, half an onion to whole onion, depending on size of onion and personal preference. Here's the first tip. I don't like eating raw onions, and cooking the latkes does not completely dispel the strong raw onion taste, so I've learned to saute the onion for about 5 minutes in olive oil (of course) -- just long enough to remove the raw flavor. If you don't saute, drain the water/juice from the onion. A gourmet cook might include a shallot or a leek. Garlic is not traditional at all. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Next, take two decent sized baking potatoes, about half a pound each. Stick to big brown baking potatoes; Yukon Golds and colorful little potatoes aren't as starchy and thus won't make fluffy latkes. A lazy cook, like me, won't bother to peel them. Grate them. This job is at least fifteen minutes by hand, or fifteen seconds in a food processor. Before adding the grated potatoes to a bowl, squeeze all the liquid out of the potatoes that you can. I do this by dumping the potato mess on a towel and pressing hard; you can also use a colander or strainer, but press hard and act quickly to avoid discoloration. Only after the potatoes are as dry as you can make them do you put the grated potatoes in a bowl, add the onion, add 1 to 2 Tbsp flour or matzoh meal if you have it, and 1 to 2 raw eggs, and stir the gloppy mess together. Again, stick to a ratio of 1 egg for every 1-2 potatoes; less eggs and the latkes will fall apart; more eggs and you're making a potato fritatta, not latkes. Minimize the urge to add salt and pepper to taste, for reasons explained below. Note for avant garde types: You can push the envelope of a potato pancake by using starchy root vegetables other than potatoes (instead of, or in addition to) -- including zucchini, carrots, beets, or cauliflower. In Mamabigdog's yummy diary on potato side dishes, you can find aggierc's beet and kohlrabi latkes recipe along with SpamNunn's boxty, kfred's Catholic latkes, and many other vaguely related, delicious foods. I would like to add a bit of red bell pepper, diced into tiny cubes, for color and crunch, to my potato latkes, but my family has disowned me for even thinking it.
Meanwhile, preheat olive oil in a large frying pan. As a nod to health, I like to use 1 - 2 Tbsp, which will barely cover the bottom of the latkes and may need to be refreshed after the first batch; but some recipes recommend using a half cup, which submerges the latkes entirely in oil. Using a very large spoon or heat-proof 1/4 cup measuring cup, pick up some potato mixture, put it in the frying pan, and use the back of the spoon to press down so that the latke will hold together. The latke should be the shape, size, and thickness of a very thick pancake. Repeat until the pan is comfortably full with latkes. After about 5 minutes of cooking (the underside of each latke will be golden brown, or French fry colored -- duh), flip each latke. The second side will cook a little faster than the first. Here's an avant garde variation: first use a very fine shredder on the potatoes, then, using about 1 Tbsp of latke mix at a time, don't press the latkes in the frying pan, but instead let them sprawl like lacy holey birds' nests (they'll cook unevenly and be very crumbly when removed, but the effect is like a modern art sculpture).
Latkes can served sweet, with applesauce on the side (that's why you minimized the salt and pepper way back when), or they can be served with sour cream. Chopped green onions (scallions) are a nice colorful garnish, and olives fit the theme. When I've had a very good year at work, I will buy salmon roe or other inexpensive caviar to serve with latkes, as a variation on the Russian affinity of potatoes for caviar. This is not that year, but I'm still celebrating Hanukah with family and friends!