In 1997, it snowed twelve inches on the evening of December 27th in Rochester, New York. I did have to look up the exact height and date of that snowfall, but I remember the actual storm vividly. My mother, driven crazy by the endless smell of frying generated by the hundreds of latkes my dad and I would cook for our annual giant Hanukkah party (in conjunction with our total lack of vent hood), had banished us to propane burners in the garage, and wek woke to find the 20 or so feet between the back door and our makeshift kitchen was blanketed by wet, heavy snow covering icy sidewalks.
After bargaining and pleading with my mother to let us cook inside to no avail, I got to work shoveling the path, and once we were up and running I also got assigned the dangerous task of balancing the latkes over the skating rink walkway into the house and back.
I note all of the above to simply establish my bona fides as a lover of cooking and consuming latkes from way back. Over the next few weeks, I am going to try a few recipes to find my ideal latke. Because no man is an island, my wife and almost-one-year-old will comprise a blue-ribbon tasting panel with me.
Malke's Secret Recipe
Pictured: The Finished Product of Malke’s secret recipe latkes, with the book Malke’s Secret Recipe by David Adler
I figured as good a place as any to start was the recipe found in the back of my favorite childhood Hanukkah story, Malke's Secret Recipe. Like many of my favorite childhood stories, it is a tale from Chelm, a fictionalized version of a real town in Poland which, in legend, is full of dummies. In the story, a well-meaning shoemaker named Berel tries to learn the secret of his neighbor Malke's secret recipe by spying on her. When he returns home having learned her secrets, his wife dismisses each of the secret ingredients and techniques Malke uses to make her latkes "as light as a cloud," and Berel acquiesces to her criticism and adjusts accordingly as he tries to copy Malke’s recipe. The story ends with them trying "Malke's" recipe, and Berel is perplexed to discover that it tastes just the same as the latkes they always make.
In retrospect, I think Malke's recipe at the back of the book is the first time I had ever considered that there were different methods of cooking the same food. So this seems as good a place as any to start. I have adapted the recipe slightly to improve clarity.
The Recipe
Ingredients
2.5 lbs russet potatoes, skins on
6 scallions, chopped into large pieces, roots removed
3 Tbsp. flour
2 large eggs
1 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. black pepper
1 tsp. lemon juice
1 tbsp. chopped parsley
Vegetable oil for frying
Recipe
Scrub potatoes and grate or shred in food processor.
Add shreds and rest of ingredients into a food processor and blend until just combined.
Heat oil in large skillet. Carefully drop spoonfuls of the potato mixture into the oil and brown on both sides until crisp.
Remove to a paper towel-lined plate to wick off excess grease. Serve immediately.
The Review
Belly Score: 6/10 - The recipe absolutely comes through on the promise of the book that these latkes are considerably "lighter" feeling than what I would think of as classic latkes, likely a result of not being weighed down by the onion that sneaks into the cracks of traditional latkes. I was struck, as I ate them, by a realization that "lighter" is not something I have ever really desired in a latke. The scallions and parsley added a pleasant herbal flavor, but for classic latkes, these left me wanting.
Mrs. Belly Score - 3/10 - Mrs. Belly was not at all shy with her displeasure at these latkes. The fact that the shreds had been processed into a more uniform mush and the green tinge of the latkes drew her ire in equal measure. “I’m glad this is where we are starting and not where we are ending" - direct quote.
Baby Belly - N/A. Baby Belly had an ear infection that caused him to throw his latkes on the ground. Or possibly he heard his mom's review and opted out. Either way, no review.