LATKA? I would intone in that uniquely quirky East Euro-pean Russian yabba dabba gibberish (never could figure it out) of the TAXI show actors signature style. Simka? came the mir-rored fast reply from my sister Mimi.
Back in our high school days we had some kind of take-off banter and latakisms that we found funny. To tell you the truth, I don’t really remember the details. Something about that memory just came rushing back at me this year while frying up the golden goods.
This week it wasn’t Latka, that famous loveable immigrant garage mechanic who claimed his English was unintelligible because he spoke with an accent unique to an island from the Caspian Sea. No it was not.
Granted, he gets some credit since he did, after all, introduce the humble latka to the living room and lives of many Americans back in the eighties.
But this past week? This past week of Chanukah, it was the real deal. The real latka.
And what a latka-indulged week it has been!
Where have all the latkas gone?
As Joshua Scharf quipped, long time frying . . .
Yep! Certainly were. I’m still burning the Moroccan amber scented candle in the kitchen to get that post deep fried latka smell out of the kitchen.
Not that I am complaining. Trust me, frying those batches of latkas has been nothing if not a labor of love.
In the name of health some people do away with frying the latka and, dare I say it, bake them. Bake them! Sacreligious. A baked latka?
I mean, what is that? Fried latkas seem to have worked very well for my bubbe, who is blessed to be into her nineties.
Next thing you know, they will be declaring chicken schmaltz bad for you, or something like that.
You don’t tamper with tradition, you know?
SO, back to the venerated latka.
OK, I know what you are thinking. If you are one of them, those heretics or cynics thinking to yourself, what is the big deal? Potatoes, eggs, some onions and matzah. . . I say, it just ain’t right.
Well, then, I’ll just judge you favorably on this one. You must have been deprived of the pleasure of tasting the perfect piping hot, cream (on the inside)-crispy (on the outside), onion-scented, golden fried latka.
If it is the fried nature of this potato pancake that is holding you back, well, then time to surrender to temptation! Resistance is futile!
Time to stab your fork into one.
We are talking about the latka here.
Where I grew up in Jerusalem, many don’t call them latkas. In modern day Hebrew in Israel they are called levivot. I love this name, too, for this delectable, fried, scrumptious treat.
Levivot means little heart dumplings, or heartlettes. Of all places, the word levivotis taken from the difficult biblical story of Amnon and Tamar.
So, whether they are latkas or levivot to you, they are yummy.
And even yummier when you top them with cored, quartered apples that have simmered in water, maple syrup and cinnamon into a rosy pink homemade applesauce.
Or topped with the classic heavy sour cream.
Now there is an interesting and important debate, are you an applesauce or sour cream latka topping person?
While you contemplate this thought, I will go and wean myself off my latka dependency from this past week. Wish me luck. Whoever said life is easy?
Latka? Simka? Dont tell anyone that my secret alter ego is the Latke Monster.
In the meantime, enjoy the treat of a second Shabbos Chanukah.
