Jewish

For the Mediterranean's Sephardic Jews, sweet fried pastries are as strong a tradition as potato latkes are for Eastern Europe's Ashkenazic Jews. The version here is distinctive for the addition of raisins and pine nuts, inspired by a Roman recipe.

This recipe originally accompanied Potato-Parsnip Latkes with Savory Applesauce

Laden with chocolate, butter, and old-world charm, this babka is luscious served as dessert, with coffee, or as breakfast. While baking, the rich dough becomes incredibly tender, so it pulls apart in buttery pieces that melt in your mouth.

Editor's note: This recipe is reprinted from The Second Avenue Deli Cookbook, by Sharon Lebewohl and Rena Bulkin. On Succoth, a joyous seven-day autumn harvest festival (a kind of Jewish Thanksgiving), stuffed foods—most notably holishkes, but also kreplach, stuffed peppers, and strudels—are served to symbolize abundance. Stuffed cabbage has been a staple of Jewish cooking since the fourteenth century, when it was introduced in Russia by Tartars. There are an infinity of recipes for it, both Eastern European and Middle Eastern; ours, in a sweet-and-sour sauce, is of Polish derivation. Note: When you're confronted with a bin of cabbages, you'll notice that some are quite light, whereas others have the heft of bowling balls. Choose the lightest ones for stuffing; their leaves peel off much more easily.

Called Jewish wontons or raviolis, kreplach are pasta dumplings, usually triangular in shape, filled with minced meat, onion-spiced potatoes, or cheese. Kreplach carries a lot of lofty symbolism; its triangular shape represents Judaism's three patriarchs: Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Equally lofty: the Jewish momma who can roll her kreplach dough to optimum thinness (so that, according to Sam Levenson, "a tempting bit of their buried treasure should show through"). If the wrappers are not paper-thin, your kreplach will taste like "craplach." However, though we've included wrappers in this recipe, there's really no reason to knock yourself out making them. Just purchase wonton wrappers in a Chinese food store or supermarket, and making kreplach becomes a cinch. There's even a kosher brand called Nasoya, available in many supermarkets; look for it near the tofu.

This one-skillet meal is an instant classic — and a perfect Hanukkah dish.

In the late nineteenth century, the city of Czernowitz, known as the Vienna of Eastern Europe, was famous throughout Austria-Hungary for its tolerance, civic beauty, culture, and learning. Frequently renationalized over the last millennium, Czernowitz has passed through Romanian, Ottoman, and Austrian control and is now a Ukrainian city called Chernivtsi. At its cultural peak at the turn of the twentieth century, it was populated and governed by Jews from Poland, Russia, Austria, and Romania — it even hosted the first-ever Yiddish-language conference in 1908. Of course, World War II destroyed this idyll, and most of the city's Jews were deported to Auschwitz. This recipe for a classic European challah (pronounced "chern-o-vitzer") comes from the late Lotte Langmann. It is not terribly sweet or eggy, but it is generously enriched with oil. The Austrians traditionally use a four-stranded braid, but this dough holds its shape so beautifully during baking that it is a great choice for showing off any fancy shape. This has become one of my favorite challah recipes.

Inspired by the many delicious recipes I found for apple challah, I set out to create the most intensely appley version possible. I started with a sweet challah dough and crammed in as many apples as possible. To minimize surface area and hence excess apple juice, I cut the apples into very large chunks — I also like the distinctive and succulent way these show up in the baked bread. I avoided cinnamon, to let the apple flavor shine unencumbered, but finished off the bread with a sugared crust. After many tests, the final bread was such a favorite that tester Rita Yeazel worked on improving the method for days, determined to come up with an easier way to incorporate the apples. Because I wanted the apples' flavor to permeate the dough, I had wanted to add them during mixing, not shaping, but that meant a lengthy, messy, and difficult hand-knead. Now, thanks to her persistence, I roll out the dough after an hour of fermentation, when the dough is more extensible and is fairly soft, scattering the apples over it and folding the dough around them. Then, as the dough continues to rise, the apples become an integral part of it — and so the tedious hand-kneading phase is unnecessary. I suggest using Braeburn apples, which are easily available in most areas, have a good spicy flavor, and do not fall apart during baking; but you can substitute any favorite baking apple. This bread is wonderful for breakfast or with coffee. It also makes an enticing Rosh Hashanah centerpiece and a much-appreciated gift.

This is the challah I make for my family and have been tweaking for years. It is a sweet, rich, honey-scented challah. However, if you don't care for the flavor of honey, I have included a sugar equivalent. For the finest texture, highest and most defined braid, and longest keeping quality, I have reduced the liquid in the dough to the bare minimum, replaced most of the water with eggs, and kept the dough very firm. This dough is too stiff to mix in a mixer, and needs little development, so I always knead it by hand, but you can also mix it using a food processor.

Editor's note: This recipe is excerpted from The 2nd Avenue Deli Cookbook, by Sharon Lebewohl and Rena Bulkin. Gefilte fish, today a prized delicacy, dates from the Middle Ages in Germany, where it was conceived as a fish stretcher — an ancient relative of Hamburger Helper. Religious Jews embraced it as a highlight of Friday-night dinners, because it solved a spiritual dilemma: though the Talmud suggests eating fish on Friday nights, it is forbidden (because it's considered work) to separate fish from bones on the Sabbath. We've found that most people who say they don't like gefilte fish have only tasted the supermarket variety, sold in jars, which is like saying you don't like filet mignon when you've only tasted beef jerky. Happily, preparing authentic gefilte fish from scratch is not an arcane skill possessed only by Jewish great-grandmothers. With today's food processors, it's not even especially difficult. Our recipe is sweet, in the Polish tradition; Russian gefilte fish is more peppery.

Keftes de Espinaca Among my favorite spinach dishes are these simple but delicious patties. Even spinach haters can't resist them, especially when they're splashed with a little fresh lemon juice; fresh juice does make a major difference in taste. Onions add a sweet flavor and textural complexity. These patties are traditional on Passover and Rosh Hashanah, corresponding to the emergence of the early and late spinach crops.

Almost every restaurant in Israel features turkey schnitzel on the menu. Most homemakers buy it breaded and frozen and serve it preceded by hummus, tahina, and other salads for a quick main meal. As I went from table to table throughout Israel, I found the dish to be more or less the same, prepared with spice combinations that vary depending on the ethnic background of the cook. Yemenite Jews, for example, add garlic, cumin, turmeric, cardamom, and hawayij. Polish cooks often use matzoh meal. A classic schnitzel includes both butter and oil, which has been changed to just oil in Israel. Even in remote corners of Latin America, restaurants try to woo Israeli travelers by putting up signs in Hebrew saying WE HAVE SCHNITZEL.

Editor's note: The recipe and introductory text below are excerpted from Joan Nathan's book The Foods of Israel Today. Nathan also shared some helpful cooking tips exclusively with Epicurious, which we've added at the bottom of the page. To read more about Nathan and Israeli cuisine, click here. I remember with pleasure the Turkish Spinach burekas we ate every Friday morning when I worked in the Jerusalem municipality. The ritual was as follows: Simontov, the guard at the front door downstairs, would appear carrying a bronze tray with Turkish coffee and the heavenly, flaky pastries filled with spinach or cheese, called filikas in Ladino. It is rare today to have such delicious burekas, in Jerusalem or anywhere else in Israel. Most of the dough is commercially produced puff pastry, much thicker and less flaky than the homemade phyllo used to be. A few places, like Burekas Penzo in Tel Aviv (near Levinsky Street), which has been making the pastries by hand in the Turkish style for more than thirty years, produce a close second to those I remember from my days in Jerusalem. Various Ladino names like bulemas and boyos differentiate fillings and distinguish a Jewish bureka from a Turkish one. If you can find the thick phyllo dough, that works well. Otherwise, try this. My fifteen-year-old makes and sells them for fifty cents a piece. They are great!

Editor's note: The recipe and introductory text below are excerpted from Joan Nathan's book The Foods of Israel Today. Nathan also shared some helpful cooking tips exclusively with Epicurious, which we've added at the bottom of the page. To read more about Nathan and Israeli cuisine, click here. According to the Ten Commandments, "On the seventh day thou shalt rest," which means that no cooking can be done on the Sabbath. This tradition is the reason Israel is truly the center of the world for cholent, an overnight stew. Almost all Jewish families have brought their own unique versions — with Hungarian smoked goose breast, Brazilian black beans, Moroccan rice, Bukharan turkey giblets and raisin-stuffed cucumbers, or Polish barley and meat. A dish that has experienced a rebirth even among secular Israelis in the last few years, cholent is often served as a centerpiece main course for parties, usually blending several traditions in one exciting creation. Eons ago, needing a dish that could be kept warm for the Sabbath, Jewish cooks came up with an overnight stew, the ingredients for which varied depending on where they lived. The stew was tightly sealed, often with a paste-like dough, and cooked before the Sabbath began, then left overnight in the embers to warm until the next day. During World War II, before Israelis had proper ovens, the cholent often was simmered over the small flame of a kerosene stove, the lid covered with two heavy bricks. The word cholent comes from the French chaud, meaning "warm," and lent, meaning "slow." In Israel, it is also called hamim, Hebrew for "warm." Like outdoor grilling, preparing cholent seems to have become the Israeli man's domain. It is served on every Israeli army base on Saturday, even in small military units on their own at lookout posts throughout the country, since the army, which officially observes the dietary laws, must serve a traditional Sabbath meal. This Hebronite hamim recipe was given to me by Amnon Lipkin Shachak, a former Israeli army chief of staff. He combines the Ashkenazic basic beans and barley with Sephardic sausages and the long-cooking eggs in their shells called huevos haminadav to make an innovative Sabbath dish from Hebron, the city from which part of his family hails. According to him, the recipe changes each time he makes it, depending on what he can find in the cupboard. This version requires kishke (a traditional delicacy made of flour and fat stuffed into sausage casing, today obtainable from Jewish specialty stores) and the robust and highly aromatic eastern Mediterranean spice combination of baharat (see Tips, below).

(Uborkasalata) With little or no refrigeration and often only impure water available until the twentieth century, ordinary people did not risk eating fresh vegetables that couldn't be peeled or shelled. Cucumber, beet, or cabbage salads were about the only ones used in Eastern Europe, and cooked salads featuring eggplant or broiled peppers were served in many Mediterranean countries. Lettuce, the base of most crisp salads we eat today, had to be cleaned in sterilized water and eaten immediately.

You'll need to start marinating the meat at least a day ahead. It can be cooked up to 2 days in advance of serving.