tradition, tradition.
Yesterday was a very special day! Not because Cesare updated twice in less than six months (well, also), but because my grandma called upon me to make hamentaschen with her.
For those of you unfamiliar, the hamentasch is a type of food singular to the Jewish holiday Purim. It’s a pastry filled with poppy seed, chocolate, dried fruits or what-have-you. Purim is, in a nutshell, dressing up in costumes and getting drunk because a few hundred years ago, an evil vizier named Haman failed to kill off all the Jews in Persia. (The full story is HERE.) Anyway, hamentaschen-making is a Purim tradition started by the Ashkenazi Jews in Europe, and continued bravely by my Grandma Ora. Every year she calls upon me to help her in the kitchen, and since Purim this year starts Thursday, we set the date for today.
For those of you curious, this is HOW TO MAKE HAMENTASCHEN: THE GRANDMA ORA WAY.
Caveat lector: This is not a recipe. My grandma keeps her secrets close, and the ingredients are already prepared when I arrive at her house. Seriously, we’re talking levels of security which the ISA, the FBI and the KGB would die to have. Sometimes I think my grandma’s hamentaschen are a classified state secret.
The hamentaschen we make, by the way, are filled only with poppy seed (parag in Hebrew), so that’s all you’ll be getting here too.
I arrived at my grandma’s house at 17:30. The kitchen was already prepared:
You can see the base components: flour in a big jar, round cup, rolling pin, and the hamentasch dough cut into four. Oiled pans are on the chair next to the table, ready for use. The spatula will come into play later.
We take the first quarter of dough, knead it, and roll it out into a spread-like a big map. My grandma is very, um, possessive of her kitchen, and very knowledgeable in baking; this means she’s very big on do-it-yourself, but not so big when it comes to do-it-other-people.
MIARR: Okay, okay, let me roll the dough.
GRANDMA: No, wait, let me start.
MIARR: …okay, how about now?
GRANDMA: No, I’ve already started; let me finish.
MIARR: Wait, but then, what do I do?
GRANDMA: Stand there and look pretty.
This happens all the time.
Next, we take the round cup and start pressing its rim into the dough, making very close-knit circles. This cup belongs to a set of three identical ones which my grandma has owned since 1967, and every year she’s used them to make hamentaschen. However, last year one of the cups fell to the floor and shattered. Now one cup is used to hold flour, and the other to make circles with. Since both of us made circles, my grandma used a newer, plastic cup.
GRANDMA: I really liked that cup…
MIARR: Aw, grandma, it had to happen sooner or later.
GRANDMA: (miffed) It didn’t happen for forty-two years.
MIARR: Yes, but, you can’t stop progress! Think of it this way: your old cups have finally given way to the modernized versions of the 21st century. This new plastic cup is the future of cup-wear. Not to mention, now you use Israeli-made cups-this is true Zionism!
GRANDMA: Look, just keep pressing.
After peeling away the excess dough, we’re left with a bunch of circles. I’d says ‘discs’, which is more accurate, except it’s a totally unappetizing word. Anyway, we take the designated filling (poppy seeds, in our case) and use two spoons to scrape a small amount onto each circle. Grandma kept saying I put too much filling, which I felt was unfair, seeing as between the two of us, I was the one who was going to eat the things eventually. Look, I like poppy seed, okay? Especially my grandma’s, which is prepared in a mystic ritual involving milk, sugar, and boiling over low flames for 12 minutes. But I can’t tell you how any exact measurements. Like I said: STATE SECRET.
(Note: Yes, for all those wondering, poppy seed is also used in the making of opium. Perhaps this makes my love for it more, er, understandable.)
Now the folding. Making a circle into a triangle can be tricky, but we’re Jews so we’re clever. *g* First you pinch one side of the circle into a point, pressing the two folds of dough together to get a cone-shape. Then you pinch the bottom arc up and press it into the existing folds, creating an upside-down Y shape. Oh, what the hell, it’s a lot easier to show:
Fill the pans with hamentaschen, making sure the triangles aren’t crowded together too close (otherwise they’ll cleave together during the swelling and become one misshapen mass. You do not want chimera hamentaschen). Insert into the oven!
My grandma has an oven with room for only one pan at a time, so it was slow going. I think we made about four, five pans in all. I have no idea how hot the oven was/how long the pans were in, because I was too busy being shocked at my grandma:
MIARR: So, really, how long have you been making hamentaschen?
GRANDMA: Oh, I don’t measure these things in years. Long enough to do it right.
MIARR: And you’ve always had this one recipe?
GRANDMA: Well, I’ve modified it over the years, obviously. Not anymore though.
MIARR: It’s reached a state of perfection.
GRANDMA: Or so I assume.
MIARR: You… guess?
GRANDMA: Well, I don’t eat them myself, so I have to rely on the rest of the family for feedback.
MIARR: But we love your hamentaschen!
GRANDMA: So you’ve said.
MIARR: …Wait, are you doubting us?
GRANDMA: I’m just being objective.
MIARR: What! How is this objective? What’s objective about the fact I gain ten pounds every Purim from binging on your hamentaschen? I wouldn’t do that to myself over nothing. You should know this!
GRANDMA: Well, I never did understand you, dear.
MIARR: ;______;
I JUST, WHAT. Grandmothers! Honestly. They are as confounding as they are wonderful, I swear.
Here is where the spatula comes in! Carefully pry the hamentaschen from the pan, and separate them from each other using the edge of the spatula. Work while they’re still hot, otherwise they might crumble. Now look here at these fine-ass hamentaschen:
We move the hamentaschen to a separate tray, and coat every layer of hamentaschen with sifted baker’s sugar. This is how the evening progressed:
In a word: DELICIOUS.
Hope this has been educational! And if not, at least appealing to look at. Because let me tell you: it is damn appealing when it is in my belly. Happy Purim everyone! 8D
For those of you unfamiliar, the hamentasch is a type of food singular to the Jewish holiday Purim. It’s a pastry filled with poppy seed, chocolate, dried fruits or what-have-you. Purim is, in a nutshell, dressing up in costumes and getting drunk because a few hundred years ago, an evil vizier named Haman failed to kill off all the Jews in Persia. (The full story is HERE.) Anyway, hamentaschen-making is a Purim tradition started by the Ashkenazi Jews in Europe, and continued bravely by my Grandma Ora. Every year she calls upon me to help her in the kitchen, and since Purim this year starts Thursday, we set the date for today.
For those of you curious, this is HOW TO MAKE HAMENTASCHEN: THE GRANDMA ORA WAY.
Caveat lector: This is not a recipe. My grandma keeps her secrets close, and the ingredients are already prepared when I arrive at her house. Seriously, we’re talking levels of security which the ISA, the FBI and the KGB would die to have. Sometimes I think my grandma’s hamentaschen are a classified state secret.
The hamentaschen we make, by the way, are filled only with poppy seed (parag in Hebrew), so that’s all you’ll be getting here too.
I arrived at my grandma’s house at 17:30. The kitchen was already prepared:
You can see the base components: flour in a big jar, round cup, rolling pin, and the hamentasch dough cut into four. Oiled pans are on the chair next to the table, ready for use. The spatula will come into play later.
We take the first quarter of dough, knead it, and roll it out into a spread-like a big map. My grandma is very, um, possessive of her kitchen, and very knowledgeable in baking; this means she’s very big on do-it-yourself, but not so big when it comes to do-it-other-people.
MIARR: Okay, okay, let me roll the dough.
GRANDMA: No, wait, let me start.
MIARR: …okay, how about now?
GRANDMA: No, I’ve already started; let me finish.
MIARR: Wait, but then, what do I do?
GRANDMA: Stand there and look pretty.
This happens all the time.
Next, we take the round cup and start pressing its rim into the dough, making very close-knit circles. This cup belongs to a set of three identical ones which my grandma has owned since 1967, and every year she’s used them to make hamentaschen. However, last year one of the cups fell to the floor and shattered. Now one cup is used to hold flour, and the other to make circles with. Since both of us made circles, my grandma used a newer, plastic cup.
GRANDMA: I really liked that cup…
MIARR: Aw, grandma, it had to happen sooner or later.
GRANDMA: (miffed) It didn’t happen for forty-two years.
MIARR: Yes, but, you can’t stop progress! Think of it this way: your old cups have finally given way to the modernized versions of the 21st century. This new plastic cup is the future of cup-wear. Not to mention, now you use Israeli-made cups-this is true Zionism!
GRANDMA: Look, just keep pressing.
After peeling away the excess dough, we’re left with a bunch of circles. I’d says ‘discs’, which is more accurate, except it’s a totally unappetizing word. Anyway, we take the designated filling (poppy seeds, in our case) and use two spoons to scrape a small amount onto each circle. Grandma kept saying I put too much filling, which I felt was unfair, seeing as between the two of us, I was the one who was going to eat the things eventually. Look, I like poppy seed, okay? Especially my grandma’s, which is prepared in a mystic ritual involving milk, sugar, and boiling over low flames for 12 minutes. But I can’t tell you how any exact measurements. Like I said: STATE SECRET.
(Note: Yes, for all those wondering, poppy seed is also used in the making of opium. Perhaps this makes my love for it more, er, understandable.)
Now the folding. Making a circle into a triangle can be tricky, but we’re Jews so we’re clever. *g* First you pinch one side of the circle into a point, pressing the two folds of dough together to get a cone-shape. Then you pinch the bottom arc up and press it into the existing folds, creating an upside-down Y shape. Oh, what the hell, it’s a lot easier to show:
Fill the pans with hamentaschen, making sure the triangles aren’t crowded together too close (otherwise they’ll cleave together during the swelling and become one misshapen mass. You do not want chimera hamentaschen). Insert into the oven!
My grandma has an oven with room for only one pan at a time, so it was slow going. I think we made about four, five pans in all. I have no idea how hot the oven was/how long the pans were in, because I was too busy being shocked at my grandma:
MIARR: So, really, how long have you been making hamentaschen?
GRANDMA: Oh, I don’t measure these things in years. Long enough to do it right.
MIARR: And you’ve always had this one recipe?
GRANDMA: Well, I’ve modified it over the years, obviously. Not anymore though.
MIARR: It’s reached a state of perfection.
GRANDMA: Or so I assume.
MIARR: You… guess?
GRANDMA: Well, I don’t eat them myself, so I have to rely on the rest of the family for feedback.
MIARR: But we love your hamentaschen!
GRANDMA: So you’ve said.
MIARR: …Wait, are you doubting us?
GRANDMA: I’m just being objective.
MIARR: What! How is this objective? What’s objective about the fact I gain ten pounds every Purim from binging on your hamentaschen? I wouldn’t do that to myself over nothing. You should know this!
GRANDMA: Well, I never did understand you, dear.
MIARR: ;______;
I JUST, WHAT. Grandmothers! Honestly. They are as confounding as they are wonderful, I swear.
Here is where the spatula comes in! Carefully pry the hamentaschen from the pan, and separate them from each other using the edge of the spatula. Work while they’re still hot, otherwise they might crumble. Now look here at these fine-ass hamentaschen:
We move the hamentaschen to a separate tray, and coat every layer of hamentaschen with sifted baker’s sugar. This is how the evening progressed:
In a word: DELICIOUS.
Hope this has been educational! And if not, at least appealing to look at. Because let me tell you: it is damn appealing when it is in my belly. Happy Purim everyone! 8D