Like most of you, we grew up in a Jewish community in Maine. Our grandparents and families settled here in the early nineteen hundreds. They spoke Yiddish and broken English. They brought their Shabbos candlesticks and their traditions including the wonderful recipes that brought us together at their tables for the Jewish holidays and beyond.
The foods we make during the Jewish Holidays are perhaps the most powerful tie to that legacy. For Beth, her son comes home for Passover if she promises to make matzo balls; he comes to Rosh Hashanah requesting his great grandmother�s brisket. There is a realization that he probably won�t want the silver trays from our foremothers, but someday he�ll want to make matzo balls for his family and he will appreciate good Maine Jewish recipes and a story about how the recipe came to the our family.
For generations Jewish families have come together around food. So we�d like to create a Documenting Maine Jewish cookbook that draws on that tradition. The book would include stories, superstitions, and recipes from the various Jewish homes and communities in Maine - - a secret family recipe for matzo balls that is lighter than any other, rugulah made with sweet milk or sour cream and unlike any other that you�ve tasted. Let your memory run wild. Anything related to food and your Jewish ties to Maine is welcome!
The tentative title for this book �From Bagels to Baked Beans: A Tapestry of Jewish Memories Through Food and Stories.�
And we�ll need your help to make this a success. The three of us are working to get this going. We would like to have additional people who can help with design, layout, and editing. Ideally, we�d like to have one person from each community on the committee. We are not sure if we will self publish or have the book published, but the proceeds from sales will go to the Documenting Maine Jewry Project.
We ask that any recipes you contribute be tested twice before you submit them. If you are able to take a photo, that�s a plus. If you have old photos of parents and grandparents, we can use them, too. We�d especially like any sisterhood photos of women cooking for a group meal.
But, before you get out your mixing bowl, we�d like a list of recipes you would like to contribute and some stories (these don�t need to be polished) about your community, traditions, or the specific recipes. That way we can vary the content and nail down a table of contents. (We�ll send submission guidelines before you get started.)
Feel free to offer ideas, changes and free cookies. All are gladly accepted. And, if you would like to help with this project, please contact one of us. We�ve started a Facebook page for this project. Feel free to submit ideas, comments and recipes on this page as well. facebook.com/groups/DMJCookbookproject/
We look forward to hearing from you,
My Lithuanian grandmother, Sophie Hillson, made these cookies for every occasion. Her recipe was in her head, her measurements in her hands. She added a little of this and a little of that, a glass of this, a pinch of that. No one could duplicate grandma�s jelly-filled cookies. One day, I pulled up a chair and watched as she prepared the dough. Her instructions were sprinkled with Yiddish, a language I didn�t speak. �Shit a bissel dis und shit a bissel das,� she would say. (Throw in a little of this and throw in a little of that.) �Add one glassela zukker; four glassela flour mit a bissel salt� she explained.
My siblings and I often reminisce about Grandma Sophie�s wonderful cookies. Recently I uncovered her recipe, tucked in the back of one of my old recipe files. I made a batch for a Hanukah gathering as a surprise for my siblings. It was the first time I made Grandma Sophie�s Jelly-Filled Cookies. Cloaked in an Eastern Jewish mystique, the recipe seemed to belong to another world, a place I dared not enter. But once I began measuring and mixing, I was standing next to Grandma and her DNA was flowing through my fingers. It was then I discovered that �shit a bissel� was a euphemism for trusting one�s cooking instincts, feeling the texture and consistency. Suddenly she was speaking my language, the universal language of bakers. The cookies were fabulous, just like Grandma�s had always been.
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon cream of tartar
� teaspoon baking soda
� teaspoon salt
� cup unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
� cup sugar
1 large egg
1/3 cup sour cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup strawberry jelly or other flavor of choice
1 beaten egg to glaze cookies
Preheat oven to 350� F. Line 2 cookie sheets with parchment paper. In a medium bowl, combine the flour with the cream of tartar, baking soda, and salt. Whisk to blend. Set aside.
In another bowl, beat the butter until fluffy. Add sugar and beat until the mixture is light yellow. Add the egg and beat until smooth. Add dry ingredients and beat until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Add sour cream and vanilla and beat until mixture pulls away from the sides of the bowl (about 1 minute).
Divide dough in half. Press one half into a ball and place between two sheets of plastic wrap. Roll out until the dough is between 1/8 and �- inch thickness. Use a 2 to 2 � inch round biscuit cutter or a glass to cut out circles. Place half the circles on cookie sheets, spaced about 1 inch apart. Spoon a � teaspoon dollop of jelly in the center of each.
Brush the edges with beaten egg. Brush the tops of the remaining circles with beaten egg. Center tops (brushed egg side down) over circles on the cookie sheets and press the edges together to seal. Bake 12-15 minutes or until edges are golden. Cool thoroughly on wire rack before eating.
These may be frozen.