Fish Eyes

My son Eliezer was about nine years old and heavily into grossing his sisters out.

“I’ll eat anything,” he boasted. “Even fish eyes.”

Eeeww. When had I ever served him fish eyes? But it caught his imagination. He strutted around talking about fish eyes, knowing he was safe. Who would ever test him on it? His friends were  impressed. Wallah, that’s macho, eating fish eyes!

Then Rosh HaShana came up and I started cooking simanim. I’d never cooked black-eyed peas before, but they’re one of the traditional foods, so I simmered some up. Then I noticed how much like little eyes they looked.

Hm.

I made up a little salad with the peas, and bided. On Rosh HaShana day, we all sat down to eat and I casually put a bowlful of black-eyed pea salad in front of my boy.

“Fish eyes for you, honey,” I said. “Since you like them so much.”

He looked down at all those little white beans with the black dots, and turned green. His  sisters watched, horrified. Was he really going to eat all those fish eyes? My parents, in on the joke, exchanged amused glances. He bravely poked his fork into the bowl and winced as the beans yielded.

“I’m kind of full already, Mommy,” he said. “I’ll eat them later.”

I looked at him sitting there and I melted. He was just a rambuctious little boy trying to prove himself. Finally I explained that it was really just beans. He accepted the joke with good grace, but never did eat any.

Eliezer is now 29 and says he has forgiven me, but he still doesn’t eat black-eyed peas.

I remembered this a few days ago when I was making fish soup out of the bones and heads of some fresh bass. With carrots, celery, tomato, a bay leaf, onion, chunks of potato and cilantro, it did make a rich, flavorful broth. A little drizzle of olive oil – a squeeze of lemon. Perfect.

I was pleased to have used up all the fish, even the bones, which still had some meat clinging to them. But I knew I had to remove every trace of the heads, because The Little One can’t bear to see fish heads. When she orders fish in a restaurant, I have to ask for the head to be removed in the kitchen. On Rosh HaShanah, we hide the fish head siman under a napkin.

So I took a slotted spoon and began straining out the bones. Oops. The heads fell apart, bones and cartilige separating all over the pan, and – where’d the eyes go? Oh no. There were four little boiled eyes in the soup somewhere, and I had to get them out or risk my daughter fainting at the table.

Sighing, I took up the strainer and ladled the soup into it. Aha – got one in there with all the carrot and celery pieces. Got two. Got three fish eyes, but where was the last one? I strained everything twice, poking under the vegetables with a spoon and turning every piece of fish over. No fish eye.

Well, maybe I’d already strained it out or something. It was lunchtime, and I had to get the soup on the table. I’d made a particularly savory herb bread to go with it, and the smell of fish and herbs and fresh bread was driving the family insane.

I must say, the soup was good. The Husband and The Little One served themselves seconds and sliced more bread. I looked into the pan – there was still enough for me to have seconds too. I ladled it into my bowl, put my spoon in, and sat frozen, looking into an eye.

There it was, in my bowl. I turned it over with my spoon, but it floated up again, iris side up.

Was this some kind of karmic retribution for tormenting an innocent nine-year child all those years ago? I don’t know, and I don’t care.

What I did was, I threw the damn thing out.

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Shana Tova!

Last entry before the holiday starts, and then the computer shuts down till Wednesday night. It’s late to be showing the last of the simanim, but just to show you what we’re having…

Simple carrot salad: just grated carrots, fresh tangerine juice, and a smidge of sugar.

Fish heads gross Daughter out; I waited till she left to visit her Granny to photograph them. We put a paper napkin over them to spare her feelings when we set out the simanim.

The dates are stuffed with toasted pecans. Many folks won’t eat nuts on Rosh HaShanah because the gematria of nut – egoz - is the same as chet - sin. In fact many folks feel pretty strongly about that.  We don’t.

We’re together with all of Am Israel in wishing to grow in mitzvot – may our merits become as numerous as the seeds of the pomegranate!

And may we all be granted a good year.

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Eat Your Words: Simanim

Over today and tomorrow, I’ll be posting about simanim, the symbolic foods we eat on Rosh Hashanah night. I love this custom because it combines tradition, food, and a  play on words. These symbolic foods don’t always represent the things we ask G-d to grant us in the coming year. They might represent words that do. For example, when we eat leeks, which in Aramaic are karsi, we associate them with the Hebrew word karas – to cut down – “May our enemies be cut down.”

You have to bend the brain a little to appreciate what you’re eating: a particularly Jewish way of looking at things.

I got to work this morning to prepare simanim the way my family like to eat them. Here’s the busy stovetop.

Beets, Black-Eyed Peas, Leeks & Mushrooms, Sauce

Beets are selek, which reminds us of the word lesalek – to remove. “May our enemies be removed.” I make a beet salad with some thinly sliced onion, salt, pepper, a little cumin, olive oil, a little sugar, and vinegar. No measurements to report here: I just add seasonings and keep tasting and adjusting till I like it.

Black-eyed peas are rubiah – similar to yirbu - to increase.  “May our merits increase.” .

Rather than serve them hot, I make another salad of them, seasoning it with a little chopped onion and a handful of mixed, chopped, cilantro, parsley, and celery tops. Lots of fresh lemon juice, to balance the earthy taste of the peas (which are really beans, but never mind) – salt and white pepper. Again, all seasonings to taste

I use pumpkin as the gourd – in Hebrew k’ra. This is a homonym, in Hebrew, for “tear apart” and “read.” “May any evil decree be torn up, and may our merits be read in Your presence.” This was a simple saute of onions, chopped tomatoes, and thin slices of pumpkin. Another handful of chopped, mixed herbs went into the saute, plus one fresh sage leaf. I also stole a couple of spoonfuls of the sauce from the leek tart, more about which below, to add some body to the dish. A splash of white wine, a good stir around, and it was ready.

Leeks are difficult to sneak past the family. They tolerate leeks in soup, and that’s about it. But we must have leeks, I think. So I make a savory tart of leeks and mushrooms. This is how I do it.

Leek Tart (meat)

Have ready some chicken soup left over from Shabbos; about a cup.

Clean two large leeks. Cut off the tough base and green part of each one. Slice them coarsely.

Clean 1 – 1/2 cups of fresh mushrooms. Slice each in half, or thirds if they’re very large.

Put a dollop of olive oil into a skillet.

Saute the leeks just so that the slices brown a little. Add the mushrooms and continue to sautee.

In the meantime, prepare a sauce. In a separate pan, put two Tblsp. of oil, shmaltz, or margerine. Heat it gently. To fat add 2 Tblsp. of flour. Stir this briskly, allowing the flour to cook out and rid itself of its raw taste, but not allowing the mixture to burn.

Add the cup of hot chicken soup to the above roux. Keep stirring: you don’t want flour lumps. When all is smooth, turn the flame off and keep it aside.

When the mushrooms are wilting and starting to release their juice, add the sauce to the skillet. Stir and taste to adjust salt and pepper. A little soy sauce or a teaspoon of curry powder are optional nice things to add. The leeks will need to finish cooking: depending on how tender they were to start with, this could take up to 1/2-hour longer. Stir once in a while.

Make the pie crust of your choice. You can either make only half the recipe, or make the whole and use the leftover dough for something else later. this makes a small tart, so you will need only a medium-sized pie pan. I don’t have one. What I did was take a sheet of baking paper and roll my dough circle onto it. I picked up the edges all around and folded them under, pinching to make a wall of dough to hold the filling in.  You’ll see the result below.

Fill the pie crust with the leek/mushroom mixture. Bake at 350 F – 180 C for 25 minutes. If the top looks like it’s browning too fast, put a piece of tin foil over the top of the tart and let the crust finish baking.

Here it is…

There should be a siman based on “batsal” – onion. Everything I’ve cooked has onion in it one way or another. Let’s see…batsal reminds me of “batsah” – to slice.

May it be Your will to cut us a large slice of blessing in this coming year!

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