Wednesday, April 16, 2025
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| AI didn't understand that the onion is mixed into the fried matzo batter, otherwise this photo comes pretty close to the real deal |
“I should be home in like an hour, is there something to
eat?” wrote my baby, really an adult now at the age of 24. The whatsapp message had
come out of nowhere, at 7:30pm. We hadn’t been expecting him to be with us for
Pesach. Between his duties as an IDF soldier, and his need to kick back with a
friend at the end of the holiday, it had looked like we wouldn’t be seeing him
at all. But such is the army. I actually never know when I’m going to get that
message: “I’m on the way home, what do we have to eat?”
I sent my son a voice message, offering him a variety of options. We had some
nice things in the house, including leftover salmon filet from lunch. But of
all the things I offered my boy, the one thing he wanted was matzo brie, or as
I called it growing up, “Fried Matzo,” the matzo part being pronounced the
Lithuanian way, with an “ee” at the end: “matzee.”
I was so happy that of all the things my son yearned to eat on
Pesach, it was my fried matzo. It gave me Jewish nachas, an untranslatable
word that means something like pride and joy, but also satisfaction. I felt the
same way when I watched my grandson eat a bowl of my chicken soup, the
quintessential Jewish soul food. He was drinking in our history. Watching him, I knew that my
earliest food memories would also be those of my children and their children, too.
I dug out my mother’s recipe for fried matzo, not really
needing it—it’s something you just know how to do without a recipe—but for the
satisfaction it still gives me to see her neatly typed recipes. My mother was
an amazing typist, quick as lightning and the results error-free. Yet her recipe for fried matzo,
I had learned, was not typical of what my Jewish friends ate in their own homes.
There were two reasons for this, and pretty much both come
down to the same thing: my mother was a Litvak: a Lithuanian Jew. Today, there
are almost no Lithuanian Jews left. This is due to the fact that more than 95%
of Lithuanian Jewry was exterminated during the Holocaust, a loss more complete
than from any other country. I almost never meet a Jew of Lithuanian heritage. The
remnants of Eastern European Ashkenazi Jewry are mostly from Galicia.
Galicianers like their food sweet, Litvaks not so much. My mom’s fried matzo is typical of Lithuanian Jewish cuisine, savory rather than sweet, and seasoned with salt, pepper, and chopped onion. The truth is I was appalled
when I learned that my friends ate fried matzo topped with sugar or cinnamon
sugar. It sounded downright foreign to me. Was it even Jewish?
Of course it was. Probably more than my mother’s recipe
actually, considering that we ate it with Heinz ketchup. This latter innovation
was likely due to the fact that my maternal grandmother was 100% American born,
and 100% Pittsburgh born, home of the Heinz factory, a favorite school field
trip for kids growing up in da Burgh. (My homies of a certain age will remember
coming home from school with a plastic pickle pin affixed to their collars after
a visit to the factory.)
I pulled out my skillet and got busy. I made batch after batch of fried matzo,
knowing my soldier boy would have a huge appetite and scarf it down in no time
flat. There was none left for me I am happy to report—also for two reasons: A. It
was too delicious for my son to resist, and B: Fried matzo is super fattening—and
I do not need the calories!
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| My 45-year old copy of my mother's recipe for Fried Matzo. |
Fried Matzo
As handed down by my mother, the late Shirley Kopelman Meyers.Break matzo (about 1 or two whole pieces per person) into small pieces & soak in water for a few minutes. Beat about 1 egg for each piece matzo, add salt, pepper & chopped onion. Squeeze out water from matzo & and add to egg mixture. Heat butter or chicken fat in large frying pan and fry, stirring occasionally, until browned. If you make a large amount, fry in more than one batch.
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