A perfect brisket
the secret trifecta to braised meat and a spicy salad to go with
It should come as no surprise that I relate most to my Jewish upbringing through food. In fact, I would maybe go as far as to say that the food customs of Jewish traditions wholly define what it means to me to be Jewish. Food, a few Yiddish words, and a very specific sense of humor.
When I was studying abroad in South Africa, I got invited to a Passover Seder and found myself comforted by the realization that no matter where I could be in the world, Jews seemed more or less the same. Forgive the gross hyperbole, I was only 20 at the time and thus had a limited view of the world. But in that moment, on the other side of the world, sitting around a table with total strangers, I was comforted to read similar words to the ones that had been read on this occasion in my own house growing up, and to listen to an eerily familiar-sounding intonation and candor in the jokes and stories shared over the meal. But mostly, I was astonished to find that, in this other country very farm away from the one I had spent every other Passover, the dishes passed around the table tasted almost identical to the ones my own family had prepared. I’m certainly not a religious person, but this felt miraculous to me at the time. I do feel grateful to come from a Jewish family and feel a particular ancestral attachment to bagels, gefilte fish, matzo ball soup, and brisket. While I tend to make a brisket (or a roast chicken) for any and all Jewish holidays, Passover in particular really does not feel complete without it on the table.
