Food blogger Debby Koenig (Words to Eat By) confesses that though she hates Passover with its "stick to the roof of your mouth matzah, crumbs all over your shirtfront matzah, halt all intestinal activity matzah," she considers the "only saving grace of this cardboardy so-called food is that it's the main ingrethent in matzah brei." I sympathize with Ms. Koenig's position, though a cardboardy piece of matzah slathered with unsalted butter is one of my all-time, anytime favorites.
Just as cooks (at Purim) spar over hamantashen dough (cookie vs. yeast) and filling (sweet vs. savory), so too do they battle (at Passover) over various matzah brei methods. Soak the matzah till it's mush? Run the matzah under the faucet for a mere milli-minute to keep the crunch? Sprinkle with cinnamon? A pinch of paprika? A conundrum, for sure. Rumor has it that there are as many recipes for matzah brei as there are Jewish grandmothers, and regular folk as well as the famous among us continue to argue the soggy/crisp/sweet/savory issue. For some, matzah brei is a substitute for French toast, awash in maple syrup. "Ixnay," says Ruth Reich - former editor-in-chief of Gourmet magazine and ex-restaurant critic for both The New York Times and the Los Angeles Times - who considers sweet matzah brei to be an abomination. (Ms. Reich's word. Honest.)
Others prefer matzah brei dished up like plain old scrambled eggs. Oddly enough, this humble presentation is preferred by over-the-top architect Frank Gehry (born Frank Owen Goldberg) who told Mark Bittman (aka The Minimalist of The New York Times) that he (Gehry) could make only one dish - matzah brei - which he learned from watching his mother.
"I take the matzahs out, run them under the tap and then crumple them," Gehry said.
"Do you make the matzah brei look beautiful?" Bittman asked. "Do you arrange it in an architectural fashion?"
Gehry answered, "No." (Listen. The guy probably depleted his creative juices designing the undulating Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao and the phantasmagoric Dancing House in Prague.)
We're told that when the Israelites dashed from Egypt with only flat bread in their back packs, God answered their culinary cravings with endless mounds of manna. According to Louis Ginsburg s Legends of the Jews, this miraculous manna contained the flavor of every conceivable dish. If an Israelite wanted a certain food - roast lamb, let's say - all he had to do was think of it, and voila! The manna tasted like roast lamb.
Manna, it is also said, tasted to every one who ate it according to his or her age. To little children it tasted like milk; to strong youths, like bread; to old men, like honey; and to the sick, manna tasted like barley cakes steeped in oil and sweet mead. Nowhere, even in legend, do we read that manna tasted like matzah brei. (I'll keep looking.)
But those of us who consider matzah brei to be a latter day manna from heaven can conjure it up in traditional - plus astonishing alternative - flavors. In fact, pretty soon our sedarim might need to add a fifth question: Why is this matzah brei different from all other matzah brei?
Here's one possible answer.
Mexican Matzah Brei
(dairy)
From Yum Recipes, by way of The Boston Globe
Guacamole filling:
1/2 ripe avocado, peeled, pitted and coarsely chopped.
1 scallion, finely chopped
2 tablespoons sour cream
1 teaspoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
Omelette:
1 matzah, broken into 2-inch pieces
3 eggs, lightly beaten
kosher salt and pepper to taste
1 tablespoon butter for pan
1/4 cup shredded Monterey Jack or cheddar cheese
1 small
jalapeno pepper, cored and finely chopped
salsa and various toppings (optional)
To make the guacamole, stir together the avocado, scallion, sour cream and lemon juice in a small bowl. Set aside.
Place matzah in a colander in the sink and pour boiling water over it. Let stand 2 minutes. Squeeze out the liquid and place matzah in a bowl.
Add eggs, salt, and jalapeno and mix well.
In a 10-inch, nonstick frying pan, melt the butter. Pour matzah mixture into the hot pan and cook over medium heat, pulling eggs toward the center of pan with a spatula and tilting the pan to allow uncooked portions to flow into empty spaces until set.
Sprinkle the omelette with cheese. Spread the guacamole filling over half the omelette.
Cover pan and cook over low heat for 5 minutes.
Fold omelette in half and slide onto a serving plate. Divide it in two and serve at once. If desired, garnish with salsa and/or grated cheese, black olives, plus more sour cream.
Now let all who are hungry come and eat. Ole! (Or maybe, Oy, vey!)
Serves 2.
Ozzie Nogg is a writer living in Omaha, Neb.
Author: Nogg, Ozzie
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