PUMPKIN LEEK SOUP WITH GRILLED CHEESE CROUTONS

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My partner and I run on completely opposite schedules. I wake up at around 7:00 each morning to get ready for work and ease into my day, while he stays burritoed for a few more hours. By the time I get home from work, anywhere from 7:15 to 9:00 or later, he’s already well on his way to a gig. Once he’s home, I’m the burritoed one.

Now that we live together we see each other a bit more than we used to, but not by much. What to do? Stuff a week’s worth of dates into one Sunday. Normal!

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CHALLAH FOR BODY AND SOUL (OR YEAST MEETS WEST, FROM DAD)

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Today's post is written by none other than Rina's amazing mama bear, Ruth! Welcome to the blog, Mama Gato.

Rina always stood on the little green stool.  I stood behind her, her crazy curls tickling my nose as she stretched her tiny fingers to reach the kneading bowl. My grown up hands guided her child hands.  Palm down, fold and turn, palm down, fold and turn, again and again. If the dough was too sticky Rina would make monster fingers with the tacky mess, and I would slowly add small pinches of flour to the bowl.  “Does it feel like an earlobe, yet?”  When Rina’s crazy curls bobbed up and down I would announce, “Then it’s done!”

That was how we made challah every Friday after nursery school.  I showed Rina how to check an egg for blood spots, how to wake up the yeast with warm water and feed it with sugar and then proof it— wait patiently (or not so patiently) for it to froth in the bowl.  This, Rina understood, was what it meant to “make Shabbos.”  The Sabbath did not come on it’s own—if we wanted Friday night to become Shabbos, then we had to make it so. We had to invite the guests, shop for groceries, prepare the meal and set the table.  In this way we transformed the mundane into the holy. A key step to turning an ordinary end-of-the-week dinner into a Shabbos feast was to bake the challah.

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VEGAN RAINBOW COBB SALAD

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I don't like bacon. There, I said it. I'm often approached by outraged and baffled friends and strangers who can't believe I don't like bacon. Usually, this is followed by the accusation that I'm a religious Jew, as if that somehow explains it. 

The truth is, I simply don't like the taste. It's no secret that I'm the meat-eater of this blog duo, but when it comes to smoky meat, specifically pork, I didn't grow up eating it and therefore don't like the way it tastes. Sorry, folks. 

This faux bacon, though, is on another level. 

 

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SABICH SANDWICH

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I bet you'd never guess eggplant, mango and hard-boiled eggs go well together. But I'm here to tell you they absolutely do.

Culminating a three day virtual street-food journey through Israel, I'd like to introduce Sabich. Everyone knows about falafel and shwarma. You hardly need to hound the streets of Manahttan for one of these tasty sandwiches –they’re sold on every corner. But this extra-special sandwich, found only in Israel, has made a home for itself at the top of my favorite street eats list. In fact, I'll go as far as saying this is my favorite G | G recipe made to date. 

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MUSHY PEAS

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A lot of my stories start out with, "When I lived in Israel..." (the cleaner - most of the time - version of Alyson Hannigan's infamous "When I was in band camp...").  Usually they take place in Tel Aviv, but every once in a while a good one comes out of Jerusalem - Tel Aviv is just a much better city, in my opinion-that-is-also-a-fact.  Feel free to fight me on this one. I'll win, but I welcome a challenge.

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AN ODE TO AROMA: SWEET POTATO + BLACK LENTIL SALAD

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When I first started my junior year on study abroad, I made the rookie mistake of actually studying. My roommate, now a best friend, and I would spend hours on our homework, memorizing Hebrew verbs and studying Israeli artists until our eyes glazed over. Silly, really, to think of all those wasted hours that could have been spent at the beach or the shuk. Once we moved out of the dorms, though, and into the city center, we learned our lesson. This is why you should never live more than a ten-minute walk from the beach.

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LEMONY GREEK SALAD

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There's this magical eatery in Metro Detroit called Leo's Coney Island. A humble little place where you can get the most delectable Greek salad. A place where your thighs stick to the vinyl booths in the summer, but you JUST DON'T CARE because even if their fries are a little bland, there's nothing that can't be fixed by a smothering of their world (read, Detroit) famous Greek dressing. 

Leo's is the reason that "Greek salad" has been my favorite food since I turned 6. I remember learning that "real" Greek salads don't have lettuce, and almost bursting into tears. You may think I'm exaggerating, but I haven't met a Greek salad that gives me more joy than Leo's. Since college. I've spent countless hours trying to replicate their infamous dressing. Too garlicky. Too little oregano. Too much vinegar. Not enough Dijon. I got close once, playing around with this (pretty damn delicious) recipe from Cookie + Kate. I finally resolved that I'll never duplicate the dream that is Leo's. 

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