Jewish Food, the True European Cuisine

The concept of a European cuisine is a diplomatic minefield. French and Italian palates may be the most sophisticated, but they are also the most complacent. The argument that Jewish cuisine sums up European foods will encounter many emotional objections: First, Jewish life has historically been regarded as alien in Christian Europe. Second, the dietary laws – no pork, separate meat and dairy, moderate alcohol consumption – are simply at odds with European preferences. Modern Europe raises two additional issues. The Central and Eastern stream of European Jewry (“Ashkenazim”) is mostly gone; the villages and towns (shtetl) that dotted the region until WW2 have disappeared; where this culture survives in a few cities, it is retrospective and community-centred, with limited overlap, unlike in New York where bagels and delis contribute to America’s proud and joyful identity. The Southern stream (“Sephardim”) is extinct in Iberia, and throughout the Balkans, where it flourished; it is not known for its culinary impact in Great Britain (no jibe intended), where settlers were readmitted 350 years ago. It is in France that Sephardim influence is the strongest, following the 1960s massive relocation of settlers out of North Africa. Today, the pied-noir contribution to French society is far-reaching, and it is most vibrant in Paris and Marseilles, where it blends not so European traditions: if many dishes, such as the caponata ratatouille, frita or croustini fried bread, remind us of a passage through Iberia and Italy, in reality most Muslim and Sephardim delicacies are virtually indistinguishable, reflecting the Berber ancestry, or at least influences, of many repatriates: couscous, brick, kefta. The shakshouka (zalouk in Muslim Morocco), a delicious stew of tomatoes and eggs, symbolises this mixed heritage: it is Iberian in its original form, but it is North African when prepared with cumin or coriander.

The irony is that, notwithstanding our ubiquitous burger chains, no food tradition embodies more the spirit of Europe without borders, even if in practice, ring-fencing a distinctive Jewish cuisine proves a hurdle, as the origins of many dishes are questionable. If chopped herrings seem Jewish enough, they are often indistinguishable from other herring recipes found throughout Baltic Europe: in Russia (selyodka pod shuboy), Estonia (rossolye), Latvia, Poland, Germany and on Scandinavian smorgasbords. Many recipes mix herrings with apples, eggs and onions, even if some variations take liberties with the deli’s classic: a few add beet and potato, and even meat and cream. In Central Europe, the origins of bagels are the source of endless historical and etymological discussions. Beygl was consumed in Catholic Poland as early as 1610, where its composition remains unclear, but legend also has it that a Jewish Viennese baker created the stirrup-shaped (beugal) bread in the late 17th century. Variants of the dense bread are also found as far away as Russia, Lithuania, Ukraine and Belarus. Ultimately, bickering over the lineage of boiled bread and minced fish is almost irrelevant: there is only so much that Christians and Jews alike could innovate with in Europe’s middle ages.

Instead, the point should be taken that the cuisine of the Diaspora stretches and blurs the boundaries of Europe, and that it provides a missing link between otherwise disparate traditions. By Europe’s insular standards, this is a remarkable achievement. The role of the Diaspora in blending food cultures is undeniable. Spanish Jews and converts who crewed on Columbus’ and Cortes’ journeys to the New World were instrumental in bringing chocolate from Spain to Portugal and France, following the Inquisition. It is in Bayonne, the French harbour city across the Spanish border, that they established the first French chocolate factories, as early as the 17th century. But it is unclear if the Bayonne Diaspora spread our addiction to chocolate candies to the rest of Europe: Jews were certainly granted the original licences, notably during Lent, but on many accounts chocolate consumption in European aristocratic circles was enabled by Spain’s propensity to provide royal brides to European heirs. And in the honoured European tradition, many guilds of chocolate manufacturers banned Jews once confection became a lucrative commerce. Nevertheless, candies quickly became a tradition associated with many Christian and Jewish rituals, and a hot chocolate drink infused with cinnamon, vanilla and orange zest (an Iberian legacy) is a treat on an evening walk through Jerusalem and Tel Aviv’s cafes and food stalls. The Cross and the Pear Tree, the haunting book by Victor Perera, captures these journeys magnificently. Incidentally, Jewish cuisine might be experiencing a revival in Europe’s cities. In Paris, the gentrification of the Marais, initiated by the gay community, has brought the buzz of the Rue des Rosiers, and its cafes, falafel joints and restaurants, to well-heeled weekend strollers and party revellers (admittedly not to everyone’s delight). A similar process is happening in Budapest’s 7th district and in Prague Josefov’s area. In London, the rehabilitation of Brick Lane and the elevation of Shoreditch as the capital’s hotspot, is providing a lifeline to the East End’s fading tradition of bagel baking.

These culinary migrations bring two reflections. First, what are the boundaries of Europe? These journeys frame Europe as a predominantly white Christian continent in interaction with other races and religions, often before Christianity itself. As with Jewish life, Europe has a long history of shared experiences with Africans, Chinese, Muslims and Indians. If the culinary influence is obvious, it is also manifest in cultural and intellectual terms. Sadly, multiculturalism is rarely framed in those historical terms. Second, if Muslims and Jews did cohabit peacefully in North Africa, what can be done today to repair the damage between the two communities? It is the great tragedy of France, home of Europe’s largest Muslim and Jewish populations, that a congenial cohabitation turned sour over the Intifada. Well into the 1980s, France’s Muslim and Jewish families often shared neighbourhoods and a sense of displacement. In food terms, the two communities shared restaurants, butchers and grocery stores, particularly in Belleville, Paris’ north-eastern district, where Tunisian Jews and Muslims still coexist, albeit with greater difficulty. Many shop owners boasted a diversity of employees (so that they could operate on both Fridays and Saturdays) and a mixed clientele. The two communities also celebrated festivals together, as they did in the Maghreb, including the mimouna, a ritual of neighbourly visits and food celebration following Passover. This community of spirit, which is vivid in many of France’s most popular films and comedies, is fast disappearing, even though the bond is alive in the Arabic-Ladino vocabulary and accent that thrive through generations of pied-noirs. The cosmopolitan Belleville myth is joyful in contemporary French Sentier movies, and in the trio stand-ups of acclaimed (Jewish) comedians Gad Elmaleh and Elie Semoun, and (Muslim) superstar Jamel Debbouze.

2008 has been earmarked as the European Year of Diversity. European institutions and media should commemorate the event with genuine passion, beyond a statutory exposé of clichés, and beyond the organisation of patronising curry and jerk chicken festivals. With such blurred European boundaries, celebrations should not be limited to the EU27, but bring EU accession candidates, and all those countries that are part of the European collective experience of diversity: not least Russia, but also Mediterranean countries.

Recipes

Chocolate drink
This is a great evening drink and one that should pre-empt any hangover. Heat milk, sugar and grated cocoa until the sugar and cocoa have melted. Add cinnamon and a vanilla pod (or vanilla extract), and bring to near boil (you can add cream as well). If you’ve had a few drinks, don’t leave the kitchen and make sure you don’t over boil. Mix and serve with orange zest and whipped cream.

Shakshouka
This is fantastic for brunch or for a quick snack. It can also be prepared with red peppers, coriander, cumin and chillies. Sauté a chopped onion and a garlic clove in a pan until slightly golden. Add grated or chopped fresh tomatoes, and cook slowly for 25 minutes. Break eggs on top (2 eggs per 3 medium tomatoes), stir to break the yolks, cover and cook for a few minutes. Add salt, pepper and chopped parsley.

Chopped herrings
A.k.a. schmushi – you can use an electric blender! Soak 2 salt herrings in cool water for half a day, changing the water 2 or 3 times. Drain, fillet and skin the fish, or if you really hate it, leave a note to your cleaning lady. Finely chop half an onion, one peeled and seeded apple, and 1 hard boiled egg. Coarse chop the herring fillets. Mix all together, add 1 slice of bread soaked in vinegar, 1 tablespoon of light oil and a teaspoon of sugar. Mix and serve with rye bread.

Bagel
This one is slightly more difficult, but home-made bagels are a show stopper, especially in London where the cloudy tap water has that perfect balance of chlorine and copper.

Ingredients

• Water (250ml)
• Sugar (1 tablespoon)
• Yeast (1 teaspoon)
• Bread flour (high gluten, 750g).

Mix water, sugar and yeast, and wait for 5-10 minutes until it foams. Add half the flour and mix with a wooden spoon; slowly add the remaining flour until the dough is firm and elastic (use your hands and roll in flour so that it doesn’t stick). Rest for 20 minutes until it doubles in size. Cut dough into 8-10 pieces, roll into balls, cut a large hole in the middle and flatten. Rest at room temperature (it will raise in volume and the hole will become smaller). Bring to the boil 2 litres water (add 1 tablespoon honey or malt syrup and 1 teaspoon salt). Boil the bagels 2 minutes on each side (not too many at a time), put on a tray, add seed toppings, and place in pre-heated 200C oven for 15-20 minutes. Serve with your favourite fillings (chopped herrings, salmon and cream cheese, etc).