Festival of Lights (more like Festival of Heavy, Actually)
It’s Chanukkah. And for us, Chanukkah means latkes. And latkes mean The Argument.
In some homes, when latkes are served, applesauce is served with them. Homemade applesauce, for example, all steamy and redolent of nutmeg and cinnamon. Mmmm. Applesauce.
In other homes, homes in which I might presently live, it is SICK AND WRONG to serve applesauce with latkes. Some residents of those homes might pitch giant fits about the HORROR of applesauce mucking up perfectly good latkes.
The only condimental dishes which can be served in those homes are vats of caramelized onions and sour cream. Because that is how Great-Grandma served them. That’s the way they were served in the old country (that much-trampled corner of Ukraine traded back and forth among the Scythians, the Ruthenians, the Khazars, the Mongols, the Lithuanians, the Russians, the Poles, the Cossacks, the Ottomans . . .). Also, no meats go with latkes. Just more latkes. Who needs meat?*
So here you see my latkes (not as good as Grandma’s, natch), served with sour cream and broccoli (that’s my innovation, and one which meets with no approval from anyone except me, even when the nectar of the salad gods, Annie’s Goddess Dressing, is at its side), and some sauted apples, which are certainly not applesauce, since the apple slices retain their structural integrity. The non-sauce apples were greeted with a sniff of disdain, but the latkes didn’t last long, despite their inferiority.
Dessert included handfuls of Chanukkah gelt, nuts, and clementines.
*In the interests of full disclosure, here I admit that bacon made an appearance at my Chanukkah table. This is quite a bit wronger than applesauce, I know, but my kids love bacon. I’m sorry, okay? I’m really sorry.