This is not the Passover article I was planning to write. I’d planned to write a peppy, service-driven piece on how to successfully pull off two days of cooking for a modern, secular meal. But over the last few weeks (and long after the development of these recipes, and their photo and video shoots), everything became … well, very different. Many of us are now stuck at home with limited access to ingredients, separated from those we’d otherwise be cooking for and eating with. And publishing a piece on how to enthusiastically cook fancy cuts of meat for many of your friends and family (and their friends and family) suddenly seemed not only insensitive, but nearly impossible.
So things here have shifted a bit: The tone is different and the scope scaled back, but Passover is still on the calendar. And, ultimately, a bunch of new, highly cookable recipes still felt like a thing we could all use, regardless of how we’d use them.
Serendipitously, all the dishes developed for this secular menu already accommodated varying levels of ambition and product availability, relying heavily on pantry staples and encouraging flexibility (my two favorite things). Please know going in that the dishes here are inspired by tradition, not bound to it. (Yes, I may suggest melted butter as a substitution for chicken fat because this is not a kosher menu, and hey, we are all just doing our best.) There are echoes of what you might find during a traditional Seder, with a few modern updates: bright, acidic, few-ingredient salads and vegetables; a relatively bare-bones, extremely comforting chicken soup; a pot of simply braised meat. There is an ice cream sundae bar, which is less a recipe (and certainly not traditional) and more a reminder that you could maybe use an ice cream sundae. Most everything comes together quickly, though a few of the dishes take several hours to cook, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing now that we have a bit more time at home.
This piece was always going to be less about the ritual of Passover, and more about the ritual of cooking a celebratory meal, period. (My memories of Seder growing up are fuzzy at best — I grew up half-Jewish, and while we celebrated some years, it wasn’t until I moved to New York and started attending the annual Seders of my friends and their families that I became attached to the holiday.) Not to get too earnest, but celebrating literally anything feels essential right now. Like getting dressed in real pants to work from home or putting on lipstick to do yoga in my living room, I don’t need an excuse (or even a holiday) to make a more-elaborate-than-necessary dinner, and I don’t think you do, either.
Maybe you can’t invite anyone over, and maybe it feels too sad to cook these things alone, so you make a box of macaroni and cheese instead. That’s fine! Great, even. You can still set the table, burn a few tealights and take a minute to breathe. Put your phone away. Read aloud from your favorite short story, a family prayer book or collection of poems you love. Think of the things you’re grateful for. Doing any one of these things for yourself can be a small but significant thing that can have great returns for your mental health.
So, pick one recipe, or make them all. Cook them with your partner, or alone-together with friends via Zoom, and laugh about how weird (but also kind of fun) that is. Use the substitutions suggested throughout to make the recipes work for your kitchen and what you have. Freeze the leftovers or give them away to nearby neighbors in a way that feels safe. Just keep cooking, because right now, we could all use a little matzo ball soup.
If you make one thing from this menu, please let it be this matzo ball soup — Jewish penicillin, as my late grandpa referred to it. There is no perfect matzo ball archetype (dense sinkers vs. fluffy floaters, medium vs. large), but know that I am a people-pleaser and have tried to give you the best of every world. Greater than the sum of its parts, its success hinges on three very simple components: chicken broth (golden brown, deeply savory, lightly seasoned), matzo balls (tender, eggy, schmaltzy dumplings) and garnish (celery and fresh dill, lots of it). A true cure-all, emotionally speaking, it is both a very good way to start a meal and a very good meal unto itself. If this is your main event, it’s also nice to augment it with a variety of noshes: half- or full-sour pickles, halved jammy eggs, some matzo spread with softened butter topped maybe with some anchovies, whitefish salad or chopped liver.
I’m just guessing here, but I feel like “chopped liver” will never be my most popular recipe. I do love to eat it, and for those who feel the same way, “Hello, nice to meet you!” This recipe is particularly simple, just the livers, salted and quickly seared in schmaltz until still pink inside, chopped with quickly sizzled shallots (or onions) and a bit of reduced wine. It’s not much to look at, but at least one of you will become a fan after spreading this funky, savory mixture onto a salted matzo with a sprinkle of parsley and lemon juice. (I’m hoping that person is you.)
View the recipe in NYT Cooking.
Tradition is a beautiful thing, unless it requires you to make something you don’t enjoy making or eating. For me, that’s charoset. Classically, it’s an apple-walnut mixture, occasionally with a touch of cinnamon or dried fruit, or a combination, that ranges from chunky-relish to chunky-paste, and it’s never been my favorite thing on the table. I’ve always wanted it tangier, crunchier and, well, I wanted a salad. This is that salad. It’s meant to be more acidic than sweet, but adjust with vinegar and honey as needed to suit your preference. A note: Nearly everyone who ate this salad said it was their favorite part of this whole meal, which bruised my matzo ball ego, but I thought you should know.
I have always been the one at the Seder table to finish my sprigs of parsley dipped in salt water (done during the Seder to represent tears shed), and then ask my neighbor to the left, “You going to finish that?” What can I say, I love everything about parsley: the sturdy, leafy texture; the almost bitter, verdant flavor. And I think a well-salted, excessively lemony bowl of it is something that most tables could benefit from, especially if those tables include braised pots of red meat.
View this recipe in NYT Cooking.
Possibly one of the few occasions when crowding the skillet is a good thing, this recipe calls for carrots cooked in fat — schmaltz, olive oil, butter — with a pinch of something spicy — red-pepper flakes, cayenne, even hot paprika — and sort of half-steamed on top of one another until they’re just tender. (No mushy carrots here, please.) At the end, they are seasoned with a bit of finely grated or chopped garlic off the heat, which quiets the garlicky punch without extinguishing it entirely. They’re maybe the most simply cooked carrots imaginable, but similarly to a sandwich cut into triangles, the fact that they are sliced into rounds makes them taste above-average delicious.
View this recipe in NYT Cooking.
At its core, kugel is a casserole. It comes in both savory and sweet varieties, often made with egg noodles and vaguely sweetened. This version, made with potatoes, is decidedly salty and savory, with onions in the mixture and chives to finish. It can best be described as something between a Spanish tortilla and a giant latke: The potatoes are shredded, not sliced; there are eggs but no flour; and it’s got crispy edges and a creamy interior. Sounds dreamy, doesn’t it?
View this recipe in NYT Cooking.
No tomato paste, no wine, these short ribs are seared, then braised in a tangy, savory liquid made from browned onions and garlic, vinegar, a touch of soy sauce for salty depth and an important but almost imperceptible dab of honey. No, it’s not brisket, but that’s kind of the point. I’m not trying to be contrarian, but I feel like if you’re going to spend the money and go through the trouble of braising a cut of meat for three-plus hours, it may as well be the best kind. And I think short ribs are the best kind: I find them to be more accessible, affordable and available year-round. (These recipes live forever, you know.)
View this recipe in NYT Cooking.
Black-and-White Sundae Bar
This is selfish, but after cooking an entire meal and eating a plate of short ribs, the last thing I want is cake, no matter how flourless or chocolaty. But you know what I do want? Ice cream, preferably drizzled with bittersweet chocolate sauce that hardens upon contact (magic shell!) and salty, creamy, nutty caramel. While this is a great thing to do for any number of people, I can speak from personal experience that you do not need to have anyone at the table (or in your home) to enjoy this. A personal ice cream sundae is one of life’s greatest pleasures, up there with the first day of denim jacket weather and going to bed before 9 p.m.
