Chanukah wouldn’t be the same without latkes. Especially the first night.
This year, I tell myself, I’m going to get a head start. It’s Erev Chanukah (Hanukkah Eve). Most times, I’m rushing to make the latkes ready at the last minute, competing with the clock as to who can work faster. I just have to make it in time for candle lighting.
The kitchen is usually a big mess of eggs, grated potatoes, onions, and did I say eggs? The ingredients swims together in a big bowl, waiting for their turn. When it’s time to light, there’s some sizzling in the pan while I step away for lighting. But, there’s plenty that have still not made yet. And everyone wants to sit down to eat as soon as the candles glow.
This time, they’ll ALL be ready before candle lighting. Because hey, I’m just making latkes. And I can start a little earlier.
Chanukah falls out on Thursday evening this year. So Erev Erev Shabbat (the eve of Shabbat Eve, a.k.a. Thursday) – that’s when I do my cooking, because who has time to do it all on short Fridays? Shabbat dishes are bubbling away. The potatoes are stacked in a corner. Soon we’ll get to the latkes.
The clock strikes three. It’s early. I’m done with the Shabbat prep I wanted to do today, and next come the latkes. But it’s time to take the kids to their swimming lesson. So that’s first. There’s plenty of time. And anyway, the latkes will be cold if I make them this early.
Splashing and showering done. We return home and slump down onto the couch. It’s getting dark outside. But it’s winter; it’s not so late. Potatoes, I’m coming right for you.
“Mommy!” I hear the screech that makes my heart lurch. I need to make latkes now. “I’m hungry!” The kids are hungry. Swimming’s made them ravenous.
“I’m making latkes.” I almost sing it. For it must be really exciting. But his stomach is rumbling too loud. He takes off with an apple, and I finally grab the first potato.
The pile is growing nicely. The peels fly down like the feathers of an animal, shedding them so they can race undoubtedly faster. This one’s going straight to the grater.
My daughter comes in to ask if she can help. Her brother wants to as well. And so does the toddler. Everyone’s reserving their set of potatoes. The machine looks on, probably as frustrated as I am. Let’s just make latkes.
Finally it’s sorted. One kid has one potato more, but we’ve done the mitzvah discussion, the vatranus (giving in) discussion. It’s all ticked off for today.
The potatoes come out in little slivers. We pour it all into a huge bowl and the kids peer into it amazed. Everyone takes a turn, one by one. Because there’s only one ladder.
I rejoice silently. We’re so much closer to making those latkes. Next come the eggs. Oh no, the eggs! Everyone wants to help. I envision a sea of eggs floating over the kitchen floor, creating a slimy trail that will make our shoes slip and our noses wrinkle, for decades.
Time for Plan B. “Why don’t you all go prepare your menorahs?” I suggest, hoping they all take the bait. But, they’re all done already.
“We only had to put in one candle and the shamash!” What happened to deciding on the candle color? I ponder.
Luckily, Abba comes in just then and they all rush to get ready for shul (synagogue).
My hands work faster- crack, check, plunk, crack, check, plunk. I pour some oil into the pan and turn it on to warm up, with what must be a magical third hand. Salt and spices in, and a final good mix, and I start scooping them into the pan. Only five fit at once. I squish in a sixth.
Wait, I have a second pan. I scoop another six into that one and watch them. The clock seems to be teasing. The arms moving faster and faster. I’m going to win this race yet. I check the underside of each latke a few times too many.
By the time everyone’s home and jackets hung, there’s a large plate piled high with latkes. A few more waiting in the bowl and a few sizzling away.
They all run into the kitchen with their noses up high. “Mmmmm, latkes!”
We light, get plates, and everyone helps themselves. The pile gets lower faster than I can add to them.
They start playing a Chanukah game. I also want to play. I remember one particular birthday as a young child, I received a Chanukah games book. It was one of my most prized possessions. I’d pull it out each year, sitting in a circle with my siblings, following instructions as we spun our dreidels. I love doing so now with my kids too.
I remove the last latkes out of the pans, fill my plate and join everyone at the table. No one sees the mess I left behind. The latkes tickle my taste buds, the aroma fills the house. We sit by the candles, flickering proudly by the window, taking turns spinning our dreidels, while we enjoy a fresh supper – because, of course, I just made latkes.
Submitted by Elana Sotil
Elana is a creative writer whose fiction and non-fiction pieces have been featured in many Jewish publications. She also offers businesses marketing support as a copywriter and content strategist.
