by Gil Marks
Every Friday morning, Sephardic housewives assembled a pastida, consisting of two layers of a rudimentary puff pastry or flaky pastry baked in a special large earthenware dish with a lid. Meat fillings were almost always lamb, but fish was also widespread. During the spring and summer, seasonal vegetable fillings, commonly mixed with cheese, were frequently substituted for the meat. After arranging the ingredients in the dish, the lid was secured and the pastida was placed in the family oven or taken to the communal bakery to partially cook. Before the onset of the Sabbath, the pie was retrieved, while the family's hamin/adafina (Sabbath stew) was placed in the oven to cook overnight. The pastida was set on a metal rack hung over the family's hearth to stay warm for Sabbath dinner.
By at least the twelfth century, the Sabbath double-crusted pie had made its way to the Ashkenazim of France, where it too was called pastida and became an integral component of their Friday night dinner. Rashi mentioned pastida a number of times, not only in his Talmud commentary, but also in his Responsa, in which he briefly explained how his wife made the dish. With a unique meat surplus in that region of Europe beginning around 1350, in the wake of the Black Plague, meat pies emerged as the primary form of the Ashkenazic pastida. The Frankfort rabbi Joseph Yuspa Hahn (1570—1637), in a book of collected local customs, related the tale of a local Jewish boy who was kidnapped by robbers and cried so pitifully on Friday night for his pastida that his location was discovered and he was ransomed.
Each Friday morning, medieval Ashkenazic housewives, similar to their Sephardic counterparts, prepared a dough of flour, water, goose schmaltz, and eggs. The 1553 German cookbook Das Kochbuch der Sabina Welserin contained instructions "to make a pastetentaig [pastry dough] for all auffgesetzten pasteten [shaped pies]," providing a recipe comparable to the dough and techniques used by Ashkenazim for their pies, a form of flaky pastry. Ashkenazic cooks greased a special earthenware casserole dish with schmaltz; pressed a layer of dough over the bottom and sides; spooned in a mixture of ground meat or fish seasoned with onions, garlic, and spices; and topped the filling with another layer of dough. Udder was a particularly popular filling. Alsatian Jews also baked chopped goose liver in pastry as a variation of pastida, not unlike the later Alsatian pâté en croute. The lid of the casserole dish was secured and the pastida was baked in the family oven or, more likely, taken to the communal bakery and baked alongside the pies of neighbors. Before the onset of the Sabbath, the pie was placed on a metal rack hanging over the family's hearth. The embers of the fire kept the pie warm until it was eagerly devoured for the Sabbath dinner.
Around 1550, the Sephardic scholar Rabbi Joseph Caro, in his Shulchan Arukh, stated, "It is permitted to kasher with fire a metal pan in which a cheese fluden [double-crusted pie] was baked and afterward bake in that pan a pastida of meat." He also ruled that although usually the benediction over a dish like pastida would be mezonot, since it was a special food typically eaten at meals and not as a snack, the benediction of Hamotzi was necessary. Rabbi Moses Isserles of Kraków, Poland, in his glosses on the Shulchan Arukh, stated, "Some have written that in a few places [among Ashkenazim] they have the custom on Friday night of eating a dish called pastida in commemoration of the manna which was covered above and below," reflecting the absence of pastida in at least Galicia (southern Poland) at that time. In the seventeenth century, Rabbi Hayim Benveniste (1603—1673) of Salonika and Izmir, a scion of a prominent Sephardic family, in his comments on the Shulchan Arukh, declared, "In our country we do eat it."
Indeed, Sabbath pies soon waned in the Ashkenazic repertoire, partially due to a meat shortage striking Europe around 1550, as well as to the culinary patterns of eastern Europe that were quite different than that in the west. Some Ashkenazic places and families retained the dish. Hayim Nahman Bialik, one of the pioneers of modern Hebrew literature, mentioned it in his 1915 short story "The Shamed Trumpet." He wrote, "For such a Sabbath, when a full minyan permitted the reading of the Torah from the Scroll, mother would prepare an extra pastida in advance." For most Ashkenazim, however, kugel supplanted the venerable pastida on the Sabbath table.
After the concept of the turnover reached Iberia and entered the Sephardic consciousness, large pies lost some, but hardly all, of their prominence, as the smaller empanadas and later borekas emerged. Today, Sephardim still enjoy a variety of savory pies—large, small, and miniature. Double-crusted pastries are popular as Sephardic Sabbath appetizers, as well as at many celebrations.
Although for nearly half a millennium, the pastida was absent from most Ashkenazic kitchens, in modern Israel it underwent a major and unexpected revival. The letter at the end of the word became hey instead of aleph, the pronunciation changed from pastida to pashtida, and the term came to denote a baked casserole akin to a quiche and kugel. A modern pashtida filling must contain eggs, and many variations include cheese and various vegetables. In some pareve adaptations, mashed potatoes are substituted for cheese; other versions, harking back to the original dish, even contain meat. Many Israeli cooks, to avoid the extra work and/or calories, even omit the pastry, although the resulting dish is technically a fritada. The typical Israeli hotel breakfast features a sweet cheese pashtida, while dinner might include a savory vegetable version. Many Israeli restaurants offer pashtida, sometimes crustless, as a side dish. Pashtidas are sold in many bakeries and shops. Homemakers, Sephardic and Ashkenazic, whip one up for a Sabbath side dish, as well as for a light entrée for a weekday meal. A pashtida with cheese is commonplace on Shavuot. Even some Americans who spent a little time in Israel have taken to preparing pashtidas back home.
Many Israelis now use the term pashtida instead of kugel, the name of the dish that had so long ago replaced it. After more than a millennium and many ups and downs, pashtida remains an important and beloved Jewish food.
(See also Boreka, Crostata, Fluden, Inchusa, Mina, Pastelito, and Pastilla)
Pastilla
Pastilla is a rich phyllo-dough pie, once filled with pigeon, but today generally features chicken.
Origin: Morocco
Other names: bastal, basteela, bastilla, basteya, bisteeya, pastel, pastille.
Among the variations in spelling of the Sephardi pastel, a savory pie made with a short pastry, was pastilla (the Latin feminine form of pastillus, "little loaf"). Sephardim brought pastilla to Morocco and, after the Ottoman version of phyllo, called warka ("leaf"), reached the Maghreb, cooks substituted it for the Spanish pastry. Sephardim continued to pronounce the name with a p, while Arabic speakers substituted a b. The pie was baked or, for those without access to an oven, adapted to be fried in a large skillet. With the advent of the home oven, baking has become the predominant means of cooking pastilla. In America and Israel, phyllo sheets are generally substituted for the thicker warka.
Since pastillas are labor-intensive, they are reserved for special occasions and, in Morocco, no diffa (feast) or celebration—especially Sukkot, representing the bounty of the harvest, Hanukkah, and weddings—would be considered complete without this elaborate pastry. Squab—a young pigeon—is the traditional meat filling, although chicken is a more available modern substitute. The poultry is cooked, shredded, seasoned with the traditional Maghrebi spice mixture, ras-el-hanout, mixed with a thick egg sauce, and layered with ground almonds. It is traditionally baked in a t'bseel (round tin-lined copper pan), but a large baking dish or paella pan can be substituted. Like many Moroccan meat dishes, pastillas tend to be a little sweet. In Fez, cooks add more sugar to the filling and sprinkle the finished pie with confectioners' sugar and a lacework of cinnamon. Pastilla takes a little work to create, but the end result—a delicious filling sandwiched between delicate layers of crisp, flaky pastry—is well worth the effort.
(See also Pastelito and Warka)
Moroccan "Pigeon" Pie (Pastilla/Bastilla)
8 to 10 servings
[MEAT]
Chicken Layer:
¼ cup vegetable oil
2 large onions, chopped
2 to 3
cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon ground black pepper or 12 whole black peppercorns
1 teaspoon ground coriander
½ teaspoon ground turmeric
½ teaspoon saffron strands, crumbled
1 (3-inch) cinnamon stick or ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
About 5 pounds chicken parts (breasts, thighs, and legs)
4 cups chicken broth or water
½ to 1 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley or cilantro, or ½ cup each
6 large eggs, well beaten
Almond Layer:
1 2/3 cups (8 ounces) blanched almonds, toasted (or deep-fried in peanut oil) and cooled
¼ cup sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1½ teaspoons orange-blossom water or 1 tablespoon rose water (optional)
10 sheets phyllo dough or warka
About ¾ cup vegetable oil or melted margarine
About 3 tablespoons confectioners' sugar for sprinkling
1 to 2 tablespoons ground cinnamon for sprinkling
1. To make the chicken layer: In a large pot, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the onions and garlic and sauté until soft and translucent, 5 to 10 minutes. Stir in the ginger, pepper, coriander, turmeric, saffron, and cinnamon and sauté for 1 minute. Add the chicken and toss to coat. Add the broth and parsley. Bring to a boil, cover, reduce the heat to low, and simmer until tender, about 40 minutes.
2. Remove the chicken. Strain the cooking liquid. You can reserve the solids and add to the reduced liquid or discard the solids. Place the cooking liquid over high heat and reduce to about 1 cup, about 20 minutes. Meanwhile, remove the meat from the bones and shred; you should have about 5 cups.
3. Whisk the reduced liquid into the eggs. If desired, add the strained cooking solids. Cook, stirring constantly, over low heat until the mixture thickens, about 5 minutes. Pour into a bowl and let cool.
4. To make the almond layer: In a food processor fitted with a metal blade, finely grind the almonds, sugar, and cinnamon. Add the oil and, if using, orange- blossom water. Set aside.
5. Preheat the oven to 425°F. Lightly grease a 10- or 11-inch round baking dish, springform pan, or ovenproof skillet.
6. Line the prepared dish with a sheet of phyllo, draping the excess over the edge. Brush lightly with oil. Repeat layering and brushing with 5 more sheets, draping each in a different direction. Spread one-third of the egg mixture over the pastry in the pan. Mix another one-third of the egg mixture with the shredded chicken and pack into the pie. Spread the remaining egg mixture over top, then sprinkle with the almond mixture. Fold the pastry edges toward the center of the pie. Top with the remaining 4 sheets of phyllo, brushing each with oil, and tuck in the edges.
7. Bake until golden brown, about 20 minutes. Lightly sprinkle with confectioners' sugar, then sprinkle lines of cinnamon to form a diamond pattern. Let stand at least 10 minutes and up to 30 minutes before cutting into wedges.
Pastrami
Drying slices of meat is an ancient means of preservation. The Ottomans pressed slices of meat or fish to extract moisture and either salted or rubbed them with a paste called çemen (the Turkish word for "fenugreek") made from a mixture of spices, including fenugreek, cumin, garlic, and salt; they then air-dried the slices. The cured meat, called basturma (from the Turkish "to press"), was eaten with further cooking, like the American jerky, or added to various dishes. Basturma was introduced to the Balkans by the Ottoman Jannissari troops. As in Arabic, Romanian words are often spelled with a b but pronounced with a p; thus these cured dishes were called pastrami in Romanian. As with those earlier Turkish basturma, the Romanian meats were hard and chewy. Romanian Jews, in need of kosher dishes that could be taken on long trips and eaten during periods when fresh meat was unavailable, adapted this technique to various items ranging from beef to geese, adding more spices than their Turkish predecessors and calling the dish pastrama and pastirma in Yiddish.
Modern pastrami is a relatively recent American innovation—to be precise, it emerged in New York City. As with corned beef, in the late nineteenth century, the advent of artificial refrigeration allowed for the use of a weaker salt brine for curing, leading to the development of a softer form of pastrami. Modern pastrami is usually made from beef plate—also called deckle, belly, and navel—or a fatty part of a brisket. There is always more brisket because each cow yields two briskets, one from each side, but only one plate. Technically, the meat should be cured in a brine in barrels, although today it rarely is. Unlike corned beef, pastrami, after soaking in brine, is subsequently rubbed well with wine vinegar and a heady mix of spices—including allspice, bay leaves, cinnamon, cloves, coriander, ginger, juniper berries, paprika, pepper, and garlic. It is dry-cured for one to two weeks, then smoked at about 320°F for six or seven hours, and finally steamed or braised. The timing and temperature of the steaming translates into major differences in the quality of the finished pastrami; too little and the meat is chewy, too long and it falls apart. When properly cured and steamed, the result is soft, succulent, smoky, and spicy meat with a deep crimson color.
According to his family, a Lithuanian Jewish immigrant by the name of Sussman (née Zusman) Volk (d.1909) was responsible for popularizing pastrami in America. In 1887, Volk, a miller by profession, brought his wife and seven children to New York City and, after failing to find appropriate work, opened a tiny kosher butcher shop on Delancey Street on the Lower East Side. A Romanian acquaintance asked Volk if he could store a trunk in his basement for a few years while he traveled back to the Old Country. Volk agreed and in return, the Romanian gave his family recipe for pastirma to Volk. Volk began making and selling pastirma from his store and by 1888 was able to move to larger quarters nearby and open a store with tables and chairs, becoming the first deli to sell pastirma. In America, the Yiddish name evolved into pastrami (this change was probably influenced by the name of the better-known Italian salami). The earliest record of the word pastrami was in a kvetch about the high price of living in Syracuse, New York, in the January 16, 1916, Syracuse Herald. The writer complained, "They stick two cents a pound on pastrami or Frankfurters." The tone indicated that the term had been around for at least a little while.
Pastrami quickly became a staple of delicatessens and, stacked between slices of rye bread and spread with hearty mustard, an eminent sandwich filling. Pastrami remains far and away the best seller in any Jewish deli, well ahead of corned beef. According to aficionados, the true quality of pastrami depends on how it is sliced—proper handling yields juicy slices. However, because of the labor and time involved in producing true pastrami, few delis still make their own or properly carve it. Today, a handful of large purveyors along with some smaller ones make most of America's pastrami, typically injecting the meat with a syringe of brine rather than soaking it. Some also inject it with liquid smoke. Other companies, however, are willing to prepare batches according to an individual deli's recipe.
Beginning in the 1920s, because of the numerous Jewish delis in the vicinity of Times Square, pastrami along with other deli foods became identified with show business in New York and soon entered the mainstream of American culture. In March 1979, food critic Mimi Sheraton published in the New York Times the results of her taste test of 104 pastrami and corn beef sandwiches from the area's delis, reflecting pastrami's transition to gourmet status, or at least to that of foodie fare. As with many other ethnic foods they embraced, Americans sometimes adapted pastrami. The "Pastrami Dip," also called a "French Dip," was created in Los Angeles in the 1950s and consists of a slit French roll or hoagie bun that is dipped into gravy and then piled with pastrami; if both the upper and lower buns are moistened, it is a double dip. L.A. even has the pastrami burrito, wrapped in a flour tortilla, while grilled pastrami panini have also emerged.
(See also Corned Beef and Delicatessen)
Patsas
Patsas is a soup ma
de from the feet (trotters) of a lamb, sheep, or calf.
Origin: Turkey
Other names: Bulgaria: pacha; Greece: sopa de patsas, soupa patsas; Romania: ciorba de burta; Yemen: marak regal, regale.
Peasants in medieval Turkey relied on a simple, very murky, glutinous, and flavorful soup made from lamb's feet, also referred to as trotters, called paca corbasi, from the Turkish word paca (foot). Variations of the basic soup also include kell-paca corbasi (head and foot soup) and iskembe corbasi ("tripe soup"; tripe is the rubbery lining of the stomach of ruminants). The modern world generally finds the very idea of foot soup unappetizing or outright repulsive. Yet the dish was once considered a healthy and hearty poor person's meal. Indeed, the modern term for a dining establishment was coined in 1765 by a Parisian vendor who sold sheep's foot soup as a "restaurant" (restorative).
Foot soup eventually spread throughout the Caucasus, central Asia, and eastern Europe. The Persians picked up the dish, which they called kaleh pacheh (head and foot), from the Turks, and typically used the sheep's head (minus the brain) and tongue as well as the feet, and flavored the soup with fresh herbs and a squeeze of lemon juice. In the Levant and Egypt, the soup is typically cooked with chickpeas and known as kawareh bi hummus. Among the relics of the Ottomans' centuries-long control of the Balkans is foot soup. In eastern Europe, it gave rise to the jellied dish p'tcha. Non-Jewish Greek versions, although mistakenly referred to as patsas, are actually tripe soups, which sometimes include trotters as well. On the other hand, Greek Jews tend to include only or primarily feet in their patsas.
The popularity of Jewish patsas was strongest in the area around Salonika and, in particular, was a favorite of the dock workers of the once-vital port city in northeastern Greece, then part of the Ottoman Empire, who for several centuries had been overwhelmingly Jewish. Patsas is considered working person's food; it is consumed at any time of the day, and is especially popular as a cold-weather breakfast. It is often accompanied with flatbread and pickles, providing a filling meal before a long day of strenuous labor. The soup is usually enlivened with lemon juice or white wine vinegar and plenty of garlic. Patsas was not only weekday fare. The Jewish masses of Salonika added chickpeas and unshelled eggs to the soup, slow-cooked it overnight, and served it for Sabbath lunch.
