Phyllis Cheskin

Many of my childhood memories center around food. With Jewish Hungarian and Dutch heritage, I was exposed to a wide range of culinary delights.  As an adult, I tried to replicate some favorites to share with my family.

My great grandmother Regina and her immediate family opened a matzoh-making business on the Lower East Side of New York in the late 1800s. By 1932, Horowitz Brothers & Margareten Company was using 45,000 barrels of flour and grossed over one million dollars a year. With a large extended family and a firm belief in sharing one’s good fortune, every Passover all related families would receive a carton of appropriate dried goods from the Long Island factory, to be used during the holiday period.  

The special side dish of “farfel” made in a pressure cooker was the perfect accompaniment to pot roast or chicken any time of year. However, all my attempts to make it never quite succeeded. “It’s easy,” my mother would say, and readily cook up a batch..  

One summer at our country cottage in Hunter, NY, my husband Howard, a scientist, offered to watch her cook farfel and write down all the steps.  How could we miss?

First, she sauteed chopped garlic and onion in vegetable oil. Then, in went the package of “toasted barley” (actually highly ground, pellet-shaped pasta) with water to cover. Over the next 15 minutes she stirred and tasted, adding salt, pepper, and bay leaf. Finally, she announced: “I’m done.” Howard beamed triumphantly: “I got it,” and disappeared outdoors. 

As the developing aroma wafted through the house, my mother returned to the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator door open. Looking over my shoulder, I witnessed the previous night’s leftover string bean liquid added to the pot!   Howard!!!…..

Over subsequent years I got better at making farfel, but it never tasted quite as good as my mother’s.