Pesach part 2: Do You Love Matzo Brei...

As much as I do?

Around this time of year, when Pesach Seder is put away until next year, but you have days ahead of no bread-eating, only matzo. Your shelf is still full of matzo boxes and you no doubt have a good supply of eggs, perhaps from making Seder and/or baking Pesach cakes (most rise courtesy of whipped egg whites). Then, you might find yourself anywhere, maybe even in the kitchen, feel like you’re getting a message. You are: “Matzo Brei. Its time”.

Even though there are many many many things to make with matzo and its crushed siblings, matzo meal and farfel [I’m thinking about tacos/quesadilla of egg and melted cheese (the matzo acting as tortilla), matzo meal latkes, farfel granola, the Sephardic mina, which turns the soaked matzo into a crust for a meat pie, or one of my faves from my long ago life in Israel: a layered cake of matzo soaked in a sweet wine syrup, the whole thing covered in dark chocolate which hardens and turns the matzo cake into something like a large bon bon, only big, square and squat]. if you love matzo brei as much as I do, you’re probably not paying attention to any of this. You wanna brei, baby, matzo brei.

Of course you can eat matzo brei all year round,any time you like (except for Yom Kippur, obviously) but it tastes best, almost magically festive, at Pesach. I wondered about this as a child, then asked my mother. Her answer was good: “Maybe the matzot are fresher then?” While it is true, they ARE fresher then the ones that have been sitting in your cupboard the past 10 months. By then, they are stale and not too appealing for simple snacking.

But at Pesach, the matzo is made specifically for the holiday, made to exactling specifications so that the matzo in your Pesach-approved box hasn’t been in contact with the water long enough to start to ferment and rise. This is what makes it Matzot for Pesach. The rest of the year this doesn’t matter, but at Pesach it is the core focus of the matzot, and matzot is one of the most important symbols of the holiday. Anyhow, yeah, at Pesach matzot is fresh.

A slab of fresh matzo is a joy: spread thickly with butter, or savoury toppings: piled with tuna or olive. egg and onion salad, chopped chicken livers and shmaltz, or sweet: jam and peanut butter, a mound of cream cheese, too much strawberry jam and sliced fresh strawberries. A few years ago at Pesach, my friend Shelly and I sat down to drink tea, a box of matzot, and a chunk of beautiful cultured butter on the table

We discussed the world, our hearts, tried to understand pressing problems; we drank the tea and ate the matzot with butter. It wasn’t until the butter was all gone, the matzo box was filled only with crumbs and the teapot was empty, that we got up from the table . Just so you know: I’m not one of those who will ever complain about eating matzot for 8 days.

But while freshness is crucial when you’re eating matzot plain or spread with stuff, and stale matzot isn’t, stale matzo actually makes great matzo brei. Even thick and cardboard-like matzo makes great matzo brei as I discovered this year when my homemade matzo, was…a bit of a disaster. It was at least kosher for Pesach seder, but not good with butter. Forget tuna.

Who knew it would make TERRIFIC matzo brei? But it did, oh did it ever.

It doesn’t answer the question as to why matzo brei tastes better at Pesach though. There is the fact that you can’t eat bread, so no croissants or toasted pain levain. And we probably haven’t had matzo brei in awhile so the first panful feels like a party!

Each year I try to stay away from matzo brei in the month or two leading up to Pesach for just this reason. Each year I fail, of course. If there is matzo on my shelf, I’m always ready to grab a bowl, crack a few eggs, and heat my frying pan. If you love matzo brei too, you understand.

Photo above is my own, yesterday morning’s, matzo brei. Scrambled and browned into tiny nuggets and larger chunks. I like mine savoury: salted like popcorn! (and eaten with my fingers, if you please).

But what exactly is matzo brei, those who don’t know it might ask.

At its most basic, matzo brei consists of matzo, eggs, liquid for soaking, and fat for frying/ There are a million ways to make it—the way you grew up eating it; the way you developed it in your adult kitchen; the daring additions you add to make it your own. I’d like to say that my matzo brei is amazing, but the truth? Whichever matzo brei you grew up eating or have gravitated to in adulthood, THAT is the most amazing one of all, is your own, honed through your life (so far), the matzo brei that you taste and go: “ahhhhhhh.”

For such a simple recipe there are countless variables and variations. To start off with: some soak in water, others soak in milk. I soak in water. Milk-soakers often add other ingredients such as cinnamon and vanilla, a little honey or sugar. But to clarify: soak means only a quick run under the faucet, or bath in a bowl, then drained. So its not really a SOAK soak. You just get them wet. Except: some milk-soakers like a several minute soak, for the matzo to absorb more of the sweet liquid. Then pour the last of the soaking milk over the matzo brei when it hits the hot frying pan. All rules have an exception. And wait! I forgot to mention the temperature of the liquid: some like cold, some like hot. Its like French toast that way. Onward.

The ratio of matzo to egg is the next crucial part of concocting this dish: some use 1 matzo for 1 egg. Some use 1 matzo for 2 eggs. I like 2 matzot for 1 egg. (You can use an egg substitute for a vegan matzo brei). The more egg (or its equivilant), the more custardy the matzo brei; really good for sweet matzo brei, less so (I feel, its all subjective and personal when it comes to matzo brei). I am sure it has a lot to do with how you grew up eating it: the first time I tasted it custardy, I was disturbed by the experience. My whole perception of the world was given a jolt. A nasty jolt. I felt disoriented; my world was suddenly unpredictable.

Anyhow, with less egg, the matzo has a tendency to break up in the pan and form crisp little kernals of browned, crunchy, joy along with the larger chunks of tender fried matzo-egg mix. I have been known to keep out a piece or two of matzo and crumble it in after the egg, to encourage even more crunchiness when it browns in the pan.

As I love it crunchy crispy broken up, others love it more fritatta like: one big pancake of soaked matzo bound with egg, flipped or broiled on top, so that all edges are browned and golden, insides deliciously soft. Some like it pancakes style too, but more like the kind of pancakes you can pile up on your plate, diner-style and flood with maple syrup.

With the form decided, there is the other major consideration: sweet or savoury. This is as important as to whether you like it crispy or pancake-style. I used to think that pancake style was better for sweet matzo brei, then someone served me a pancake style matzo brei rich with shallots, and that was a formative experience. Since then I’ve got on to add ramps/wild garlic to my matzo brei on the rare times when I made it pancake style. I still prefer scrambled and crisp with my savoury. Yesterday I was musing over matzo brei thoughts and wondered how crisp scrambled chunks would be not savoury but rather sprinkled with light brown sugar the last few seconds and tossed in the hot pan to sort of caramelize. You want to try it or should I?

To those who like it sweet, each has his or her favourite: syrups, jams, marmalade, honey, fruits (mmmmmm strawberries! raspberries!) , even chocolate chips to melt in when they are hot out of the pan. Sour cream, sweet pistachio paste, nutella, perhaps some butter mixed with powdered sugar and finely chopped, candied ginger? Whipped cream? Oh, why not.

Next big decision is frying fat. If you keep kosher, you’ll think twice about using butter or shmaltz (chicken fat), as you’ll need to alter which pan you use, and when you eat it, milchig (a milk meal) and fleishig (a meat meal) wise.

Though my first husband was a butter-fryer, I prefer oil, or, if I have it: chicken shmaltz. Both let the character of the matzot-eggs mix shine through.

I could write a whole book about matzo brei, thats how much I love it. Our family called it “fried matzo” because we were Americans, and though the grandparents generation spoke Yiddish (and I absorbed far more than they thought I had, or should), for us kinderlach, it was English. Fried matzo.

And it has been a bff (best food friend) through my life. As a child I awoke each Sunday in my grandmother's house; she was simmering and frying, having gotten up early to make breakfast for my brother and I. We always asked for fried matzo, and she served it with a side of crisp bacon—sssh, pretend you didn’t hear this. [So crisp, she couldn’t believe could be bad, or treyf (unkosher, totally forbidden)].

When I left home I took matzo brei with me, and it was the comfort dish I, a divorced mother, made for my daughter when she was growing up. It was the favourite snack of beloved pooches Jake and Lambchop, who would sit up and beg for little morsels of matzo brei.

It was and now is again, the dish I make when I need to be soothed reassured, as well as sustained. There was a period of time however that matzo brei made me cry, and sometimes throw up, and transport me to an isolated island of sadness. But: I’ll tell you about in a different posting. I want to keep the joy of fried matzo going here. And the happy part is: that as sad as that time was (and it was years, absolute years), Marlena and matzo brei have reunited. And it feels so good. Once again, it is my grandmother-given happy meal.

Some say that matzo brei is an aquired taste and I’ve seen this with my own eyes. You can read in the link below how I tried to introduce a ninety year old to its joys; she was so enthusiastic about tasting this dish she had heard about, but a bit disappointed at its actual taste (and heft). http://www.sfgate.com/food/rovingfeast/article/Memories-are-made-of-sturdy-matzo-pancakes-2566573.php

English husband wasn’t crazy about matzo brei either when I served him his first plateful; neither was he crazy about artichokes. It didn’t take him long to be won over to team matzo brei, though he is still wary of artichokes.

If you love matzo brei as much as I do, you’ll probably never get tired of it as it is, at its most basic same old same delightful old. But if you do get a little tired of it, and want to get adventurous in your matzo brei kitchen, why not get a little crazy? Embrace creativity! This year I did it with ramps/wild garlic (I picked these, in the photo below, this morning—also a handful of nettles in my basket)

[To make wild garlic matzo brei: Just add a handful of wild garlic leaves, finely chopped or cut into a chiffonade, to the soaked matzo-egg mixture, before frying; obviously this one is savoury, not sweet.]

Last year I headed to matzo brei savoury-ville with mushrooms—both fresh and dried. Here is the recipe.

Porcini Matzo Brei
Makes enough for two adults, supper or brunch

Serves 2

About 4 tablespoons olive or vegetable oil
1 large shallot or smallish onion, chopped
About 8 oz ordinary mushrooms, sliced or chopped, or an assortment of more exotic ones such as shiitakes, or whatever is on offer
1/4 (or a little corner of one) porcini bouillion cube, several pinches porcini powder, crumbled dried porcini, soaked in a little hot water, or small spoonful of porcini condimento (paste in a jar)—or any combination thereof
4 sheets of matzo
2 eggs
1-2 green onions, thinly sliced

In a hot frying pan, lightly saute the shallot or onion until they soften, then add the fresh mushrooms. Cook about 5 minutes or until the mushrooms are softened.

Sprinkle with whatever porcini-ish thing you have: if its the bouillion cube, use a paring knife to shred about half onto the mushrooms. Cover the hot mushrooms and onions with a lid, remove from heat, and set aside.

In a bowl break up the matzo and add cold water to cover; leave maybe 30 seconds then pour the water off. If you like your matzo brei softer inside, leave the water for longer, or even use hot water. Break the eggs into the bowl with the matzo and mix together well.

Return mushrooms to the heat, push to one side of the pan, add the rest of the oil and when the surface of the pan is quite hot, add the matzo egg miture. Let it first form a pancake, then break it up a bit, gradually adding and mixing in the mushrooms and onions. When the matzo scrambled, crisp and browned, and have become one with the mushrooms, its ready. Taste for salt and pepper.

Serve sprinkled with thinly sliced green onions.