September / october 2006:

An ode to kugel
However you bake it, kugel just isn’t sexy. But my non-Jewish ex-boyfriend who makes kugel? Now that’s a different story.

by Tina Barry



Kugel is not a sexy word. Carpaccio, with its rolling vowels is sexy. Bouillbaisse, with its whiff of the French seacoast is sexy. Kugel though, is too haimish, too redolent of grandmothers past and present to evoke more than a feeling of fullness.

Saying the dish isn’t sexy is by no means a criticism. Not if you’ve consumed some of the weird stuff I have as a restaurant critic here in New York (a ricotta cheesecake doused with Balsamic vinegar — one of those unfortunate affectations that chefs here are enamored with at the moment — comes to mind). Than you’d understand that something safe and predictable can be a pleasure. Kugel is your best friend; it’s flannel sheets with matching pajamas; it’s dependable — not sexy — and I love it for just that reason.

I had a boyfriend, Chris, a while back, who was sexy. Chris, as you’ve probably deduced (that name is a giveaway), wasn’t Jewish. Chris knew his Rothkos from his Pollacks, could discuss foreign policies like the best political pundit, but when Chris said “salad” he meant iceberg lettuce and the dressing was always bottled. If he ordered a sandwich in a deli it was on white bread, and if we went to a restaurant, he wanted his steak medium-well, a sin in my book. Chris, as it turns out though, was a bit of a kugel aficionado.

After a few dates, Chris asked me to come over for a home-cooked meal. I thought the gesture was sweet, but envisioned a plastic card table cluttered with jars of mayonnaise and ketchup, a few bottles of beer and a charred sirloin taking center stage. I was correct except for the beer; he decided to “go fancy” and pour wine coolers. And, he offered a big surprise: Chris baked a kugel.

“What is that?” I asked when he brought the dish to the table. I thought it was a kugel, but how could such a thing emerge from his oven?

“It’s a kugel,” he said. Indeed it was, and not a bad one either. Chris’ neighbor, Mrs. Golden, who lived next door to his family when he was a child, gave his mother the recipe. And Chris’ mother, who looked, at least in the one photo he kept of her, like the Church Lady on Saturday Night Live, liked it enough to serve it frequently. Usually with a ham or pork roast.

Which brings me to the subject of sweet and savory kugels. Like Chris and I, kugel lovers come in two camps: The largest and most vocal being those who prefer their noodles like Mrs. Golden’s, somewhat sweet, and the minority who prefer their casseroles on the savory side. I’ve had kugel both ways, and while either style is welcome on any holiday table of mine, it’s the kugel seasoned with salt and pepper, one made with loads of slowly caramelized onions, that calls out to me.

Here’s a refresher course on kugel, hereby known as kugel 101: Kugel means pudding. It isn’t the pudding one makes over the stove and eats for dessert. It’s a baked dish. I’ve been to Passover Seders where the kugel is referred to as delicate, but the person throwing around the adjectives is referring to flavor, not heft. It’s almost always on the substantial side; any kugel deemed “light” is an oxymoron. It can be made with noodles or potatoes, raisins and cottage cheese, sometimes sour cream, fruit and eggs, sometimes meat. The sweet versions are nice on the side of the dinner plate, pristine and untouched. The savory kind begs for a splash of brisket gravy.

There will be plenty of gravy hitting the plates on my Rosh Hashanah table this year. I’ll be baking my kind of kugel that will have lots of those oily onions. My sister will bring her favorite kugel, which will be less dense than mine and a whole lot sweeter. She’ll dutifully taste mine, and I’ll take a forkful or two of hers, and when I do I’ll think of Chris. I hope he’s happy somewhere with a wife and a few kids, a ham every Sunday, and, of course, Mrs. Golden’s kugel.


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