Jake Cohen - Jew-ish

Follow us for book news, reviews, author updates, exclusive content, giveaways, and more.

Copyright 2021 by Jake Cohen

Photography copyright 2021 by Matt Taylor-Gross

Food styling by Barrett Washburne

Prop styling by Marie Sullivan

All rights reserved.

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to trade.permissions@hmhco.com or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

hmhbooks.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Cohen, Jake, 1993 author.

Title: Jew-ish : reinvented recipes from a modern mensch : a cookbook / by Jake Cohen ; photography by Matt Taylor-Gross.

Description: Boston : Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2021. | Includes index.

Identifiers: LCCN 2020036239 (print) | LCCN 2020036240 (ebook) | ISBN 9780358353980 (hardback) | ISBN 9780358354253 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Jewish cooking. | LCGFT: Cookbooks.

Classification: LCC TX724 .C538 2021 (print) | LCC TX724 (ebook) | DDC 641.5/676dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020036239

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020036240

Cover and book design by Mia Johnson

v2.0321

For Alex; this book is nothing short of our love story

introduction

excuse me, a re you jew -i s h ?

Secular Jews in America (my family included) have self-identified as Jew-ish long before using -ish in the title of just about anything became all the rage. Just a pause and a little extra stress on the -ish are enough to tell the world that while you may be Jewish by blood, youre not necessarily going to shul on Saturday, turning off your phone on the Sabbath, or saying no to a bacon cheeseburger.

Growing up, I didnt really have a strong connection with my Jewish identity. I was Jew-ish, and aside from the obligatory bar mitzvah, that was about it. In fact, after coming out at eighteen, I felt more connected to my queerness than I ever had to my Jewishness. As far as coming out stories go, I was one of the lucky onesI was fully embraced by my family and friends. Even though I had it easy, I quickly felt that living an openly, unapologetically queer life came with a certain responsibilitya sense of obligation to show queers living in not-so-accepting, or even dangerous, parts of the world that a normal life was not only possible, but something to fight for. Pride is something that has been ingrained in me, at least as it pertains to my sexuality.

I had never quite felt the same sense of pride in being Jewish, but I had never felt shame about it, eitherI felt as I think most young Jews in America do: indifferent. Most secular Jews living in America today have been lucky enough to be sheltered from hate. Thats not to say we arent aware of the atrocities that have happened to our community and how close to home they hit. And its not like antisemitism isnt still horrifyingly ubiquitous, and growing, todayit certainly is. But the day-to-day experiences of white, nonpracticing Jewish people in todays America are likely far removed from those of minority groups whose differences are more visible. This is probably why, when I was growing up, being Jewish didnt really feel like a big deal to me.

At the time I met my husband, Alex, we both identified as Jew-ish, but to varying degrees. I was what you would call a High Holiday Jew, the kind who comes out of the secular woodwork around Passover, Rosh Hashanah, and Yom Kippur to completely commit to temple, gefilte fish, and Manischewitz. Alex was what you would call a no-holiday Jew. He had grown up with a healthy dose of Jewish familial meshugas, but rarely celebrated High Holidays and didnt even get bar-mitzvahed. These were our individual narratives when we started dating, but together we decided that it was important to us to define what our Jew-ish practice would look like as a couple.

At one point, we even thought about joining a synagogue. We had already gone to a few High Holiday services together, and on each occasion, we had been moved by the sense of togetherness and the poetic, insightful sermons that ignited deep reflection. We thought that maybe by going to Friday-night services more regularly, wed not only become more connected to our Jewishness, but also build a community and a more thoughtful perspective on life. After giving services a try at a few different temples, though, we determined that synagogue wasnt for us. Thats when we started hosting Shabbat.

Shabbat became exactly the kind of space Alex and I were looking for to define our Jewish practice. Shabbat was about all the things we had been hoping to gain from synagogue, without the dogmatic subtext. It wasnt about spirituality, religion, or reciting Hebrew prayers. It was about taking a moment at the end of the week to pause and actively exercise gratitude, to strengthen and build our community, and to simultaneously do the one thing we enjoy mosteat.

Through hosting Shabbat, I found myself fostering a new appreciation for Jewish cuisine, and I began to adapt recipes from all across the Diaspora. I dedicated time to learning and perfecting the Ashkenazi dishes of my childhood, becoming increasingly confident in my brisket, matzo balls, and kugel. Alex is a Mizrahi Jew, and through his maternal family, I have been exposed to and able to absorb a mix of Persian Jewish and Iraqi Jewish culinary traditions, which are rich in fragrant rices, hearty stews, and cardamom-kissed desserts. Similar to those of Eastern Europe, many of these recipes have traveled long and far, surviving wars and persecution, to reach the surface of my Shabbos table. Beyond tackling and blending the dishes familiar to Alex and myself, Ive even adapted a number of Sephardic and Yemeni recipes foreign to us both, expanding our understanding of and appreciation for the diverse Jewish culinary traditions across the world.

Jewish food is constantly evolving. Its a cuisine largely composed of old-country dishes that have traveled with the Diaspora, marrying with the flavors of new places the Jews have settled, often as a result of fleeing persecution. New countries always came with new local culinary customs and the availability of new ingredients. The only constant was a desire to hold on to the food of our people, in whatever regional variation that becamewhether jalapeo-laced matzo ball soup in Mexico or maple-scented challah in Canada. All such dishes are still inherently Jewish and join the ever-expanding culinary lexicon of the Tribe.