Latkes

I'm half-Jewish, courtesy of my father (my mother is of Methodist stock), and as such, I get to participate in the major holidays of both religions, from Easter to Yom Kippur, Hannukah and Christmas. I'm not a religious man, but I truly enjoy the ritual of holidays and relish the time spent with family, especially those family members who live in the far-off reaches of the country.

This time of the year, is the time that I'm treated to one of my most favorite of holidays: Hanukkah. Sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas, my dad, stepmom, brothers, aunts and uncles, and cousins gather at my Bubby's house in suburban Cincinnati, and we drink some kosher wine (which can be decent, despite its reputation), eat chopped beef liver (I'll pass), and down platefuls of latkes.

What are latkes? Latkes are basically Jewish hashbrowns, bound by egg, and fried in copious amounts of oil. They're delicious, filling, and awful for you. As a child, I held the title of Prince Latke – I could eat my share and more. No wonder I was more on the pudgy side in my youth. Every Hanukkah, my Bubby tells me, "Since I knew you were going to come, I made extra latkes, just for you." I don't nearly gorge myself on the potato pancakes as much as I did as a child, only because I like to fill my plate with additional sides, but I still like to pack them in.

How do I like them? Hot, of course, with some apple sauce on the side for a bit of sweetness. I'll even put some ketchup on the plate – since my grandmother's house is a bit untraditional, this practice is not looked upon with any sort of mockery or derision. I'll pile them high, without taking an undue amount, and devour them with grunts and squeals (yes, truly!) of pleasure.

I do need to get the recipe for my grandmother's potato pancakes, because as any person of Jewish descent will attest, no matter their degree of belief, it is their own Bubby's latkes that are the absolute best. Sometime I'd like to make my own for those cold, lonely nights in Chicago, and nothing beats the blues better than fried potatoes.