With the High Holidays coming up, Judy Bart Kancigor, author of Cooking Jewish, shares some of her favorite holiday memories and recipes.

To read an excerpt from Cooking Jewish, click here or scroll to the bottom of this post.

When I was growing up, my large, boisterous family would gather in my grandparents’ tiny apartment in Belle Harbor, New York, for the festive Rosh Hashanah meal. Papa Harry, a carpenter who had emigrated from Russia in 1906, would extend the dining table with boards reaching practically to the walls. The arrival of the aunties with their foil-covered dishes signaled the beginning of the holiday feast, a menu that seldom varied:

For the forshpeis (appetizer) Aunt Estelle’s homemade, lovingly shaped gefilte fish served with Uncle Lou’s horseradish, hand-grated on the back porch to keep out the fumes;

Aunt Irene’s golden chicken soup and ethereal matzoh balls, followed by Mama Hinda’s roast chicken and brisket with oven-browned potatoes and Aunt Sally’s tsimmes (sweet carrot stew).

The centerpiece of the table was Mama Hinda’s grand spiral challah, round for Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, a symbol of the endless cycle of life. Only for this holiday would she add raisins, a sweet embellishment to enjoy a sweet New Year.

Sweet notes echoed from the beginning of the meal, as all assembled dipped apples in honey, to the dessert platters wedged onto Mama’s groaning sideboard: Aunt Irene’s dark, dense honey cake, Aunt Estelle’s mile-high sponge cake, Aunt Hilda’s chocolate chip mandelbrot (twice-baked cookies), and Aunt Sally’s apple strudel and taiglach, crisp cookie balls slowly simmered in honey.

Over at the children’s table, a gaggle of cousins, raised practically as siblings, chattered, spilled soup, shouted, squabbled, hiccupped with laughter, fought over drumsticks, dropped crumbs, clamored for seconds, and ran around, as far as one could run in such tight quarters, until a withering look from one of the aunties brought a temporary attitude adjustment, and then it was back to the merriment.

Or so I’m told.

We were never there!

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From The New Spanish Table cookbook by Anya von Bremzen

I happen to love all anchovies—the salty kind that come in tins and jars, vinegary boquerones, fresh ones fried crisp and as compulsively eatable as popcorn—but I understand this puts me in a pretty small club. That said, I’m convinced that if more people only gave anchovies a chance, they’d realize these tiny fishies don’t deserve their icky reputation.

Canned anchovies are assertive in flavor, true, but if you think of them as a seasoning rather than as something to eat straight from the tin, you may be surprised at their ability to add salt and depth to a dish without fishiness. Don’t believe me? Throw in a fillet or two (they’ll disintegrate) when you saute the onion and garlic for spaghetti sauce. If you don’t mind a bit of fishy flavor, try my favorite panino: fresh mozzarella, anchovy fillets, and a sprinkle of red pepper flakes. You’ll definitely know the anchovies are there, but they’ll be mellowed somewhat by the milky cheese.

This CATALAN GUACAMOLE, from The New Spanish Table cookbook, puts an Iberian spin on a Mexican favorite, and is a fantastic showcase for anchovies’ intense, salty goodness. Sherry vinegar adds winey complexity as well as a touch of acidity. Flavorwise, this is a complete departure from the traditional guacamole I know and love. It is something I will definitely make again, though—probably the same night I try out my new paella pan.

CATALAN GUACAMOLE
2 small garlic cloves, chopped
2 best-quality oil-packed anchovy fillets, drained and chopped
3 tablespoons minced fresh flat-leaf parsley
1 large pinch coarse salt (kosher or sea)
1 1/2 tablespoons fragrant extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon sherry vinegar, preferably aged
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice, or more to taste
2 small ripe Hass avocados, pitted and diced
1 small ripe plum tomato, cut in half and grated on a box grater, skin discarded
Toasted or grilled country bread, for serving

1. Place the garlic, anchovies, parsley and salt in a mortar and, using a pestle, mash them into a paste. Whisk in the olive oil, vinegar, and lemon juice. Set the dressing aside.

2. Place the avocados in a bowl and, using a fork, mash them until completely smooth. Stir in the tomato and the dressing, then taste for seasoning, adding more lemon juice as necessary. Let the spread stand for 15 to 20 minutes for the flavors to meld, then serve with toasted or grilled bread.

Makes about 1 1/2 cups