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Eggplant with Greek Yogurt Sauce. Image by Katherine Romanow.

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Lemon Lavender Yogurt Cake. Photo by Katherine Romanow.

It's about yogurt, too!

A holiday that requires the consumption of dairy is a great thing. I love dairy. Its addition makes most dishes that much better, adding a richness that's hard to get from anything else.

Cheese dishes are usually the stars of the Shavuot table, but as I was thinking about what I wanted to make this year I began to think about yogurt. Yogurt is definitely underrated when it comes to this holiday, perhaps because it is a healthy food that isn’t generally associated with celebrations or indulgence. But just like cheese, yogurt has the power to make a simple dish luxurious. (It also happens to be something I can eat without feeling the ill effects of my lactose intolerance.) On top of that, yogurt has a fascinating Jewish story.

Although yogurt is one of the most well-known cultured dairy products in North America today--just look at the huge selection available in any grocery store--this wasn’t the case until relatively recently. It has much older roots elsewhere. For example, yogurt was an important part of the culinary culture of the Ottoman Turks, who in turn spread it throughout their territory. Though it was unknown throughout the majority of Europe, yogurt was a staple in areas from the Balkans to India. One of its first introductions into European society came when a Turkish Jewish doctor used it to cure the intestinal problems of King Francis of France.

As a matter of fact, a Sephardic Jewish family played a major role in bringing yogurt to Western Europe and North America. Isaac Carasso, a Jewish physician from Salonika, moved to Spain, where he subsequently realized that many of his patients suffered from digestive problems. In order to treat these cases he began producing yogurt. He created a business, which he named Danone (this was the nickname given to his young son Daniel). After studying in Paris, Daniel Carasso expanded the company to this city, and soon took over the business entirely. During WWII, Daniel and a family friend brought the company to the United States, where it became known as Dannon, and in turn popularized yogurt on this continent.

I wanted to highlight yogurt in both savory and sweet dishes for this post, and these two recipes are both absolute winners! The eggplant recipe comes from one of my favorite cookbooks, Plenty by Yotam Ottolenghi, a book of “vibrant vegetables recipes.” The recipes in this cookbook bring together flavors that make the ingredients shine, and the eggplant dish is just one of many examples. Each of the ingredients in this dish are delicious on their own but come together to create something that is unbelievably delicious. This recipe is a perfect mix of Mediterranean and Middle Eastern flavors and happens to be just as beautiful to look at.

Simple yogurt cakes are one of the mainstays of my baking repertoire. They’re easy to make and a wonderful everyday cake to have around. Lemon is my favorite ingredient to flavor these cakes with, but I wanted to take it up a notch so I decided to add some lavender to the mix. These two flavors are a sublime combination; infusing lavender into the butter subtly suffuses the cake with its spicy, floral taste. The yogurt and the lemon syrup also make for a cake that stays wonderfully soft.

Whether you’re lactose intolerant like me or just want to try something new for Shavuot this year, these yogurt filled recipes won’t disappoint.

Eggplant with Greek Yogurt Sauce
Adapted from Yotam Ottolenghi’s Plenty

4 small and long eggplants or 2 large and long eggplants
1/3 cup olive oil
½ tablespoon pomegranate molasses (optional)
2 teaspoons thyme leaves
Sea salt and black pepper, to taste
1 pomegranate, seeds removed
1 teaspoon za’atar

Sauce

2/3 cup Greek yogurt
1 ½ tablespoon olive oil
1 medium garlic clove, grated on a microplane or finely chopped
A pinch of salt

1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees and line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Cut the eggplants in half, lengthwise, through the stem (you don’t want to eat the stem, it’s there for the look). Using a small sharp knife, make three or four incisions in the flesh of the eggplant without cutting through the skin. At a 45-degree angle, make another three or four incisions so that you end up with a diamond pattern.

2. Place the eggplants, cut side up, on the baking sheet. Brush the flesh of the eggplants with olive oil, until all the oil has been absorbed. Spread the pomegranate molasses over the eggplants. Sprinkle the thymes leaves, along with the salt and pepper over the eggplants. Roast the eggplants for 40 minutes, until they are soft and browned. Remove from the oven and allow to cool completely.

3. While the eggplants are in the oven, make the sauce by mixing all the ingredients together. Taste for seasoning and refrigerate until needed.

4. To serve, spoon the yogurt sauce over the flesh of the eggplant halves, sprinkle with za’atar and a lot of pomegranate seeds.

Lemon Lavender Yogurt Cake
Adapted from Darjeeling Dreams

½ cup of butter or 8 tablespoons
1 ½ tablespoons dried cooking lavender
1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup sugar
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 large egg
½ cup plain yogurt
Zest of one lemon

Glaze

Juice from two lemons
¼ cup powdered sugar

1. Butter and flour a 9-inch round cake pan, and set aside.

2. Cut the butter into cubes and place in a small saucepan over medium-low heat. Add the lavender. Once the butter has melted, reduce the heat to the lowest setting and let the lavender infuse the butter for 8 minutes. Watch the butter because you don’t want it to brown. Remove from heat and let cool for 5-10 minutes. Strain the melted butter through a fine-meshed sieved into a large bowl. Press down on the lavender to remove all the butter. Set aside.

3. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

4. In a small bowl, mix together flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

5. Mix the sugar, egg and oil with the butter. Add the yogurt and lemon zest, stir to combine. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and stir until just combined.

6. Pour the batter into the cake pan and bake for 25-30 minutes, until the cake is golden brown and a cake tester comes out clean. Let cool.

7. While the cake is baking, make the glaze by whisking together the lemon juice and the powdered sugar until smooth.

8. When the cake is completely cooled, brush the glaze gently over the cake. It will soak in like a syrup.

Ninety-one years ago today, journalist and playwright Lily Winner published an essay in The Nation entitled "American Emigrés." She wrote:

"Why has America the 'melting-pot' failed to Americanize? Why is Congress, in its hysterical weathervane fashion, passing bills to restrict immigration when, by casual inquiry, it could ascertain that the margin between arrivals of new people and departure of old, is so slight as not to fill the hearts of employing capital with boundless joy?"

Winner was an advocate not only for open immigration, but also for acculturation. She condemned the lack of programs to teach immigrants American manners and values and lamented the fact that many immigrants sent or brought American capital back to their home countries. Though her critique smacks of what we would today recognize as ethnocentric intolerance, Winner fought against the maltreatment of immigrant workers--a position that placed her squarely among the progressive voices of her time. (She was also an outspoken advocate of birth control!)

I have to wonder what would Lily Winner think of the various immigration discourses in America today.

I imagine she would oppose the 2010 legislation enacted in Arizona that makes the failure to carry immigration documents a crime and gives the police the authority to detain anyone they suspect of entering the country illegaly. As an advocate for the fair treatment of immigrants, I am inclined to believe she would see this as a civil rights infringement, opening the door to discriminatory racial profiling practices in the state.

As a advocate for women's reproductive freedom, I feel that Winner would have seen right through the "anchor baby" argument--a kerfufle that occurred in response to a proposed Arizona bill directly challenging the 14th Amendment's citizenship clause that grants the citizenship to anyone born in the U.S. Some Republicans believed that people were immigrating to the U.S. illegally and having children here in order to use their so-called "anchor babies" as a way to gain citizenship for the whole family. Of course, Winner opposed restrictions on immigration, therefore invalidating the idea of "illegal immigration" all together. Additionally, she wanted immigrants to stay in the U.S. and contribute to the American economy. If anything, Winner might have welcomed the idea of "anchor babies" as a way to keep immigrants here and help them acculturate into American society.

And this week, I am particularly wondering what Lily Winner would make of the recent announcement that for the first time, racial and ethnic minorities make up more than half the children born in the U.S. As a supporter of the melting-pot idea, I imagine she might have some trouble with this news and all it implies. Particularly, she might not support the move from the melting pot to the "salad bowl" or "mosaic" or whatever metaphor for a pluralistic understanding of American manners and values you prefer.

Would Winner be uncomfortable with this new minority-as-majority American society? Would she rail against things like bilingual public education? Or would she be able to roll with the times, rise above the prejudice of her era, and remain a progressive voice on immigration in the contemporary world?

I'd like to think that she would. And I'd also like to think that some day, we'll have moved beyond the "hysterical weathervane fashion" of anti-immigration policy discourse in both Winner's time and ours.

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New York Times, May 17, 1902.

One hundred and ten years ago today, something surprising happened. Jewish immigrant housewives in New York City—concerned and angry about a sharp rise in the price of kosher meat from 12 cents to 18 cents per pound—launched a kosher meat boycott that lasted nearly a month, spread to several other boroughs of New York, sparked violent riots and arrests, and attracted much media attention before ending with the successful lowering of meat prices.

Unlike most other immigrant activists of the period, these boycotters were not young workers—they were housewives with children. Their average age was 39, and most had four or more children at home. Though women had historically been involved in popular protests around issues like food prices, the kosher meat boycott of 1902 stands out as a pioneering example of women’s strategic political organizing and effective use of local networks.

In early May of 1902, small butchers had responded to the skyrocketing price of kosher meat by boycotting the wholesalers (known as the Meat Trust) in an attempt to lower prices. But when the butchers settled with the Meat Trust without achieving a price reduction, housewives of the Lower East Side decided to take matters into their own hands.

Armed with the knowledge of their own consumer power and with the organizing tactics of the labor movement, they canvassed their neighborhood and succeeded in bringing thousands of women into the streets on May 15 to declare a boycott. The protesters broke into butcher shops, confiscated meat from customers, and engaged in violent clashes with police. Approximately 70 women and 15 men were arrested.

But these women were not simply angry, spontaneous rioters—they were political actors making strategic, planned calculations. Following the riot, the committee of women leading the boycott held a mass meeting to gather support and to strategize. On May 16, they went from house to house to organize their fellow housewives and to collect funds to pay arrest fines and reimburse customers whose meat had been taken in the riot. They set up pickets in front of each butcher shop. Rioting continued that day, and more than 100 people were arrested. The boycott spread to the Bronx and to Harlem, where local women took up the organizing of their own neighborhoods.

The Sabbath brought no rest to the boycott leaders. Not only did they use communal surveillance to enforce the boycott—checking the cholent pots of their neighbors for the banned meat—but they also went from synagogue to synagogue to plead their cause. Drawing on the custom that allowed interruption of the Torah service for a matter of social justice (a tactic that, IMHO, should be revived), the women came down from the women’s section, calling for support of the boycott.

By the following day, most of the kosher butcher shops had succumbed to the boycott and closed. The boycott had also spread to Brooklyn. That night, more than 500 women met to organize and strategize further, now under the name of the Ladies’ Anti-Beef Trust Association. The Ladies’ Anti-Beef Trust Association organized house-to-house patrols and surveillance of butcher shops. They assigned committees to visit labor union meetings and mutual aid societies and to plan cooperative kosher meat stores.

At this point, male communal leaders decided it was time to assert their own direction over the boycott. They gathered men representing synagogues, mutual aid societies, unions, and other organizations, and formed the Allied Conference for Cheap Kosher Meat, telling women to leave the fighting to them. Undeterred, women continued their tireless neighborhood organizing.

Overall, the boycott met widespread support throughout the community. Rabbis addressed it from their pulpits; crowds came to the courthouse to support the arrested women. The boycott received near-daily coverage in the New York Times and the New York Herald (though not all of it positive) and Jewish newspapers—both the socialist Forward and the Orthodox Yiddishes Tageblat—covered the boycott sympathetically. Labor unions lent their support, too.

The strike officially ended on June 5, 1902, and retail meat prices returned to 14 cents per pound. The Ladies’ Anti-Beef Trust Association disbanded, but the kosher meat cooperatives that had been established during the boycott continued to operate. The boycott had been a success, though its impact was not permanent—meat prices eventually began to rise again.

But the success of the boycott should not be assessed only in terms of kosher meat prices. The housewife boycotters modeled an approach to community organizing that set an important precedent, emerging to effective use again in the rent strikes of 1904 and 1907, and in the kosher meat boycotts of 1917 and 1935. They also helped broaden the conversation about labor activism to include housewives, women’s roles as consumers and domestic managers, and the power of informal neighborhood networks. The boycotters used explicitly political language in their fight: they referred to themselves as strikers, called those who broke the boycott scabs, and referred to freedom of speech when protesting police disruption of their gatherings. Despite difficult conditions, they sustained their activism and grew their organization over the course of several weeks. The important lessons the boycott taught about women’s political potential also likely shaped the political consciousness of their daughters, many of whom were working in the garment industry during the “Uprising of the 20,000” in 1909-1910.

I’ve had the pleasure of re-immersing myself in this story of the kosher meat boycott recently as I’ve been developing the newest part of the Living the Legacy social justice education project on Jews and the Labor Movement (stay tuned for its launch in the fall!). More than 100 years later, we still need to be reminded that “workers” should include those in the domestic sphere, that housewives can be political, that there are fewer things stronger than neighborhood networks, and that sometimes, it’s even ok to interrupt the Torah service.

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Emily Kadar with her mother, Miriam Kadar, and sister Dorothy. Image courtesy of Emily Kadar.

Judaism is rooted in our people’s ability to tell a good story. From the Talmud to Yiddish folklore to Holocaust memoirs, the Jewish tradition and culture has survived because we do not hide our history. We share it and strive to learn from it and keep it alive through the generations.

My mother was a writer. But I also like to think of my mother as a storyteller in this Jewish tradition. She was not the gregarious center of attention, a joke teller or the life of the party. But people were drawn to her in a very special way, and would tell her things that I don’t think they would ordinarily share. She observed everything, picked up on minutia. As a kid riding the train into the city with my mom, we would look at our fellow passengers and try to figure out where they were headed, creating elaborate life stories for them. At my request, she would often tell me tales from her own life, stories from the “olden times.” I loved to lie in bed next to my mother as she told me about her adventures with her brother as a kid growing up in Yonkers or her long walks in the snow to her job at a diner in an Upstate New York farm town. I learned the names of her childhood friends, ex-boyfriends, old teachers, former colleagues, as if they were characters in a favorite book.

I have piles of my mother’s old journals and notebooks from creative writing classes, filled with those memories and fiction and poetry and a lot in between. Stories about her parents, my father, my sister and me, everyone given aliases, the details tweaked, personalities blended and shifted and turned into something entirely new. My mother had the slightly morbid habit of reading the obituaries section of the local paper every day, on the look-out for interesting journeys and funny names that she could use in her writing. Occasionally I’ll come across a character name in her notebooks and recognize it as one of those obit finds.

She wrote less in the last six years of her life. Cancer and chemo zapped her energy, and she had to ration what little she had left for spending time with those she loved or just doing the nitty gritty life stuff that doesn’t stop when you’re sick. About one year after she was diagnosed, she wrote a pretty great essay about her weekly treatments at the oncology office, and a friend from temple with some connections tried to get it into The New York Times Magazine. They rejected it: not funny enough. Cancer’s hard to take without a few jokes thrown in.

I miss my mom. I often feel like I’m stumbling through my twenties, trying to figure out my career and love and life without the guidance of the person who knew me best. So I find myself thinking about her stories often. They’re guideposts to me, bits of posthumous advice. That was probably not her intention 20 years ago, racking her brain for another story to tell her endlessly curious little girl. But I am so glad that she did. Like so many before her, she shared her history with me. And I will learn from it, and try to grow from it, and hopefully share it someday, too.