Two Sides of the Family--One Building

Ah, then your mother must have had magic green fingers, Roberta!
She must have been so proud of herself.
A dracaena blooms in NYC.

There's a chance I figured out how to do this. Voila!

My brother:

I hate to break it to you Boida, but your brother appears to photosynthesize.

His flowers are interesting though.

What's wrong with photosynthesis? You some kinda small minded flora bigot? Never woulda thunk that of you, bunny.

The flowers looked better than they photographed.

I just wasn't sure if he'd Come Out to his family.

I imagine the best part of the flowers is the smell.....

Wow, Boidy, you have one heck of a good looking brother, flowers and all.

I loved the photo of you in the green coat. Yes, there is some shyness on your face but there is also a bit of, "I know I look good in this coat."

Also, the pic of you and your mother in the kitchen. The look on your face is priceless!

Oh, and I forgot to mention your gorgeous hair. Your face is the perfect shape for long hair.

Glad you showed up., Diane. And glad you like the looks of my brother. No family resemblance. (He was adopted.)

I am sometimes amazed at the attachments we make to things. Yes, I loved that coat. BIG TIME.

I chose the picture of my mother and me in the kitchen because it showed my long hair. However, it also reminded me that we could both have a good time together. We were obviously having some fun.

So, I was reading this thread again, for the I don't know how many times, and it hit me like a flash of lightning.

CHICKEN FAT!

I mentioned that my grandmother's matzo balls were delicious. Why? Chicken fat.

Chopped liver beyond delicious. Chicken fat.

Everything else. Chicken fat.

Chicken fat is also known as schmaltz. This word has other meanings. A music teacher might tell one of his students to play with schmaltz. Richness. Flavor.

Or a music critic might say that a concert was too schmaltzy. Too emotional and over the top.

But I digress.

Chicken fat is the key to traditional Jewish cooking. KEY.

My grandmother would save the fat from many chickens and render it. Then she would keep it in a plastic container and use it in all kinds of foods. Adding richness and flavor--and perhaps angina, artery and vein blockages, and who knows what else.

The stuff could kill ya, but it would be worth the trip to eat stuff with chicken fat in it.

Sometimes chicken fat was spread on a slice of bread and just eaten. In our very Jewish neighborhood it was possible to buy prerendered chicken fat in the supermarket. My grandmother fehed her nose at such things.

When the fat was rendered, there were little globules of fat that did not melt. These were fried. They were called gribbinis. (I have no idea if that's how you spell it.) When my grandmother announced that she had gribbinis, grown people would salivate and come begging. My mother's brother and my mother would fight over who would get the gribbinis. Yes, fried chicken fat. It's a miracle that either one of them lived past fifty.

I can't report on the gribbinis. I never got any. You can't for one moment believe that any of the adults in the room would spare one grib for the likes of me.

C'est la vie.

I'm sure that out there are cooks who at this very moment.are rendering and saving. Who are shmearing and cooking. Call me.

I was wanting to ask you or other cooks about chicken fat for quite awhile now. I broiled a bunch of chicken leg and thigh quarters a bit ago and saved all the rendered chicken fat. Have been using dabs of it in place of butter for flavoring things.

I was wondering what the shelf life is for it. Does it ever spoil or can you keep it forever until finally used up?

Butrflynet, This is the kind of thing you're better off asking Google. I don't remember the last time I had chicken fat, and I didn't know much about it anyway. But I do think it lasts a long time.

Indian gribbers?


That's so un-PC I love myself for it.

What a great post, she says, salivating.

I wonder about the badness of chicken fat. Rendered pork fat, lard, the real thing, not the hydrogenated stuff in the grocery store, is now considered not all so bad (while still being somewhat bad); I think it's considered better, though only slightly, than butter, as fats go.

In my house, I consider olive oil the cure; meaning, if I'm going to cook with bacon, which I don't often, but if I do, I'll have some olive oil in the recipe too. Then they can fight in my veins for fat receptors.. (I'm only half kidding.)

edit
Butrflynet, I just read your post. I don't know, but think it stays fine if refrigerated. I think I read that when googling, but don't trust me.

mmmmmm schmaltz

http://www.sadiesalome.com/recipes/schmaltz.html

kugel made with schmaltz, double mmmmmmmmm



my favourite ever episode of the Frugal Gourmet - guest Itzhak Perlman - talking about the wonders of schmaltz .... I hope it shows up on youtube someday

I helped my mom clean out her attic, and there were a bunch of my old things in there too. One was a sheaf of recipes in my own writing. Couldn't figure it out. Then actually read them (Chicken Soup, Matzo Balls, Borscht) and realized it was recipes of my grandmother's that I had transcribed (she explained, I wrote). "Fat" is a frequent ingredient. (I put "lard?" in the margins after one, I think I'm now more confident that she meant chicken fat.)

Can't wait to try to make some of these now that I have half a clue about how to cook. (They assume a working knowledge, which I didn't have when I did the transcription. No amounts or times or temperatures.)

And thanks to E.G. for encouraging me do that, it was his suggestion (some 19 years ago, shortly after we met).

Oh!

Let us know if you find it shows up.

I'd like reports if you start cooking. Schmaltz. You gonna make your own?

Loved the story about chicken fat. I once rendered chicken fat for a recipe (I can't remember what it was but I think it was from a Pennsylvania Dutch recipe book) in the early days of my marriage. So in the fridge -- a container of chicken broth and a bowl with clarified chicken fat on the top and water underneath. I planned on using the broth for a risotto. Ended up staying late at work and the Mr. -- figuring he could read a recipe as well as the next guy -- started the risotto for me. It was delicious, but, I thought, a little greasy. You've guessed it, of course. When I went looking for my chicken fat all I found in the fridge was broth. We were both very...um...regular...for days
Chicken fat is great. I sometimes use it or bacon fat to pan fry potatoes.

In my family there were two gods. The guy in the sky with a capital G and the family doctor.

The doctor was so highly regarded that, in looking back, it's almost incredible. He was doctor to everyone on my mother's side of the family. His office was in a brownstone he owned on a lovely tree-lined street. His home was upstairs from his office. His wife was the nurse.

This wonderful man (I admired and loved him) made housecalls!! In our neighborhood in the Bronx, this meant walk-ups. Elevators were not part of our lives.

We were never quite sure when he would show up, but we were certain that he would. And it was inevitable that whoever was sick would start feeling better when he walked through the door.

He treated serious ailments (my grandmother's heart attack) and not so serious ailments. Above all, he treated us all equally and with respect. He knew us well. He and his wife were invited to my grandparents' 50th anniversary celebration.

One of the things I especially liked about him was that he seemed so reasonable. No panic. No kowtowing. No nothing.

My mother always tried to sound educated (fancy) around him. I hated that. During one office visit, I committed the unpardonable sin. While my mother was talking fancy, I was looking around the office. I had seen it dozens of times. I looked at the diploma on the wall. Then I asked Dr. S. about his qualifications as a doctor. I thought my mother would have a heart attack. She apologized. I didn't see what the big deal was. Neither did Dr. S. While my mother was plotzing with embarrassment, he gave me a rundown of his credentials. I was satisfied. My mother was mortified. He just smiled. This guy knew me!

I've been thinking about this wonderful man because the subject of ear-piercing came up on another thread. It reminded me of him and the two of us laughing so hard that tears came to our eyes.

My eccentric aunt and I had discussed the possibility of our getting our ears pierced. She went to Dr. S. and got it done. She told him that I'd be coming in for the same thing. But she didn't bother to tell me.

I had an upset stomach, bad enough that I thought I should go to the doctor. I waited, and when it was my turn, I entered the examination room and sat on the table. He got a pen and put a dot of ink on each ear. I was mystified. He was matter-of-fact.

Dr. S., says I. I have an upset stomach. Is this some kinda new treatment? He paused and said that my aunt told him I'd be coming in to get my ears pierced. I started to laugh. Some kinda new treatment. Then he started to laugh. My stomach started to feel better. We laughed. Then he dealt with my upset stomach. Then he asked me about my ears. I hadn't made a decision on the matter, but hell, the dots were already on my ears, so I told him to go ahead.

Are there still doctors who come to your house? Who know you well? Who are revered? Esteemed? Part of the family? Dunno. I have my doubts, but at least I had the one. Thank you, Dr. S.

Another beautiful observation through the prism of life.
I, on the other hand had a goyem family doctor who almost killed me by ignoring my Mom's pleas as I slid into the last stages of lobar pneumonia.