March 30, 2007--Fanaticism LXXV--Matzo BBQ
I got kicked out of Hebrew School for misbehaving so I am not much of a biblical scholar.
But I do remember enjoying Passover at my grandmother’s house, especially the food. The food, actually, was supposed to remind us of the suffering of the Israelites as they wandered in the desert for 40 years before they were allowed to enter the Promised Land; and so my enjoying the food, in retrospect, feels a little perverse. Or perhaps it was just a case of underdeveloped taste buds. But then again, it might well be nostalgia for those sweet and innocent times.
Whatever. But I even enjoyed the bitter herbs--what my more knowledgeable relatives called Maror. Matzos, on the other hand, the flat unleavened bread, I hated. My father called it hem-stitched cardboard and to this day whenever out of guilt or memory I eat some that’s exactly what it tastes like—cardboard.
I do understand that it’s not supposed to be a gourmet experience. Matzo, like everything else at ritualistic meals, is symbolic. In this case it is yet another reminder, as if the horseradish-suffused Maror were not enough, of the difficult days in the Sinai. The Israelites were short of resources during those years of wandering and at times depended on God to help them out. Like when he sent down Manna from heaven to nourish them.
But when it came to bread, the staff of life, the Israelites only had the time and wherewithal to bake the original version of Matzo. And since they did not have anything with them to leaven the dough the bread that they made did not rise. Thus, when we celebrate Pesach now, for fully eight days we are not supposed to eat anything that is leavened. Or, frankly, tasty.
Considering that replicating Sinai Matzo should be a fairly straight forward affair since without yeast the dough would require little work—just mix flour and water, flatten it out, and bake it in a 400 degree oven—it might come as a surprise to you that there are dozens of rabbinical requirements one must observe in order to make religiously acceptable Matzo. For example, for weeks before the Matzo is baked families search literally every corner of the houses for any remnants of leavened products, especially cookie crumbs in their children’s rooms. They do this by candlelight, using a wooden spoon to gather the crumbs of Chametz and a feather to brush the crumbs into the spoon. Then after every scrap is found, they either burn the Chametz or sell it, yes sell it, to a local rabbi. Then, and only then, when the home is Chametz-free, can the Matzo preparations begin.
To do this, Orthodox men gather in groups called Chaburos to bake Shmura Matzo ("guarded matzo") which refers to the fact that the wheat from which it is made was guarded from contamination by Chametz from the time it was cut the previous summer.
The baking process is labor-intensive since each batch of dough can only be worked on from start to finish (from mixing the flour and water to removing the Matzo from the oven) for 18 minutes. The Chabura members must work the dough constantly so that it is does not ferment and rise. A special cutting tool is run over the dough just before baking to create the familiar dotted holes in the matzo. After the 18 minutes are up and the Matzos must come out of the oven. Thus, how could it be anything other than awful? As it should.
So what is going on up in Spring Valley, New York, where a Hassidic rabbi has converted an old school bus, that’s right a bus, into a Passover Matzo bakery? And of course getting in trouble with his gentile neighbors who are complaining about all the smoke because he is using wood in the oven in the bus to bake the Matzo. (See NY Times article linked below.)
He and his ultra-orthodox customers not only like his ecological method of heating the oven, but also can’t stop talking about how delicious his Matzo is. It seems that the wood fire imparts to it a smoky, sort of BBQ flavor. So much so that one of the rabbi’s congregants says his is “the Matzo with the taste.”
Not a bad tag line, but here I always naively thought Matzos were supposed to taste like, well, cardboard.
But I do remember enjoying Passover at my grandmother’s house, especially the food. The food, actually, was supposed to remind us of the suffering of the Israelites as they wandered in the desert for 40 years before they were allowed to enter the Promised Land; and so my enjoying the food, in retrospect, feels a little perverse. Or perhaps it was just a case of underdeveloped taste buds. But then again, it might well be nostalgia for those sweet and innocent times.
Whatever. But I even enjoyed the bitter herbs--what my more knowledgeable relatives called Maror. Matzos, on the other hand, the flat unleavened bread, I hated. My father called it hem-stitched cardboard and to this day whenever out of guilt or memory I eat some that’s exactly what it tastes like—cardboard.
I do understand that it’s not supposed to be a gourmet experience. Matzo, like everything else at ritualistic meals, is symbolic. In this case it is yet another reminder, as if the horseradish-suffused Maror were not enough, of the difficult days in the Sinai. The Israelites were short of resources during those years of wandering and at times depended on God to help them out. Like when he sent down Manna from heaven to nourish them.
But when it came to bread, the staff of life, the Israelites only had the time and wherewithal to bake the original version of Matzo. And since they did not have anything with them to leaven the dough the bread that they made did not rise. Thus, when we celebrate Pesach now, for fully eight days we are not supposed to eat anything that is leavened. Or, frankly, tasty.
Considering that replicating Sinai Matzo should be a fairly straight forward affair since without yeast the dough would require little work—just mix flour and water, flatten it out, and bake it in a 400 degree oven—it might come as a surprise to you that there are dozens of rabbinical requirements one must observe in order to make religiously acceptable Matzo. For example, for weeks before the Matzo is baked families search literally every corner of the houses for any remnants of leavened products, especially cookie crumbs in their children’s rooms. They do this by candlelight, using a wooden spoon to gather the crumbs of Chametz and a feather to brush the crumbs into the spoon. Then after every scrap is found, they either burn the Chametz or sell it, yes sell it, to a local rabbi. Then, and only then, when the home is Chametz-free, can the Matzo preparations begin.
To do this, Orthodox men gather in groups called Chaburos to bake Shmura Matzo ("guarded matzo") which refers to the fact that the wheat from which it is made was guarded from contamination by Chametz from the time it was cut the previous summer.
The baking process is labor-intensive since each batch of dough can only be worked on from start to finish (from mixing the flour and water to removing the Matzo from the oven) for 18 minutes. The Chabura members must work the dough constantly so that it is does not ferment and rise. A special cutting tool is run over the dough just before baking to create the familiar dotted holes in the matzo. After the 18 minutes are up and the Matzos must come out of the oven. Thus, how could it be anything other than awful? As it should.
So what is going on up in Spring Valley, New York, where a Hassidic rabbi has converted an old school bus, that’s right a bus, into a Passover Matzo bakery? And of course getting in trouble with his gentile neighbors who are complaining about all the smoke because he is using wood in the oven in the bus to bake the Matzo. (See NY Times article linked below.)
He and his ultra-orthodox customers not only like his ecological method of heating the oven, but also can’t stop talking about how delicious his Matzo is. It seems that the wood fire imparts to it a smoky, sort of BBQ flavor. So much so that one of the rabbi’s congregants says his is “the Matzo with the taste.”
Not a bad tag line, but here I always naively thought Matzos were supposed to taste like, well, cardboard.
posted by Steven Zwerling at
11:55 AM
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