Throwdown in the Kitchen

AKA I Hate to Lose

Photo by Łukasz Rawa on Unsplash

It all began over drinks, as usual. The sandwich board outside NYC bars that says “No Good Story Ever Started with a Salad” is not incorrect. And it began with an innocuous question by one of our male friends, J, and my equally innocuous answer.

“What are you all doing for the holidays?”

“We’ll be with the kids. Chanukah begins on Christmas Day this year, so I’ll be making latkes to go with our Christmas dinner.”

This was said with a little chuckle. Our kids, products of an Irish Catholic Altar boy and the daughter of Holocaust survivors, call themselves cashews. Say it a couple of times, you’ll get it. So, this year with the coincidental colliding of two of our favorite family traditions, we were doing a mashup celebration. Anyway, one would think this wouldn’t lead to anything important or interesting. But one would be wrong. Very wrong. Welcome to my world.

J says, “Oh, I make the best latkes.”

Do you remember that sound effect from 1970’s Saturday morning cartoons? The one that accompanied any showstopping moment and sounded like the lengthy screeching of tire brakes in the instant just before impact? Yeah, picture this scene with that sound effect. I could feel my husband next to me sink a little lower in his chair. We’ve been together 45 years; he knows what coming.

“I’m sorry, J, that’s not true. I’m sure they’re delicious, but I make the best latkes.”

I happened to glance at his wife’s face. They’ve been together almost as long, and her smirk should have warned me that J wouldn’t laugh this one off. In fact, she, G, was all in.

“You should have a latke cookoff.”

Gauntlet thrown. In his everyday life, J is one of the mellowest, kindest, laid-back, every-adjective-to-describe-someone-who-you-just-expect-to-smile-and-move-on guys you’d ever meet. We’ve known this couple for decades, but this is a very clear case of you think you know someone. I had no idea J was competitive. We immediately began trying to make it happen.

It’s on Like Donkey Kong

Trying to plan any get-togethers with friends during the holidays is a feat and, if you can do it, a brag-worthy accomplishment. This event became a priority, and not just for us; J and G were all over it. We finally settled on December 30 for the challenge. J and G generously offered to host, and on the day of, we arrived with a lifelong friend who was staying with us to prepare for NYE, but that’s another story. She was told she would be part of the panel of judges, which comprised of Hubby and Wifey, who might possibly be a teeny bit biased.

Normally you’d think a friend would also be biased, but not this one. She prides herself on her stubbornly independent streak, or at least I imagine she does because damn it can be hard to swallow when one of your closest friends calls you out on your shit. I knew she’d be objective. What I didn’t plan on is that she didn’t know anything about latkes.

The evening started with G&T’s. This pairs very well with frying grated potatoes in hot oil. No, really, it does; don’t worry, no injuries ensued. There was just a happy mess of grease all over their beautiful kitchen when we were done.

I had brought everything with me including the grater, my cast iron frying pan, baggies with flour and salt and an egg wrapped in mounds of paper towels. When it was time to get started, we each took our side of the stove, and that’s when I realized I forgot the damn onion. With egg on my face (not literally, I hadn’t even cracked it yet), I asked my competition to help me. I’m pretty sure that would have been an outtake on the Cooking Channel. Maybe not though, they do like the drama. I was given my onion with grace and good humor and took it almost as well. I won’t say my confidence was shaken at that point; my grandmother’s recipe would never fail me; but it was not the auspicious beginning to the throwdown I’d hoped for.

We chatted and drank our way through the actual cooking part. One of our family secrets is to make one and taste it for salt and oil temp. Once you get going, salt levels and oil temperatures will make or break a latke. Chanukah, and latkes, are all about the oil, but if your potato pancakes are too greasy it’s just not good. They have to be the exactly right amount of greasy. My Oma, and later my mother, made sure I knew that. Another secret is to put the finished latkes on a rack to cool just a bit before piling them on a plate. This keeps them crispy, and I hid my smirk as J piled his directly from the pan onto a plate with paper towels in between layers. Rookie mistake, I thought.

When my first one was done, I broke off a small piece to taste and it was good. I mean, so good my confidence boosted through the roof. I went over to the judges and announced I needed a taster. This would normally be Hubby and I offered him a small piece, but the other two wanted to taste as well and then J asked too. Their smiles told me all I needed to know. This one was in the bag, as far as I was concerned. J was full of compliments and then, even though we were not ready to serve, everyone insisted on trying J’s version. They were also good, very good, but everyone agreed they liked my flavors and crisp better. This would be why, when the judges retired to the dining room to make their decision, I was expecting to be given the trophy Hubby had secretly put together and spray painted in their driveway.

To be fair, the judges spent way more time discussing their choices than I expected. To their credit, they took it very seriously and I appreciate that. So, when they came back to the kitchen and announced J the winner, I had to respect that. If you know me at all, that was not easy for me to take. They explained that while mine had a delicious taste and crisp, they’d decided J’s were more traditionally chewy in the middle and they went with tradition.

It was a good-natured photo we took with J holding the trophy and me holding a bottle of wine. And then we toasted each other, the holidays, our families and our good fortune, as we sat at the table to dine. I guess the moral of this story is two-fold:

1. If you have to have a cooking competition, do it with fun people; and

2. There are no losers when it comes to latkes, only winners.

photo by author