Happy Passover

Every year on Erev Pesach, my dad would take off early from work and go fishing in Pewaukee Lake, near Milwaukee. His goal was to catch a large carp. Most years he succeeded. He would struggle the fish into a large brown paper grocery bag and drive to my great-grandmother’s (aka Bubbe’s) house.

There, he held out the grocery bag in both hands, with the carp still alive and “kicking”, to Bubbe like he was presenting her with the Crown Jewels.

They exchanged greetings and high praise in Yiddish and she accepted the gift with a smile. The year was 1957, and she was babysitting for me at her house that day, so I witnessed the presentation. Bubbe was a stern woman and in the entire ten years that I knew her, this was the only time I ever saw her smile.

After my dad left, Bubbe told me to stay in the dining room while she went into the kitchen to do the icky work with the carp. Then, she came into the dining room with the carp and a large hand-carved wooden bowl and some kind of handmade mallet/chopping tool.

(I remember the bowl looking similar to this one.)

Bubble told me she brought the bowl and chopper with her from Kishinev when she left in 1901 and they were her prize possessions.

I stood next to her in awe, as she pounded, with great zeal and strength, on the carp which had been about 20 inches long.

After the pounding, the magic happened.

She proceeded to make gefilte fish, Kishinev style. The recipe below is pretty much how I remembered the ingredients:

Bubbe’s gefilte fish was served cold on a large platter surrounded by an ample amount of salty, jellied broth. The balls, seasoned with strong black pepper and onions, were each topped with a huge slice of cooked carrot.

In case the gefilte fish wasn’t strong enough to knock one’s socks off…there was the chrain (horseradish.) Bubbe made it by hand with a foot-long piece of horseradish and beets. I don’t know what her secret ingredients were, but when I looked around the dining table, my relatives were bright red from the neck up and had tears streaming down their cheeks. I was kind of a dramatic kid so that’s how it looked to me.

My grandmother knew how to make Bubbe’s gefilte fish, my mother did not. That’s where the Kishinev gefilte fish legacy ended.

Now, I can only share the memories with you – is your face flushed? Are there tears yet?

Love to all.

Happy Passover