Crispy Potato Latkes with Ikura

Si Spiegel, my grandfather, is a 99-year-old Jewish New Yorker whose parents emigrated from the Ukraine and Romania in the early 1900s to escape antisemitism. Born on the Upper West Side, Si grew up in Brooklyn and then Manhattan’s Lower East Side before graduating from Straubenmuller Textile High School in May 1942 determined to fight Hitler and the Nazis. During World War II, Si became a B-17 pilot and, in battle, was forced to belly-land in Poland, where he used Yiddish to escape the Russians. After the war, Si met Motoko Ikeda, who had been interned in the American camps at Heart Mountain on the other side of the country, a national secret Si learned about only after the war. The two married in 1950 at New York’s City Hall and went on to raise three children. 

It is an interesting philosophical exercise to ponder what exactly it is to be American. I am Buddhist, I am Jewish, I am a New Yorker, I am Japanese, and I am a woman. I am also someone who has been forced to define my American experience throughout my life. To this day, I chant “Nam-myoho-renge-kyo,” a Buddhist mantra based on a vow to give full expression to the infinite potential inherent in life. As a young girl, I chanted, wishing for the most wonderful holiday meal with my family before diving into a bowl of matzo ball soup and a tower of latkes. 

When I was a kid, we would celebrate the Jewish holidays around my grandparents’ dining room table, our diverse histories converging over tzimmes and kugel. You can still find my grandpa in the kitchen making potato latkes for Hanukkah using a well-loved Jewish cookbook that’s been in the family for 65 years, The Jewish Holidays and Their Favorite Foods by Fannie Engle. It’s the same cookbook that my nisei (second-generation Japanese American) grandmother poured over and made notes in as she perfected her recipes. “She made the best matzo balls I ever had,” my grandpa would often remark after my grandmother passed away. 

Fannie Engle’s latkes recipe, with some futzing and adjusting, is tried and true in the Spiegel household. The potatoes and onion are grated on a cheesecloth-lined cutting board and drained over the sink before being placed into a large bowl. A well-beaten egg, flour (or matzo meal), and a pinch of baking powder and salt are incorporated. Schmaltz (or, alternatively, any vegetable oil with a high smoke point, like safflower, sunflower or grapeseed) is added to a hot cast-iron skillet. The potato mixture is spooned into the hot skillet and pressed down with a spatula. Engle recommends that no more than three or four latkes be cooked at once to maintain the heat of the pan. When the latkes develop visible browned crisps near the bottom, it’s time to flip. Once the latkes are done cooking, it’s time to place them on a plate covered with paper towels to absorb the oil. 

Admittedly, I am a traditionalist. There is nothing more comforting than piping hot latkes with dollops of sour cream and applesauce. But since food is an expression of our identity, I have recently been exploring my own with Japanese toppings. The truth is, if I could put myself on a plate, it would be latkes with ikura. After the latke rests on the paper towel, I dollop crème fraîche or sour cream in the center, and then spoon some ikura (or your roe of choice) on top. A sprinkle of furikake (preferably a plain nori-and-sesame flavor) and scallions adds another layer of flavor. Another favorite topping bursting with flavor is spicy salmon made with canned or jarred salmon, Kewpie mayo and HotPot Queen’s mushroom chili crisp (a new obsession of mine). 

And that is the great thing about a latke. Much like us, it can be layered. A latke may just be potatoes, onion and oil, but it is also heritage on a plate. A heritage you can make your own.