It’s Hanukkah, and we’ve been hearing a lot about olive oil. But consider the olive tree; its noble wood and generous shade; its gnarled beauty; its fruit, and the pungent oil pressed out of that fruit.
A trip to the Galilee brought me to Druze villages where residents traditionally make their living from the olive harvest. My guide was Nivin, a young Druze woman. We drove past modern olive groves planted against green hills. She indicated where to stop, at the edge of another olive orchard. This one’s trees are 2000 years old.
They thrive on winter rains alone, and for this reason, the ancient farmers spaced them well apart, making room for each one to receive sunshine and moisture without competition. It was a cool, blue afternoon, and we walked between the great, silent trees with a certain awe. They had been set down into that soil as flexible saplings when Solomon’s Temple still stood.
The trees continued to grow slowly throughout the centuries, making new wood that curved outward, so that each tree’s heart was exposed, or curved back towards the mother tree so that a wooden hollow was formed that’s big enough for an adult to stand in. And those ancient trees are still producing fruit. Their branches were so heavy with sun-warmed, blue-black olives that they bowed almost to the ground.
As we walked through the orchard, Nivin told me a Druze folk tale, about the olive and King Solomon. King Solomon had the supernatural power of understanding all living creatures’ languages. He would leave his palace to walk through fields and forests, conversing with beasts and plants, gathering and distilling their wisdom. For this, all natural beings loved him. When the great king died, nature went into mourning. The trees deliberately shed their foliage, so that their bare branches rattled sadly in the winter gusts. But not every tree did this. To the disgust of the others, the olive stood in its full glory of green and silver leaves.
“Why aren’t you mourning the passing of Solomon?” the trees asked the olive. “Don’t you care? Look at us. The mulberry, the almond, the oak — all our greenery has fallen to the ground. Everyone can see how sad we are. Yet you are indifferent. You haven’t shed one leaf. Where’s your heart?”
I know what you are thinking…. the Hanukkah story had a femme fatale?? When you think of Hanukkah you probably think of how the Maccabees defeated the Syrian-Greeks in a revolt that recaptured the Holy Temple. And once the Maccabees did, the first order of business was to light the menorah in the Temple, but very little oil was found and would only last one day. The miracle of Hanukkah was that the little vile of oil that was supposed to last for one day lasted 8 days. It is for this reason that we eat foods fried in oil (typically olive oil because it’s a characteristic of the Land of Israel). What you may not know is that there is an underlying story of events that led to the victory of the Maccabees and it all started in the town of Bethulia, in the Judean Desert with a woman named Judith.
Judith was a pious woman who had a plan to save the Jews by pretending to surrender to an Assyrian general, Holofernes. The Holy Temple in Jerusalem was seized and the Jews could not practice their religion. Judith used her beauty and charm to ingratiate herself onto Holofernes. She brought him her homemade cheese and wine (nothing like food to a man’s stomach) and went back to his tent, for “something something”…. Or so he thought.
Several years ago, while on a walk with his dog, John Lankenau came across a tombstone leaning against a fire hydrant on Manhattan’s East Fourth Street. Most of the writing on the tombstone was in Hebrew, but not the name: Hinda Amchanitzky.
Lankenau rescued the tombstone from the sidewalk and went looking for answers: Who was this woman? Where was she actually buried? With the help of a genealogist, New York Times reporter, and New York City’s commissioner of records, the facts emerged. Remarkably, Amchanitzky was the author of the first Yiddish cookbook published in America. A copy of her book is archived in the Library of Congress.
The tombstone was reunited with its proper grave in Staten Island in 2011, over 100 years after Amchanitzky died. Though the peculiar circumstances surrounding her misplaced gravestone made modern headlines, Amchanitzky was certainly no wallflower in her lifetime.
“She was something of a mover and a shaker,” said Jane Ziegelman, a food historian and author of “97 Orchard: An Edible History of Five Immigrant Families in One New York Tenement.”
Ziegelman’s sense that Amchanitzky was likely a “local East Side celebrity” stems from the fact that Jewish women living on the Lower East Side at the turn of the century had essentially one place to look for new recipes: Amchanitzky’s “Manual of How To Cook and Bake,” which she self-published in 1901.
My dinner guests thought this would be an excellent stew to have on hand for weeknight dinners at home. It’s savory, hearty and filling and has a “stick-to-the-ribs” kind of quality. Check out my full review of “Isa Does It: Amazingly Easy, Wildly Delicious Vegan Recipes for Every Day of the Week” here. Cooking Note: I didn’t detect the saffron here, the paprika and cinnamon overpowered it, so I’d save it for another time. And I recommend a squeeze of lemon juice before serving.
Harira with Eggplant & Chickpeas
serves 8 to 10
total time: about 45 mins, active time: 20 mins
Harira is a Moroccan noodle soup, served during Ramadan to break the fast. It’s aromatic and slightly spicy, and this version is made thick with eggplant and lentils and studded with a few chickpeas swimming about. Now, if I just invented this soup out of the blue, and someone told me to put noodles in it, I would think we were on a cooking reality show and that someone was trying to sabotage me. But the noodles make it. This soup is a meal on its own. As you can imagine, you might not have the energy to cook a million dishes after fasting. This gets the deed done in one pot. The eggplant really just disintegrates into the soup, to give it a meaty thickness. In traditional harira, lamb is used for that purpose, but, you know.
I had an existential crisis trying to figure out if this recipe should go in the soup or the stew section, and so I went on a spiritual journey and decided, soup. My spiritual journey basically involved looking at fifty other cookbooks to see how they classified it. The soup thickens a lot as it’s left to sit, what with the noodles, so thin it out with water when reheating. The saffron is expensive and thus optional.
The wine in this dish is an unexpected and nontraditional addition, but it adds delicious flavor. Don’t worry about drinking before noon — the alcohol cooks out before the beans touch your plate. Serve with pita for mopping up the sauce.
For the Beans:
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for drizzling
1 large onion, finely chopped
4 large cloves garlic, chopped
1 1/2 teaspoons cumin
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes, or more to taste
2 plum tomatoes, seeded and finely chopped
1/4 cup dry red wine
2 15-ounce cans fava beans, with their liquid
1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon salt, or more to taste
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
chopped fresh, flat-leaf parsley, for serving
For the Eggs: 1 tablespoon vegetable oil 4 eggs
1) Heat 2 tablespoons olive oil in a medium pan set over medium heat. Add onion, and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, 5–7 minutes. Add garlic, cumin, paprika, red pepper flakes and tomatoes, and cook, stirring, until fragrant, 1–2 minutes.
2) Stir in red wine, and cook, stirring occasionally, until tomatoes soften and most of the liquid has evaporated, 3–5 minutes. Add fava beans with their liquid and bring to a simmer; reduce heat to medium low, cover pan and simmer until beans are tender, about 10 minutes. Uncover and continue simmering until liquid thickens and reduces by about three quarters, 8–12 minutes. Stir in lemon juice, 1/2 teaspoon salt and pepper, then remove from heat. Taste and add additional salt and red pepper flakes, if desired.
3) Make the eggs: Brush the vegetable oil around the bottom of a medium pan set over medium heat and let warm. Crack each egg into a small cup, then gently slide the eggs into the pan. Cover and cook, undisturbed, until the whites are firm and yolks are still soft, 3–4 minutes.
4) Divide beans and sauce between bowls or plates and carefully top each with a fried egg, a drizzle of olive oil and chopped fresh parsley.
When I started grammar school in my hometown of Vienna at the age of ten, Christian religion classes were part of the schedule. As a Jew, I was allowed to opt out and spend the two hours a week doing my homework in the school cafeteria. This peace only lasted a few weeks into the school year — until the religion teacher asked if I wanted to hold a presentation on Jewish holidays and practices for her class.
I was the only Jewish kid in a year of 70 students, and one out of a handful in a school of roughly 400 10- to 18-year-olds. I was proud of my family’s history, being a grandchild of four Holocaust survivors who managed to make peace with the nation that persecuted them. I felt special to be part of a minority. In my juvenile idealism I also had the strong need to lecture my pre-pubescent classmates, who I hardly knew at that point, about the diversity of religious beliefs in the world and the universal message of tolerance. I saw the presentation as an opportunity to gain school-wide fame as the Jewish Mahatma Gandhi.
There was only one problem: I didn’t actually know very much about my religion. The experiences of my grandparents had left them — to put it mildly — disillusioned with religious belief. My parents didn’t connect much with tradition, either. The high holidays and Shabbat were celebrated in a secular fashion. The whole family came together for dinner most nights anyways, so Fridays really weren’t that different. There were candles and blessings and wine and the occasional yarmulke, but I was usually more occupied with arguing with my cousins and indulging in the copious amounts of mostly Austrian food like beef broth soups with noodles and goulash.
“Would You Make This?” is a sporadic column where personal chef Alix Wall evaluates a new cookbook by making some of its recipes, sharing them with friends and asking what they think of the results.
I have to admit that I had no idea who Jamie Geller was before receiving “Joy of Kosher: Fast, Fresh Family Recipes” (published October 15, William Morrow). When I read she’s known as the kosher Rachael Ray, I thought “okay, so she’s meant to appeal to the masses who don’t like to cook much, and don’t mind relying on some pre-packaged ingredients to get out of the kitchen faster.” That’s exactly right. Geller refers to herself as The Bride Who Knew Nothing, and says she can’t get out of the kitchen fast enough. That sounds a bit odd for someone who’s since become a kosher food celebrity, but never mind. Her books are for people who don’t love to cook, but need to feed their families, and want to do it reasonably well.
Every kosher cookbook has its multiple versions of roast chicken, brisket and kugel, as this one does. And, I skipped right over the sugary kugels and anything with marshmallow. Let’s see how the kosher maven handles some dishes not traditionally found in a kosher cookbook, I reasoned. Which is how I came up with fish tacos, corn cilantro cakes and cherry pies.
I warned my friends, a Bay Area power couple (their description), that we’d be eating an unconventional Shabbos meal of fish tacos. They were game.
While Geller’s corn cakes call for frozen or canned corn, amazingly, fresh was still available in our farmers markets, which is another reason I chose this dish to try. Also, I liked that it went along with my taco theme. I chose the cherry pies not only because I can never get enough cherries, and didn’t know one can buy them frozen.
The corn cakes involve mixing corn kernels with corn meal, a bit of flour, some optional hot sauce, eggs and a few other ingredients and then lightly frying them and serving them with an avocado “aioli.”
Along with making my own pastrami, I was excited to test Cabbage Rolls in Tomato Sauce (though I know them as stuffed cabbage) from Nick Zukin and Michael C. Zusman’s “The Artisan Jewish Deli at Home”.
This is a dish I grew up on; my Russian-born grandma made it all the time. And when I thought about it, given that she died in 2002, and stopped cooking much before that, and my mom never made it, I realized I probably hadn’t eaten it in over 20 years.
Ground beef is mixed with onion, barely-cooked white rice, garlic, parsley, raisins and eggs, and rolled into blanched cabbage leaves, and then baked in a tomato sauce.
The amount of brown sugar in the tomato sauce had me guessing that I would find the dish too sweet, and I did. However, biting into it provided such a sense of nostalgia for my Babushka’s cooking that I could overlook it, especially since this is how the dish is traditionally made.
“I can see why my ancestors would have made this,” said Sam, one of our friends who tasted the dish at a Shabbat dinner at our house. Unlike the Reubens, she felt this was much healthier and more balanced. She felt it was solid, get-you-through-the-winter kind of food.
Our other guest Adam appreciated that for Jewish food, it was low on carbohydrates, and didn’t have to be smashed between two pieces of bread. Additionally, he happens to love cabbage. “I think cabbage gets a bad rap,” he said.
He too thought the sauce was too sweet, and would have preferred taking it into a more savory direction, perhaps with some Worcestershire sauce.
So bold are the flavors in “Ottolenghi: The Cookbook” that author Yotam Ottolenghi said he and his partner considered beginning it with a warning: if you don’t like lemon or garlic, skip to the last page.
Chef and restaurateur Ottolenghi and his co-author and co-chef Sami Tamimi have several eateries in London, including Nopi, their high-end location.
“There’s no understatement in our food. It clearly states what it does. In that respect, it’s deeply rooted in the culture and temperament of the Middle East and the Mediterranean,” said Ottolenghi about the 140 recipes in the book.
“Ottolenghi,” published this month in North America, predates the London-based team’s runaway bestseller “Jerusalem,” which was named Cookbook of the Year by the International Association of Culinary Professionals in April.
The 44-year-old spoke to Reuters from London about cooking food that shouts, the joys of eating out in present-day London, and the magical properties of the pomegranate.
How does your partnership work?
We’re both from Jerusalem. One is Jewish, the other Arab. I come from a European background, while Sami had typical Arab fare but our sensitivities are similar in terms of food. We cooperate very well together in (a) blend of Mediterranean and Middle Eastern.
What are the features of this blend?
Basically we’re quite out there in terms of flavors and colors. We use a lot of spices and herbs. We also tend to cook quite rustically, more like in the Middle East - simple … It’s definitely not Scandinavian food. There are no subtle flavors … It shouts quite loudly.
Did you always want to be a chef?
I was drawn to it after a career in academia, working in a university and at newspapers. Food was always important in my family, but I didn’t think of it as a vocation until a later point in life.
What is your training?
I took a few courses at the Cordon Bleu (in London) but acquired most of my practical knowledge working in various establishments here in London.
Has London finally shed its reputation for bad food?
From where I’m standing, that’s just a distant memory, some kind of folk story people tell but nobody believes anymore. There are tons of wonderful places to eat in London. It’s quite amazing to think that it was such a desert only 15 or 20 years ago.
What’s always in the pantry?
Spices like cardamom, cumin, turmeric and coriander seeds; herbs like tarragon, cilantro and chives. Condiments or infusions like rosewater or orange blossoms. And pomegranate is very popular in the Middle East. We had it growing in our garden. There’s tons to do with it, it’s healthy and very beautiful to look at. In many ways it’s a magical ingredient.
Read more for a recipe from the book!
There’s nothing like knowing you can’t eat to make a person want to eat. For many Jews, Yom Kippur means a 25-hour fast bracketed by two meals – the pre-fast seudat mafseket and the meal to break the fast. But just because you’ve managed to make it through those 25 hours without eating doesn’t mean you should scarf down a greasy shawarma the minute you’re allowed. If you do, your stomach may not be very thankful afterward.
True, breaking the fast the wrong way is unlikely to land you in the hospital, but it may leave you feeling unwell. While Magen David Adom treats an average of 2,000 people every Yom Kippur, including many who feel unwell due to fasting, rescue service spokesman Zaki Heller says he cannot recall any cases of people calling in the paramedics because they broke the fast with the wrong food.
The director of the nutrition and diet service department at Petah Tikva’s Rabin Medical Center, Sigal Frishman, agrees. She says that while you’re unlikely to do real damage to your digestive system by overloading it immediately after a fast, you might regret it afterward.
During a fast the digestive system is relatively inactive. “If we then put in lots of things that are difficult to digest, there’s no way the digestive system can cope. That will give you a stomachache,” she says.
Read more at Haaretz.com.
After 25 hours of abstinence from food and water on Yom Kippur, your family and guests will treasure each dish on your table — even if it’s just peanut butter and jelly. So why go crazy in the kitchen? There are times when simple is best: save your efforts for Passover, and go with an easy idea like a bread and wine trifle borrowed from the Jews of Piedmont, in North-Western Italy.
The region is famous for producing some of the finest wines in the world, including Barolo, which even made its way into the local break-fast tradition. While most Italian Jews break the fast with cakes or other sweets accompanied by lemonade, a little coffee and the occasional shot of liqueur, the Piedmontese are quite proud of their Bruscadela — basically a wine and bread trifle. Layers of toasted bread or challah are soaked overnight in mulled wine with sugar and spices.
While wine after a fast may not be the healthiest option (it’s likely to go quickly to your head), somehow the richness of the challah and the somber, contemplative mood still lingering from the holiday, temper its effects. Yet, if you have low alcohol-tolerance and are not in the mood for a deep mystical experience, you may want to try a grape juice version.
“Would You Make This?” is a sporadic new column where personal chef Alix Wall evaluates a new cookbook by making two of its recipes, sharing them with friends and asking what they think of the results.
Hi, my name is Alix and I’m a member of the cult. The cult of Ottolenghi, that is. I feel I should begin this way to acknowledge that I am one of the thousands who have come down with a new kind of Jerusalem Syndrome, one where, our older cookbooks remain spatter-free and collect dust, because somehow, after the “Jerusalem” cookbook, none of them seems to compare.
On a recent pilgrimage to Yotam Ottolenghi and Sami Tamimi’s Nopi restaurant in London, a waiter told me that “Ottolenghi: The Cookbook” by the chefs (out in the U.S. on Sept. 3) that’s new to us is his favorite of the team’s three books. “Better than ‘Jerusalem?’” I asked, incredulously. He thought so. I couldn’t imagine such a thing. And yet, I couldn’t wait to get my hands on a copy to find out. I was tempted to buy the U.K edition, British measurements and all, but I decided to wait. And luckily for me, that wait didn’t turn out to be long at all.
Rosh Hashanah is the perfect holiday to bring out all the stops in your kitchen. Without the restrictions of Passover, it’s a great time to get creative (I’m thinking Asian BBQ brisket) or lovingly revive a special family recipe.
But cooking a holiday meal for your family or friends can be intimidating, whether you’ve done it 50 times or it’s your first time. We’re here to help! Consider the us your virtual bubbe. Need a chicken recipe? A great pareve cake? Wondering how to host a Sephardic holiday Seder? We’ve got you covered.
Send us your Rosh Hashanah cooking questions by Wednesday, August 21st and cookbook author Adeena Sussman will answer them. Don’t worry if your questions are simple or complicated — it’s like calling the kosher Butterball hotline; any question is fair game.
Ask us your questions in the comments below; or tweet at @jdforward using the hashtag #roshrecipes or comment on our Facebook page. And don’t forget to send this along to your friends. We’re looking forward to hearing from you!
“There’s no joy. There isn’t a lot of strength. Everything is dead inside,” said Dina Kit about the emotional experience of losing a child. Kit speaks from personal experience, having lost one son to cancer and another, an Israel Defense Forces soldier, to a terrorist attack.
One of the things Kit and other mothers are not usually able to bring themselves to do in the wake of their children’s deaths is to cook their sons’ and daughters’ favorite foods. The tastes and smells, and even the going through the motions of the preparation of the dishes, are too overwhelming. “We cry when we prepare the food,” Kit told The Jew and the Carrot in a phone conversation from her home in Jerusalem.
However, Kit, who used to make meat kebabs on a bed of mashed potatoes and spinach for her fallen son Ofir, kept coming back to the notion that food might be the best way to memorialize her children. “I wanted to write a book that utilized food as a way of remembering,” she said.
If, like me, your Bubbe doesn’t speak Yiddish, take a lesson from the ladies who do. The latest Yiddish cooking video (with English subtitles) by Rukhl Schaechter and Eve Jochnowitz, shows us how to make fluden, an oft forgotten Jewish pastry from France and Germany. Rolled and baked into a log, the rich dough is stuffed with apricot preserves, chopped dates, walnuts and raisins and sliced into pieces while it’s still warm. Serve it with a glass of tea — make that a glezl tey.
Reprinted with permission from “VB6: Eat Vegan Before 6:00 to Lose Weight and Restore Your Health … for Good” by Mark Bittman.
Makes: 4 servings
Time: About 1 hour
Combining grains with vegetables and meat makes for a better meatball, moister and more complex in texture and flavor. The combination here is bulgur and spinach, but any soaked or cooked grains (brown rice or steel-cut oats are also nice) work well, as do mashed beans (use about 1½ cups).
There are just as many ways to eat these meatballs as there are to cook them: Put a few on a tossed green salad, stuff into a pita with sliced cucumbers and tomatoes, or add them to the tomato sauce on page 239 and simmer for a few minutes, then serve with pasta or on toast.
¼ cup medium-grind bulgur
1 cup boiling water
1 pound ground beef, or lamb
1 cup chopped cooked spinach (thawed frozen is fine), squeezed as dry as possible
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
Black pepper to taste
3 tablespoons olive oil
1) Combine the bulgur and boiling water in a small bowl; cover and soak until fully tender, 15 to 20 minutes. Drain in a strainer, then press out as much of the water as possible. Combine the bulgur, beef, spinach, garlic, and salt and sprinkle with pepper. Shape into 16 meatballs, handling them no more than is necessary.
2) Put the oil in a large skillet over medium heat. When it’s hot, add some of the meatballs; work in batches if necessary to avoid overcrowding. Cook, turning once or twice and adjusting the heat as necessary, until they’re firm and browned all over, 5 to 10 minutes. As they finish, transfer them to paper towels to drain and repeat with the remaining meatballs as necessary. Serve hot or at room temperature.
Nutritional Info (4 meatballs, made with 80% lean ground beef): Calories: 439 • Cholesterol: 81mg • Fat: 34g • Saturated Fat: 10g • Protein: 23g • Carbohydrates: 10g • Sodium: 609mg • Fiber: 3g • Trans Fat: 1g • Sugars: 0g
In 1916, the New York Board of Health issued a concise 36 page recipe book aimed at Jewish American homemakers. Published bilingually in both Yiddish and English, “How to Cook for the Family” contained recipes for such “plain, substantial and wholesome” dishes as tomato soup, beef stew and cornstarch pudding. So far as we can tell, the book was a flop among its intended audience. When a reporter working on a story about it asked a couple of Yiddishe homemakers for their opinion, the women told her off.
“The Board of health ain’t got no right to say what I should cook and how,” one woman, explained, in the cadence of a Jimmy Cagney tough-guy. “The East Side is the East Side,” her friend agreed. “I make like my Grossmutter Selig and my mother, Gefullte fish and stuffed helzel. What [do] I care for the Board of Health?”
Interestingly, both of the dishes the women named are stuffed foods — gefilte or “stuffed” fish, and stuffed poultry neck. Neither is “plain” or simple to prepare. Rather, they require both large investments of time and attention to detail, as did so many of the filled foods that were mainstays of our ancestors’ kitchens.
It’s a Sunday, you’re noshy, and there’s a chunk of Friday’s challah leftover. It’s no longer moist enough to be delicious on its own and you’ve made challah French toast or bread pudding way too many times. Trust us, we’ve been there. So, what’s a cook to do? Make schnitzel!
The glorified chicken nugget has gotten some love in the past few years, from food trucks on both coasts, a stand at the Williamsburg food festival Smorgasburg, and even an Alligator variety in California. In Europe it’s often served with potato salad or spätzle and in Israel you’ll find turkey rendition served with hummus in a pita and with French fries or chips as the Israelis say. It’s really not difficult to make — it may be a bit messy, but my mother always told me “a messy kitchen is a happy kitchen.”
Read the story behind these cookies and the cookbook “Chadar Ochel” here
Reprinted with permission from ‘Chadar Ochel’ by Assi Haim and Ofer Vardi.
for 60 cookies
450 grams flour (approximately 3 2⁄3 cups)
¼ cup oil
1 cup water
3 cups sugar
5 cups honey
1½ cups sugar
½ teaspoon ground ginger
1) In a food processor, place the flour, eggs and oil and mix until the dough is formed.
2) Divide the dough into 3 equally sized balls and knead each one separately by hand.
3) Form each ball into a sausage 4 inches long.
4) Divide each sausage into 10 pieces, and roll each into a rope that fits around three fingers. Form the rope into a ring by joining the ends.
5) Place the rings on a lightly oiled baking sheet.
6) Mix 1½ cups sugar and the ground ginger and sprinkle some over the rings. Reserve the rest of the sugar.
7) Make the syrup: In a large pan, bring the water, 3 cups of sugar and honey to a boil.
8) Slide the dough rings into the boiling syrup and cook for 30 minutes. Mix occasionally with a wooden spoon.
9) To check for doneness, take one teigelach out of the syrup. If it doesn’t shrink, the cookies are ready.
10) Take the cookies out of the syrup and strain. Put the cookies in a container with the rest of the sugar-ginger mixture and roll to coat. Keep in an airtight container.
It’s here! The New York Times Magazine’s 2013 food and drink issue is out this weekend in print and online. Features range from hunting and killing your own dinner to the rise of healthful fast food. [The New York Times]
Bye-bye matzo! Welcome all that delicious chametz back into your life with one of our favorite challah recipes. [Smitten Kitchen]
Or sweeten the end of Pesach with some babka. [The Jewish Week]
Craving spring flavors? Lemons can hold you over until the season gets fully underway. [Food 52]
Hitler’s food taster talks about her bitter years during the war. [Spiegel]
Another look at Washington, D.C.’s DGS Delicatessen and the modern deli renaissance. [NPR]