Today I'm baking again, cornbread this time. I have always loved it. Corn muffins have been my favorite breakfast since childhood. But I was in Israel for years before I knew that it could be done here.
There was a restaurant in either Raanana or Kfar Saba, I can't remember which, that was this American expatriate's idea of heaven. They served barbecued steak with barbecued beans – you see where my heart lies – and cornbread. I don't think the place lasted very long because it was just too American. Israelis want their plates of humus and don't seem to like gastronomic experimentation. I asked the proprietor where he gets the cornmeal and he said it's readily available in every supermarket.
Sure enough, they even have it in the tiny kibbutz store. Turns out it's the main ingredient of something called mamalika, a porridge-like concoction similar to polenta. The cornmeal is a finer grind than I would like, but it still makes acceptable cornbread.
The best thing about baking cornbread is that it's so forgiving. You can add one egg or two, milk or water or buttermilk, mix the ingredients in any order you like and the results are infallibly delectable. Served warm with the melting butter just disappearing into it – it's happiness on a plate. And how can anyone have too much happiness?
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