Bagel Bagel

Back home in America there was no nicer way to spend a lazy Sunday morning than by reading the paper while munching freshly baked bagels bought from the neighborhood bakery. Bagels are the quintessential Jewish food and one of oddest things about Israel is how rare they are here in the Jewish homeland. It’s counter-intuitive.

Of course, there’s no end of round bread. But dense, chewy bagels are as rare as water in a desert. I’ve heard that there are a couple of places in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem where they can be had, but that’s too far to shlep. Once upon a time a local baker delivered lots of them to the kibbutz shop. These were golden days for me. There were plain bagels, onion bagels, garlic bagels, raisin bagels and – my personal favorite – blueberry bagels. But they stopped making them, no demand. I’ve been bereft since.

Then along came “The Jerusalem Post” with a bagel recipe which of course I had to try. I spent most of this afternoon kneading, shaping, boiling, glazing, baking and hoping for the best. Shaping them was the hardest part. After bagel number 8 I started getting the hang of it. 9 through 12 are ok, but the others are the ugliest things ever baked by man. How do they taste? Reasonable, but still not chewy enough. Maybe I’ll try again, but intensity of the labor is a little off-putting. Laziness after all is my weekend objective. I think I’ll go lie down.

Cornbread Heaven

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?

Banana Bread Nostalgia

For comfort food, there's nothing better than banana bread. Why it's called bread when it's clearly cake, I don't know. Maybe because it's eaten unfrosted, like zucchini bread and pumpkin bread. But of this I'm sure: when fall is on the horizon, it's time to bake a batch.

Of course, Israel has it's culinary delights, like humus with zaatar (an herb mixture whose main component is hyssop) and olive oil. Anything with zaatar and olive oil. Warm pita. Halla with raisins. With Rosh Hashana almost upon us, most people here probably dream of honey cake. Not me, I find it usually too dry. And let me add that I cannot swallow much of the Eastern food so common here – coriander tastes like rot and cumin smells like sweaty socks.

Different people have different tastes, that's part of the diversity of humanity. I know this well. When I've shared banana bread with my coworkers it has met with mixed reviews. Some found it good enough, but others thought it inedible. I admit I was taken aback. It's a wonderful cake – bananas, butter, walnuts – what's not to like? It could be an American taste.

There is something about the fall that makes me long for home and the gorgeous leaves and fresh apple cider. So when the summer heat has passed and a stiff breeze whips through the house as it does today, I comfort myself with a little baking. The aroma fills the house and a mug of raspberry tea is ready and waiting. There, the oven just dinged!