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Mediterranean Chickpea Latkes

Mediterranean Chickpea Latkes


  • 1 15-ounce can garbanzo beans (chickpeas), rinsed, drained
  • 1 tablespoon fresh rosemary
  • 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
  • 3 tablespoons all purpose flour
  • 1 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin
  • 1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
  • 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
  • 6 tablespoons (or more) olive oil
  • Pomegranate seeds (optional)

Recipe Preparation

  • Blend garbanzo beans, garlic, and rosemary in processor to coarse paste. Add eggs, 6 tablespoons water and extra-virgin olive oil; blend until smooth. Add flour, cumin, salt, pepper, and baking powder and blend. Pour batter into bowl.

  • Heat 6 tablespoons oil in heavy large skillet over medium-high heat until hot but not smoking. Working in batches, drop batter by heaping tablespoonfuls into hot oil. Cook until golden, about 1 minute per side. Using slotted spatula, transfer latkes to paper towels to drain. Add more oil to skillet as necessary and allow to get hot before adding more batter. Transfer latkes to plates. Sprinkle with pomegranate seeds, if desired, and serve.

,Photos by Pornchai MittongtareReviews Section

  • 1 tablespoon canola oil
  • 2 teaspoons grated fresh ginger
  • ½ teaspoon ground turmeric
  • ½ teaspoon ground cloves
  • 1 cup unsweetened applesauce
  • 2 cups shredded peeled russet potatoes
  • 1 small onion, finely chopped
  • 1-2 fresh green serrano chiles, stemmed and finely chopped
  • 3 tablespoons finely chopped fresh cilantro leaves and tender stems
  • 1/2 cup chickpea flour (see Note) or unbleached all-purpose flour
  • 1 teaspoon ground cumin
  • 1 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
  • ½ teaspoon ground turmeric
  • 2 large eggs, slightly beaten
  • 2 tablespoons canola oil, divided

To prepare sauce: Heat 1 tablespoon oil in a small skillet over medium-high heat. Add ginger and cook, stirring, until light brown and aromatic, 30 seconds to 1 minute. Stir in turmeric and cloves. Cook until the spices are fragrant, 30 seconds to 1 minute more. Scrape the spices into the applesauce in a small bowl and stir well to combine.

Preheat oven to 200 degrees F. Place a baking sheet in the oven.

To prepare latkes: Thoroughly mix potatoes, onion, chiles to taste, cilantro, flour, cumin, salt, turmeric and eggs in a large bowl.

Heat 1 tablespoon oil in a large nonstick skillet or griddle over medium heat. Place a heaping tablespoon of the potato mixture in the skillet and flatten with a spatula into a disk roughly 3 inches in diameter. Form as many latkes as you can in the pan without overcrowding. Cook until golden brown and crispy on the bottom, 3 to 5 minutes. Flip and continue cooking until the other side is golden brown and crispy, 3 to 5 minutes. Briefly drain on a paper towel-lined plate, then transfer to the oven to keep warm. Repeat with the remaining oil and potato mixture.

Serve the latkes with the seasoned applesauce.

Make Ahead Tip: Cover and refrigerate the sauce (Step 1) for up to 3 days.

Note: Chickpea flour, or garbanzo bean flour, is commonly used in Indian and Middle Eastern cooking. It's a gluten-free alternative to wheat flour. Look for it in the gluten-free or bulk-foods section of large supermarkets and natural-foods stores or online at

Cut Down on Dishes: A rimmed baking sheet is great for everything from roasting to catching accidental drips and spills. For effortless cleanup and to keep your baking sheets in tip-top shape, line them with a layer of foil before each use.

Classic recipes, new ideas for Hanukkah

Beignets for Hanukkah from "Kosher by Design" by Susie Fishbein.

"It is not only what you serve, but how you serve it," Susie Fishbein, author of Kosher by Design.

Helen and Jules Wallerstein on their wedding day, May 31,1953.

"Kosher by Design" by Susie Fishbein.

"The Turkish Cookbook: Regioal Recipes and Stories"

Chickpea Patties are a Mediterranean break from latkes from "The Turkish Cookbook."

Helen Wallerstein's Potato Latkes are light and crispy. Serve with sour cream, applesauce or sprinkled sugar.

It’s not the sort of story you’ll often find in a cookbook.

On May 13, 1939, the SS St. Louis sailed from Hamburg, Germany, to Cuba carrying seven gentiles and 930 Jewish refugees fleeing Nazi persecution. Among them was 12-year-old Jules Wallerstein, who with his family had fled their native Fürth, Germany, where his father’s jewelry store had been ransacked and burned on Kristallnacht (the Night of Broken Glass) the previous November.

A cousin in America, Leo Wallerstein (owner of chocolate syrup company Bosco) had helped provide visas for the family, but although they and the other refugees possessed proper documentation, only 37 passengers were allowed to disembark when the ship reached Cuba.

They fared no better in Miami. Turned away from the United States, the ship’s captain frantically contacted other nations, and France, the Netherlands, Britain and Belgium all agreed to accept some of the refugees. The Wallersteins remained in Belgium until the German invasion, when Jules’ father was arrested and sent to France. Once again cousin Leo helped to reunite the family, and they later immigrated to the United States.

The Wallersteins’ story is only one of more than 80 harrowing tales told by Holocaust survivors and their families, along with their recipes and food memories, in June Feiss Hersh’s moving cookbook “Recipes Remembered: A Celebration of Survival.” (Ruder Finn Press, $36)

“I spent hundreds of hours listening, learning, laughing and crying,” Hersh writes. “I heard incredible stories of defiance, resolve, bravery and luck. … The survivor community has so much to teach, and we still have so much to learn.”

To assist those survivors who could not remember specific recipes, Hersh brought in 26 celebrity chefs, cookbook authors and restaurateurs, including Michelle Bernstein, Mark Bittman, Daniel Bolud, Gale Gand, Ina Garten, Faye Levy and Sara Moulton, to help re-create a remembered dish in the spirit of their region’s cuisine. Poland, Austria, Germany, Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Romania, Russia, Ukraine and Greece are represented in those recipes.

All proceeds from “Recipes Remembered” benefit the Museum of Jewish Heritage &ndash A Living Memorial to the Holocaust in New York. “The book captured my heart and soul,” Hersh said. “I speak about it to groups sometimes two to three times a week. We are entering our fourth printing, and the proceeds are really adding up.”

For Jules’ wife, Helen, her potato latkes, the quintessential Hanukkah treat, celebrate two miracles: the narrow escape and survival of her husband’s family as well as the miracle of the oil.

Hanukkah (beginning Tuesday at sundown) means “dedication.” It harkens back to 164 B.C.E., when the land of Judea was occupied by Antiochus IV and the Syrian-Greeks. They had forbidden Jewish observances and desecrated the Temple in Jerusalem, turning it into a Greek shrine for the sacrifice of pigs. Judah Maccabee and a tiny band of Jewish freedom fighters, against all odds, overthrew the enemy and cleansed the Temple. Only a small container of consecrated oil was found with which to light the eternal flame and rededicate the Temple. Miraculously, this oil, which should have lasted but a single day, burned for eight, and Jewish communities the world over have been celebrating with fried patties, pastries and pancakes ever since.

For Jews of Eastern European descent, Hanukkah brings mountains of latkes, those addictively crisp fried potato pancakes, accompanied by applesauce or sour cream, or even sprinkled with sugar in some circles. “With Helen’s recipe you achieve latke nirvana,” said Hersh, “a potato pancake that is light and crispy. Helen grates her potatoes on the finer side, but you can shred them if you prefer more texture.”

But Hanukkah is not the potato holiday &ndash it celebrates the miracle of the oil. In Israel, sufganiot (jelly doughnuts) are as popular for Hanukkah as potato latkes are here, where Ashkenazim (Jews of Eastern European descent) have been frying and loving them for centuries.

You don’t have to be Jewish to love latkes, and you don’t have to fry latkes to celebrate the holiday. As a break from latkes, how about chickpea fritters from “The Turkish Cookbook: Regional Recipes and Stories” by Nur Ilkin and Sheilah Kaufman?

Ilkin and Kaufman became friends through a diplomatic group both belong to in the Washington, D.C., area. Ilkin is the wife of a former Turkish ambassador to the United States, and Kaufman is a food writer, cooking instructor and author of 26 cookbooks. “I attended a luncheon at her magnificent home, where she served 23 different dishes,” Kaufman recalled. “I just had to have the recipes. When I suggested we do a cookbook together, she said, ‘I don’t know how to write a cookbook.’ I told her, ‘I don’t know how to cook Turkish.'”

The resulting collaboration became “The Turkish Cookbook” (Interlink Books, $35), with more than 250 healthful, tantalizing recipes from a unique cuisine, accompanied by stunning color photos. “Turkey lies on two continents (Europe and Asia). It has seven regions, all with different cuisines,” explained Kaufman. “If you go to Greece, you’re eating Greek food, but if you go to Turkey, you’re eating a combination of Venetian, Roman, Persian, Mongolian, Arab, Phoenician and Byzantine as well as Greek food.”

Chickpea fritters are typical of the Mediterranean region of Turkey. “They are similar to falafel &ndash a unique and healthful way to serve chickpeas,” she said. “The Turks revere vegetables almost more than anybody. Vegetables are served as main courses usually with salad and bread. Eggplant alone can be cooked at least 40 different ways.”

For dessert, leave it to Susie Fishbein, the popular author of the “Kosher by Design” series &ndash with seven titles that have sold more than 425,000 copies &ndash to offer a twist on Hanukkah jelly doughnuts. “I usually make an assortment of banana and plain beignets for Hanukkah, but the possibilities are endless,” Fishbein said by phone from her home in New Jersey. “You can slide in a little chocolate instead of the banana and make chocolate beignets. You can personalize them however you like.”

Like most of the recipes that Fishbein is famous for, the beignets from “Kosher by Design” (Artscroll/Shaar Press, $34.99) are showy but easy to prepare. “It is my last-second dessert. I keep a batch of the dry ingredients already mixed in quart containers, and then just mix it with the wet ingredients &ndash milk or soy milk, water and egg &ndash and fry,” she revealed. “The kids love to come into the kitchen and watch me bake them, and they toss them in the powdered sugar. Part of the fun is identifying the funny-looking shapes. Some look like a chicken and some like a hippopotamus.”

The luscious table settings and presentation ideas that party planner Renee Erreich and Fishbein created for these books &ndash and that photographer John Uher shot &ndash fairly leap off the pages. But everything is doable. “The food looks intimidating, but the recipes are not,” Fishbein said. “Food is so much a part of the Jewish holidays that it enriches the experience to tie the food into the holiday traditions,” she said. “That’s what my books do, without being overly biblical. There’s a place on everyone’s holiday table &ndash from the traditional to the funky and new. You can look to what is seasonal and what is current and make the menu yours.”

How to Make Farinata, the Italian Chickpea Pancake

The first time I tried the Italian chickpea pancake known as farinata, I was completely stumped as to why anyone would want to eat such a thing. It was dense and dry and totally unpalatable. The second and third times I tried it, one of them again in the United States and the other in Italy from a vendor at a market in Turin, it was just as bad. After three terrible experiences, I concluded that farinata was a total waste of time, and decided to never go out of my way to eat it again.

Then one day about nine years ago I was working with my friend Piero at his family's vineyard in Strevi, a small village in the province of Alessandria in Piedmont, Italy, when he suggested we drive to a town called Acqui Terme, which he swore had one of the best versions of farinata around. Given my prior experiences, I wasn't expecting much, but it sounded like a fun excursion anyway, so off we went.

I'm so glad I did, because that day was the turning point in my understanding of farinata.

As soon as we walked up to the counter of a little farinata shop and I saw a wood fire burning in a big oven and the heavy, wide copper pans used to bake the pancakes, I knew this was going to be different.

The farinata we ate there wasn't dry at all. Instead it was soft and custardy in the center, with a lightly crisp and brown exterior. Rosemary leaves infused the whole thing with their woodsy pine flavor. I've been in love with farinata—at least, the good kind—ever since.

That farinata in Acqui Terme is one delicious leaf on a branching tree of Mediterranean chickpea pancakes, with roots in Liguria (which Alessandria borders) and branches extending as far as Nice, France, where it's known as socca. From what I've read in my Italian cookbooks, it dates back to Roman times, if not before, when chickpea flour was a more affordable alternative to wheat flour.

One thing that's great about chickpea flour is that it lacks gluten, so there's no risk of the pancake becoming dense and elastic from mixing—there's absolutely nothing you need to add to your farinata batter, aside from chickpea flour, water, and salt, to produce a wonderfully custardy texture. And because the chickpeas come loaded with plenty of their own flavor, which I'd describe as similar to green peas but without any sweetness, you don't have to do much to get delicious results. A little freshly ground black pepper and maybe some rosemary leaves and you're all set.

To make it, start with finely ground chickpea flour.

Add water bit by bit while whisking to avoid lumps.

Once you have a nice, smooth, lump-free batter, you can add the rest of the water.

The key to custardy farinata is to use the right ratio of water to chickpea flour: 3 to 1 by weight, respectively. You'll end up with a batter that looks very thin and watery: That's okay, it's what you want.

Then you let it stand for about 4 hours or so, enough time for the flour to completely hydrate. A foam will form on the surface, so scrape that off with a spoon and discard it.

When you're ready to cook the farinata, the first step is to crank the oven all the way up and let it preheat. Like cooking pizza, you need to get as close as you can to wood-burning oven temperatures (technically, you'll get nowhere close to those high temps, but we do what we can, right?).

If you have a pizza stone or Baking Steel, you'll want to use it here. I set the oven rack on the second highest position, and put my Baking Steel on it—it's going to help push heat up into the bottom of the farinata so that it crisps from below, as it would on the hot hearth floor of a pizza oven.

With the oven fully preheated, take a well seasoned cast iron skillet and put a generous amount of olive oil in it, enough to fill the skillet with an even layer about two millimeters thick. Then give the batter a good stir and pour it into the skillet you want it about 1 centimeter deep, though there's some flexibility on the thickness of the pancake. The oil should mix with it, swirling on top and around the edge.

Then add plenty of freshly ground black pepper, and, if you want, fresh rosemary leaves.

Now switch your oven to broil, and as soon as the broiler has kicked on, slide the skillet onto your pizza stone or Baking Steel and let it go until the farinata has set and is browned on top. You can crack the oven door open with a utensil to prevent the broiler from cycling off.

When it comes out, the farinata should no longer jiggle, though it's okay if it's still a tiny bit soft in the center, since it will set more as it cools slightly.

It's best eaten while still warm, so once it's cooled enough and has set fully, cut it into sections and dig in. Done this way, there shouldn't be anything dry about it.

Recipe Summary

  • 2 ½ cups grated zucchini
  • 1 ⅓ cups finely chopped onions
  • ⅓ cup chopped green bell pepper
  • ⅓ cup chopped red bell pepper
  • 1 jalapeno pepper, minced
  • 3 eggs, lightly beaten
  • ½ teaspoon ground cumin
  • ½ teaspoon ground coriander
  • salt to taste
  • ½ cup crumbled feta cheese
  • ½ cup chickpea flour
  • ½ cup chopped fresh cilantro
  • ¼ cup rice flour
  • 3 tablespoons canola oil, or as needed

Place zucchini in a colander. Cover with cheesecloth or paper towels and squeeze out as much moisture as possible.

Transfer zucchini to a large bowl mix in onions, green bell pepper, red bell pepper, and jalapeno pepper. Add eggs, cumin, coriander, and salt mix well. Stir in feta cheese, chickpea flour, cilantro, and rice flour until batter is well blended and thick.

Heat 1 tablespoon oil in a skillet over medium heat. Drop pancake-sized scoops of batter into the skillet cook until golden brown, 2 to 3 minutes per side. Transfer to a serving plate. Repeat with remaining oil and batter.

Mediterranean Chickpea Burgers

Remember way back when I did that whole Part Time Vegetarian thing? Well I’m still kind of doing it. I say kind of because I haven’t really kept track of what I eat in about 3 months, but while writing this post I decided to give my diet for the last little while a run down, and aside from a couple weekends I’m still doing it with out even thinking about it. How awesome is that.

For those of you who don’t know Part Time Vegetarian, basically means that I only eat meat after 6 pm or with dinner. You can read more about why I started it in this post.

No when this whole thing started I was reliant on humus, bean burritos and MorningStar products, but as time passes I have really expanded my horizons with hearty salads, tofu, and lots of veggie packed soups (I really love soup). I have also gotten a lot better about eating breakfast, and this Juice has become a staple snack in my life. I find myself craving vegetables like eggplant and zucchini, things that I was previously convinced that I didn’t like.

One of the things I started doing now that summer has hit is experiment with veggie burgers, which are incredibly satisfying and something I don’t know why I didn’t try more often before. I’m pretty sure that I perfected my own version of my all time favorite MorningStar Mediterranean Chickpea Burgers. These burgers from morning start are packed with flavor and great not only in burger form, but cut up in a wrap or on a salad. With this recipe I am able to make my own version in bulk for way cheaper, and then freeze them individually so that I can use them as needed. If you hadn’t noticed I’ve been into that lately.

The trick to keeping these from sticking together when frozen is to freeze them on a sheet tray first and then stack them with wax paper in between before sealing them up.

I know you are just going to love my copy cat recipe for these burgers. They are so flavorful, and have a dynamic texture that makes it hard to stop after just one!

Olive latkes

“What makes a potato pancake a latke?” my younger daughter asked me last week, just before the eight-day Jewish festival of Hanukkah, which begins this year on Sunday evening (all Jewish holidays begin at sundown the day before). A latke, I explained to her, is not just a pancake made from potatoes, it’s a potato pancake with a poor man’s pedigree, a history, a tradition and a neshamah, a soul.

A lot to expect from a little pancake? Perhaps. But just as the menorah (originally an oil lamp) plays an integral part in the religious practice of the holiday, so does the potato latke, for most Ashkenazi Jews, play a starring role in the holiday’s culinary tradition.

But potato latkes weren’t originally a part of Hanukkah cuisine.

The holiday’s roots date back to 168 BC, when the Syrian-Greek King Antiochus captured Israel, plundering and defiling the holiest site of the Jewish people, the Temple in Jerusalem. On the outskirts of Jerusalem, guerrilla warriors led by the priest Mattathias and his five sons vowed never to submit. They called themselves the Maccabees -- derived from an acrostic of the Hebrew “Mi Kamocha B’Elim Adonai” (Who among the mighty is like you, God?) -- and indeed, they were victorious, liberating Jerusalem three years later.

Once the battle was over, the Maccabees rid the temple of idols and lighted the golden menorah with a little purified olive oil they found, apparently enough to burn for just one day. But then, according to tradition, a miracle happened: The oil lasted for eight days -- exactly the time it took to press fresh oil. It is to commemorate the Miracle of the Oil that Jews all over the world eat foods fried in oil on Hanukkah.

Over the centuries, those who wanted to observe the tradition developed recipes using ingredients available in the countries in which they lived. Jews who settled in the Middle East or around the Mediterranean use fresh-pressed olive oil to fry their holiday foods, because Hanukkah falls at the end of the olive-pressing season, just as it did in the days of the Maccabees. Italian and Moroccan Jews serve such dishes as chicken fried in olive oil, and Greek, North African and Turkish Jews make different kinds of olive oil-fried puffs of dough for dessert.

The word latke derives from Yiddish, the Jewish language spoken by East European Jews. For Jewish villagers living in Russia or Poland, pickings were slim in winter, and potatoes were cheap and available from the root cellar. Grating and making potatoes into little patties to be fried, millions of Jewish mothers provided sustenance to their hungry children with just a few potatoes and very little fuel.

From what my mother tells me, my great-grandmother didn’t even use olive oil to fry her latkes, because there weren’t any olives to press in Eastern Europe. Instead, she used schmaltz, fat rendered from a chicken, duck or goose, which are also traditional dishes served during the holiday week.

Interestingly enough, though, when I researched the word “latke,” I found that some sources claim it derives from the Old Russian oladka, and is a diminutive of olad’ya, from Greek eladia, the plural of eladion, which means “a little oily thing” and comes from elaia, which means “olive.”

There is no single correct latke. Some like their latkes made with coarsely grated potatoes, others with finely grated ones. For binding, some prefer flour and others matzo meal. Purists like their latkes to be all potatoes, often with a pinch of onion, while the more daring might add grated carrots or other vegetables such as Jerusalem artichokes.

In fact, nowhere does it say that you can’t forgo the potatoes altogether and make your latkes out of zucchini, beets, carrots or other vegetables. Because when all is said and done, it is not the potato per se that should take center stage on Hanukkah. What facilitated the Miracle of the Oil was not the pancake but the little olive, whose oil played an integral part in various ceremonies in the Temple, including anointing royal personages. Indeed, the word “Messiah” is derived from the Hebrew word Mashiach -- “anointed one.”

In biblical times, pure olive oil also enjoyed widespread use as a remedy for wounds, sores, chills and aching throats, ears and muscles. Long before we knew that it contained healthful monounsaturated oils and helped lower cholesterol, olive oil softened the cracked hands of the shepherd and the shoemaker, protected the tender skin of babes and relieved the tired traveler -- and, no doubt, the Maccabees as well.

4 Hanukkah fritter recipes that range beyond the latke

Right before the January flood of diets and exercise bracelets hits, those of us who celebrate Hanukkah get eight days to unabashedly indulge in platters of latkes — deliciously crispy, fried potato pancakes.

As you probably remember, Hanukkah (which begins at sundown Dec. 24 this year) is all about the oil. The holiday commemorates the miracle in 164 B.C. when Judah Maccabee and his followers found a small amount of pure olive oil in the Temple of Jerusalem after it had been devastated by the Syrians. Intended to burn for one day, it lasted eight.

I learned by looking into recipes from many countries that it was the Ashkenazic, or Eastern European Jews, who brought the potato latke to America.

"Because their daily diet consisted of potatoes and bread," Joan Nathan explained in her book "The Jewish Holiday Kitchen," "they wanted to include a special dish cooked in oil to symbolize the main meal of Hanukkah. This potato pancake, already used by Ukrainians with goose for Christmas, seemed a good and relatively inexpensive choice. Because Hanukkah falls at the season when geese are plentiful, goose fat was an obvious and inexpensive substitute for the original olive oil."

Today, most potato latkes are fried in vegetable oil, not schmaltz (rendered animal fat).

I use my Polish-born mother-in-law's recipe, but in the spirit of reinvention, I change out her chicken fat for olive oil. It's a reminder of the miracle that happened after that vial of pure oil was found.

But in countries farther south, such as Israel, Iran or India, no Hanukkah dish is more traditional, or for that matter more predictable, than fried pastries, often dipped in sweet syrup. Fried pancakes make an appearance, but they play second fiddle. Even if it's only for eight days, I'd like to live in a country like Israel where the jelly-filled doughnut, soufganiyot, is king. But I found a satisfactory substitute nearby at Mizrahi Grill in Highland Park, which claims to be authentic kosher Mediterranean.

Eli Mizrahi, the Israeli-born Sephardic owner, picked up the tradition of frying doughnuts from his childhood home in Haifa where his mother and grandmother made soufganiyot. For the past eight years, he has been frying thousands of yeasted and jelly-filled doughnuts for customers, making them every morning and afternoon during Hanukkah.

Yet for a couple of nights during the holiday, his Israeli mother fried cauliflower patties, and fritters of ground chicken breast and leeks. I haven't met an Israeli who calls them latkes that's a Yiddish word. They are fritters, or levivot in Hebrew, meaning any fried pancake.

Ayelet Danino, an Israeli-born caterer living in Chicago, also remembers the popularity of deep-fried doughnuts. "There are 20 different kinds in Israel now," she says. But, like Mizrahi, her family also had levivot, some with sweet potato and some with mixed vegetables. "We'd open the fridge and see what's there. Zucchini? Broccoli?" They used what they had, then served them with a side of baba ghanoush, an Israeli salad or a spicy sauce. There was never a plate of apple sauce on the table.

For the Jewish people who were expelled from Spain in 1492 and scattered to many places — Turkey, Italy, North Africa, India and elsewhere throughout Europe and the Arab world — the tie between country and condiment is strong. These are the Sephardic Jews Sefarad meaning Spain.

The ones who arrived by boat at the shores of East India made onion and cilantro fritters, seasoned with turmeric, cumin and paprika, all bound together with chickpea flour.

In "The New Persian Cookbook," author Louisa Shafia includes Hanukkah fritters made with winter squash, cumin and chickpea flour. The most traditional Hanukkah treat for Sephardic Jews in Greece and Turkey is a fried honey puff, called loukoumades in Greece and lokma in Turkey. They're crisp, round fritters drizzled with honey-scented syrup.

When I think back to Passover and that bite of horseradish we have to taste, how lucky are we that something so delicious we're required to eat can also reflect a story in our religious faith

Sesame Sweet Potato Baked Latkes

Sesame-spiked, slightly sweet, and highly sophisticated, this bold spin on latkes is anything but traditional.

1 lb (450 g) sweet potatoes, grated
2 green onions, finely chopped
2 Tbsp (30 mL) low-sodium tamari
1 Tbsp (15 mL) chia seeds
1 Tbsp (15 mL) rice wine vinegar
1 Tbsp (15 mL) sesame oil
1 Tbsp (15 mL) white or black sesame seeds
1 tsp (5 mL) fresh grated ginger
1/4 tsp (1 mL) chili flakes
1/4 cup (60 mL) buckwheat flour

Preheat oven to 425 F (220 C). Line large rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper. In large bowl, mix together grated sweet potatoes and green onion. In small bowl, whisk tamari, chia seeds, vinegar, oil, sesame seeds, ginger, and chili flakes. Pour into sweet potato mixture and stir to combine. Add buckwheat flour, mix, and let sit for 5 minutes.

Scoop scant 1/4 cup (60 mL) portions onto prepared baking sheet, 1 in (2.5 cm) apart, and flatten to 1/4 in (0.6 cm) thick. Bake for 20 minutes. Flip and bake for an additional 15 to 20 minutes, until crispy and cooked through.

Serve immediately, or cool on wire rack and store in refrigerator for up to 3 days, or freezer for up to 1 month. To serve, reheat in 400 F (200 C) oven for 5 to 10 minutes.

Each serving contains: 62 calories 1 g protein 2 g total fat (0 g sat. fat, 0 g trans fat) 11 g total carbohydrates (2 g sugars, 2 g fibre) 111 mg sodium

Watch the video: Tuna burger (December 2021).