The great gefilte fish fight


Editor’s Note: Today’s piece is by Rabbi Louis (Eli) Finkelman, who has written in this space before about pickles, rumtopf and celery.

Gefilte (pronounced guh FILL tuh) fish is a Jewish delicacy that’s eaten year-round, but it’s popular at Passover because we celebrate the holidays with festive meals. Those who make gefilte fish from scratch don’t often do so for an ordinary meal–it has to be worthy of the considerable bother.

Gefilte fish literally means stuffed fish. Originally the European Jews who developed this dish would take a whole fish, scrape out and debone the meat and chop it (often adding chopped vegetables), put it back in the fish skin and bake it.

These days, few bother with the fish skin, instead forming balls out of the ground fish mixture and boiling them. You can get gefilte fish in jars and cans in supermarkets in Jewish areas–but it doesn’t hold a candle to home-made. Recently stores have also started selling frozen “gefilte fish” loaves that you can boil whole and then slice. These products are tastier than the canned or jarred products–but home-made still reigns supreme.

There are as many variations as there are European towns where Jews once lived. The biggest dividing line seems to be sweet vs. non-sweet. Sugar in a fish dish may sound weird, but trust me, the end result is delectable!

Here is a link to a delightful 14-minute film about three generations of women and their relationship to gefilte fish.

By Rabbi Louis (Eli) Finkelman

My grandparents made the big family seder at their apartment in the Bronx every year. When Grandma could no longer do all the preparation, other women in the family, including my mother, teamed up to clean and cook.

When Grandpa died, my father took over the role of leading the seder. When my mother fell ill and could no longer prepare for the seder, my sister Miriam (Mimi) took a few days off from work to get the house ready, and to help get Dad ready to host the seder each year.

This was a declaration, not a proposal to discuss.

The first seder without Dad

And so my sister came to visit us in California a few days before Passover, in time to help with the planning and cooking to get us ready for the seders. My wife, Marilyn, and my sister Mimi did the work together, to prepare; other relatives would come later, to join the celebration.

But it would be a bittersweet celebration. Dad had died in November. The seder would be in California, as he had foretold, but he would not be there.

By 1993, my wife and my sister had known each other for 24 years.  They had become friends almost immediately after they met, good friends. By 1993, they might have even been best friends to each other. On the rare occasions when they disagreed, they talked things over and decided together. They even worked together smoothly in the same kitchen.

And so preparation for the 1993 seders went smoothly, as everyone expected.  Marilyn and Mimi planned the menus, shopped together, assigned each other tasks, and cheerfully worked together preparing festive meals. Until they had a fight, their first real fight ever.

It had to do with who would prepare the gefilte fish.  My sister – who generally does not insist — insisted that she would prepare the gefilte fish. My wife – who generally decides in an instant what is important and what is not important – refused. This was important; she was going to prepare the gefilte fish. They could not talk this one over; they could not break the impasse. Neither of them could do any more cooking that day.

My wife suffered a night of interrupted sleep.  How could she sleep well, in the middle of a fight with her best friend? And why did they have to fight over a pot of fish?

Why did it matter?

By morning, Marilyn had figured out why who made the gefilte fish mattered, and why it would not matter anymore. Either recipe would taste fine, but the fish had a back story, or rather, two back stories.

My wife learned her recipe from her Grandmother Keanig. Her grandmother did simple cooking, only a few foods she learned to cook the old-country way.  Grandma did not work from written recipes – who knows if she had learned to read in any language? – but her hands knew what to do.

The last decade of Grandpa Keanig’s life, Grandma had stayed right beside his sickbed every single day.  After he died, Grandma Keanig flew out to visit us. During that visit, she taught my wife her recipes by showing her and cooking with her. My wife would recite her grandmother’s instructions out loud, and my daughter – then a first-grader — sat in the kitchen with a pencil and a notebook writing down those instructions in a childish hand.

Every year, in a ritual telephone call before Rosh Hashanah and another before Passover, Grandma would want to know how the fish came out. And every year, before Rosh Hashanah and before Passover, my wife would report, “The fish came out good, but not as good as yours.”

In my family, Grandma did just about all the preparations for the seder herself.  Grandpa made fresh grated horseradish with fresh-squeezed lemon juice,  touch of sugar and fresh grated beets. Grandpa made haroshes, a sauce of apples, nuts and sweet red wine. But Grandma did the cooking.  She had daughters and daughters-in-law, whom she loved and appreciated, but who were not allowed in the kitchen when Grandma worked.

Also unwelcome in the kitchen were the granddaughters, except for my sister. Grandma appreciated the way Miriam, even as a young girl, got things done, efficiently and quickly, with a minimum of fuss, cleaning up as she worked, taking instruction easily. Making gefilte fish was among the many skills Miriam learned in Grandma’s kitchen.

The question did not really hinge on the difference in flavor between the two recipes. My grandma, originally from Zlotopol in Ukrainian Russia, made a peppery version, perhaps in the Ukrainian style, or perhaps just because Grandma liked pepper. Marilyn’s grandma, from Brisk in Byelorussia, used less pepper and more sugar.

The root of the question

The real question hinged on whose traditions would go into making this seder. Which style of fish got served, and which person made the fish, really stood for whose seder we would have.

Of course in practice, the seder would have elements from both families. The fight was over. Mimi made the gefilte fish that year. The next day, Marilyn summarized the experience with the observation that she and her friend Mimi could manage “one fight every 24 years.”  I hope that does not mean they have another fight coming up next year.

As for the recipes, the notebook with Grandma Keanig’s gefilte fish recipe showed up a few years ago as we packed for a move. We gave the notebook to our daughter, who has become quite an accomplished cook.

A recipe in my wife’s card catalogue reads “Grandma’s Gefilte Fish.” It does not specify whose grandma, but it has sugar and not much pepper.

Note: Buy fresh fish and ask the person at the counter to fillet it for you and give you the skin and bones in a separate bag.


An urban fish farm and a great tilapia recipe

Editor’s note: Picking up on something I wrote a few weeks ago, about sustainable and responsible fish farming, I thought I’d tell you about one of two fish farms that recently opened in depressed areas of Detroit. (In addition, a University of Michigan graduate student opened a shrimp farm in a vacant Detroit house.) I recently visited the CDC Farm and Fishery and was very impressed. The fishery uses only organic food for the fish, and no antibiotics, making them much better for human consumption than the tilapia farmed in China and South America, which account for most of the tilapia eaten in the U.S. It’s run by a faith-based nonprofit. Maybe the idea can be exported to other urban areas! This article, by Matthew Lewis (no relation), is used by permission of Model D, a Detroit online newspaper that published it on May 20, 2014. 

Grown in Detroit, but not in the ground:
The next evolution of urban agriculture

Just south of Detroit’s Boston Edison neighborhood—ironically positioned across from a “you buy, we fry” fish joint—is the first functioning commercial aquaponics operation within the city of Detroit, Central Detroit Christian‘s (CDC) Farm and Fishery.

Not only is CDC Farm and Fishery the city’s first functioning aquaponics operation, it’s also the first agriculture business to receive a special land use permit authorized under the city’s recently adopted Urban Agriculture Ordinance. The operation is also licensed by the Michigan Department of Agriculture and Rural Development.

The Farm and Fishery operates in a colorfully painted building that recently housed a party store. CDC purchased the building two years ago and began converting it into the two-level aquaponics operation where plants and fish are being cultivated simultaneously and symbiotically today.

From beer coolers to hydroponic beds

On the ground floor, rows of beer coolers and shelves were removed to make way for rows of hydroponic beds for growing herbs and vegetables. Today, grow lights slide on tracks above the beds, 90 percent of which are filled with basil.

Recently, CDC added a multi-tiered stand for growing microgreens to a corner of the ground floor. “Basil and microgreens are tremendously lucrative,” says Anthony Hatinger, CDC’s production and garden manager.

In the building’s basement are several large tanks holding approximately 4,500 tilapia fish in various stages of growth, all of which are the offspring of one male and two females (CDC has five female breeding fish, but only two have successfully reproduced). Two smaller tanks, one containing a bed of worms and another bacteria that work together as a “biofilter,” convert fish waste produced inside the growing tanks into nitrate-enriched water that is cycled upstairs to the plant beds, fertilizing the herbs.

“We don’t use fertilizers besides the fish,” says Hatinger. “We don’t use pesticides or other chemicals. We use organic practices and organic seeds, though we’re not certified organic because it costs too much.” CDC even uses organic, non-GMO fish food. Hatinger, a Lansing-area native, fell in love with Detroit when he first attended the Detroit Electronic Music Festival (the free festival superseded by Movement) when he was in high school.

He moved to Detroit just over a year ago after graduating from Michigan State University with a degree in religious studies and a minor in horticulture. He also obtained a specialization in sustainable agriculture and food systems. So when the opportunity to work for CDC on the city’s first functioning aquaponics operation presented itself, it was a perfect fit.

Faith-based and food-based

A faith-based nonprofit community Development corporation, Central Detroit Christian manages eight socially-driven, for-profit businesses (LC3s). Several of these businesses are food-based, including CDC Farm and Fishery; Cafe Sonshine, a healthy soul food restaurant; and Peaches and Greens, a neighborhood produce market.

“The goal is to create jobs and be a force of change in the neighborhood by creating a community of choice,” says Hatinger. “We’re offering a very niche agricultural skillset to people who don’t necessarily have a good outlook for employment.”

At full production, CDC Farm and Fishery will employ around a dozen neighborhood residents and will be open 18 hours per day for three six-hour shifts. Hatinger estimates workers will harvest an average of 100 fish per week, each fish yielding between 0.5 and 0.75 pounds of filet meat that will sell at between $7 and $8 per pound.

Currently, CDC Farm and Fishery’s micro greens and herbs can be purchased at the Grown in Detroit stand on Saturdays at Eastern Market. CDC has also supplied pop-up chefs at Corktown’s St. Cece’s and Hamtramck’s (revolver) restaurant. CDC recently brought on Megan Husch as the Farm and Fishery’s general manager. She is tasked with marketing and selling their products to local purchasers, which could include restaurants, hotels, and food distributors.