The search for matzo meal, and for connection to our past | Opinion

“I found the Streit’s Matzo Meal!” Michelle said to her mom over the phone, as if she’d found water in the desert. We were in Whole Foods in the International Foods section –– it was our last resort. Contrary to popular belief, it’s not that easy finding Jewish food products in South Florida. Ever since we moved down here two years ago from New York to be closer to Michelle’s parents, Susan and Jim, who retired in Miami, there’s been a gap in high holiday festivities. A decade ago, when Michelle and I started dating, she’d make her great-great-grandmother’s matzo ball soup recipe each year for Rosh Hashanah. The ingredients were readily available in almost every supermarket in the tri-state area, especially Streit’s — a brand her family was loyal to for generations.

“Trust me, these are the best matzo balls you’ll ever have,” Susan swore upon my first year eating with their family, in 2013. Up until that point, I hadn’t had many examples to go by. Growing up on Long Island, I was surrounded by Jewish friends and their families but never invited over for dinner — mainly because they didn’t like the cuisine themselves. On our Puerto Rican side, my great aunt had married a Jewish man. When they moved out to Long Island from The Bronx, they raised their family Jewish, but our side of the family never joined them on holidays. My Indian father and my Puerto Rican and Italian American mother had our own culinary traditions for Diwali and Christmas: chicken curry, arroz con habichuelas, lasagna — oftentimes all at once. We didn’t have much money but our taste buds were wealthy.

At school, I’d always hear my friends talk about Jewish food like eating it was a chore, although the meals sounded delicious: beef brisket, matzo ball soup, chopped liver, gefilte fish — OK, maybe not gefilte fish. Still, the only time I’d come close to eating Jewish food was at our local diner. The matzo ball soup was OK, a little mushy, a tad too much salt, but still edible.

In Michelle’s family, Jewish recipes were sacred and passed down to her verbally and through years of demonstration, from one generation to another. Michelle never spoke much about her Jewish side, but I knew she and her mother valued high holiday dinners, which brought them closer to ancestors who was no longer present. I could relate. The Puerto Rican and Italian food my grandmother had learned to cook was a homage to both her own culture and her husband’s. And the Indian food my mother mastered paid respect to my father’s culture as well as her mother-in-law, who had passed on. In our families, food was an heirloom, a gateway to the past, a part of our identities that helped us understand our complex Americanness.

That first year eating Michelle’s special family recipe of matzo ball soup, I quickly realized Susan wasn’t kidding. The balls were hearty and robust, thick and packed as firmly as one of my grandmother’s legendary meatballs. Over the following years, Michelle would allow me to assist her in rolling the matzo balls — I took the honor and position seriously. I was learning a new cuisine, one I’d heard about since childhood and always wondered about. As I played sous chef to Michelle’s masterful matzo ball molding, I asked questions about her life and family, and felt closer as she told me stories about her and her grandmother.

Those sacred dinners have waned a bit in recent years. Not for any particular reason. Maybe the change in our environment has set our traditions back. But this year, Susan insisted Michelle get back into the kitchen and make matzo ball soup. There seemed to be more of an urgency for it this year, as if the fleeting of time became more apparent to her, now that she’s entered her 70s. After searching in about 10 supermarkets, we were losing hope. But when we found Streit’s Unsalted Matzo Meal, Michelle was nearly in tears. Jars of gefilte fish sat on the bottom shelf. We contemplated not telling Susan about that, but we couldn’t lie. After all, it was almost Rosh Hashanah.

Raj Tawney, of Pembroke Pines, writes about race, identity, family and food from his multicultural American perspective. He has contributed essays to The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Guardian and other publications around the world. His debut memoir, “Colorful Palate: A Flavorful Journey Through a Mixed American Experience,” will be available Oct. 3, 2023. He will be appearing at Books & Books on Oct. 24.