By: Tasha Ackerman
Sandor Katz fondly remembers how his Jewish grandmother, Betty Ellix, would show her family her love by showering them with traditional Jewish dishes. Betty was from Gorodets, a village located in modern-day Belarus, and emigrated to New York in 1921 when she was still a child. These foods that Sandor was introduced to in his New York home carried cultural traditions from his ancestral homeland, though it was not until later in life when Sandor became a master fermentor that he would realise the influence of his grandmother and the connection between fermentation and his own heritage. Now, as a leader in the art of fermentation, Sandor can trace the roots of his unique palette back to those early memories—the tangy, briny pickles, the sour sorrel soup, and the rich, comforting blintzes that his grandmother would painstakingly prepare. These flavours shaped him, long before he earned the nickname “Sandorkraut.”
Growing up in New York City, Sandor’s exposure to traditional Jewish food was not limited to his grandparents’ kitchen. Sandor grew up just three blocks from the famous Zabar’s, an iconic deli on Manhattan’s Upper West Side that has served traditional Jewish fare for 90 years at the same location. Sandor explained how the pickles his family ate from Zabar’s were briny and garlicky, nothing like the vinegary American pickles other families were eating.
While Zabar’s represented the vibrant culture of the Upper West Side with its artisanal styles of traditional Jewish foods, it was the memory of the old-time picklers on Essex Street in the Lower East Side that fascinated Sandor since he was young. Through the turn of the 20th century, the Lower East Side of New York’s Manhattan was densely populated with Eastern European Jewish immigrants who opened authentic, “old world” delis and kosher markets. Sandor explained how he always loved the romance of going down to Essex Street and buying from the old-time pickle stalls. Essex Street on the Lower East Side, colloquially known as “Pickle Alley” in the early twentieth century was where Jewish immigrants brought their age-old practices of fermentation to America. As a teenager, Sandor snuck away to Essex Street during class trips in the Lower East Side to buy bulk orders of pickles, which he would then resell to his classmates.
Now later in adulthood, Sandor can reflect on the rich flavours associated with his heritage. Yet while he was growing up, he recalls finding some of the food his grandparents ate to be strange, such as cold sorrel soup: a herby, tangy, and refreshing summer soup traditional for Ashkenazi Jews. Sandor’s maternal grandparents, Betty and Sol Ellix, both emigrated to the US from what is now modern-day Belarus, though the shifting borders of Eastern Europe meant that they never referred to their homeland as Belarus. Sandor’s grandma Betty was originally named Rodie Bosniak and emigrated when she was eleven or twelve. She came from the village of Horodec which she referred to as part of Poland. Sandor’s grandfather, Sol, was originally named Zelamin Aleksenicer. He came from Berezna which he referred to as part of “White Russia.” Today, these places are located in Belarus and are known by their current names, Gorodets and Biarozna, reflecting changes in political boundaries and language over time. Betty and Sol both emigrated to the United States in 1921, though despite being from nearby villages, did not know each other at the time. They met several years later at Coney Island, where they were both vacationing with friends.
Horodec and Berezna were villages that were part of the Pale of Settlement, where most of Eastern Europe’s Jews once lived. Fermentation was popular in the region due to the long, harsh winters which created a need to preserve food. Jews in this region fermented foods such as cabbage, cucumbers, and beets. While the process is simple, the result is a highly functional, preserved food that is rich with interesting flavours. For example, cabbage and salt were packed into barrels and transformed over time into a tangy, crunchy sauerkraut that could withstand the winters. These flavours were the traditions that Betty and Sol brought with them to New York, so even though they didn’t speak much about the old country to Sandor and his sister, they still shared their heritage through food.
Whether it was intentional or not, the food Sandor’s grandma cooked played a role in preserving the family’s cultural heritage. Betty would cook elaborate meals, her love language expressed in the traditional dishes she cooked for her family. Sandor recalls the times that she would come over to their apartment to make a hundred blintzes, wrap them in wax paper, and store them in the freezer so that whenever they wanted one to enjoy, they could take them out and reheat them. Betty’s recipes were never really passed down to Sandor’s mother, and by the time Sandor and his sister grew older and began to care more about their family’s culinary traditions, they found that Betty’s capacity to teach them had diminished. Especially in the context of Jewish families, where food is integral to many holidays, stories, and traditions, Sandor regrets that his family did not learn more from his grandmother when they had the chance.
This sense of loss is something that drives Sandor’s work today. Sandor has become a leader in the art of fermentation, a skill that grew after Sandor left his life in New York to move to rural, Canon County Tennessee where he embraced a communal lifestyle and learned about living more off of the land. He grew curious about the potential of fermenting foods from the garden, and began experimenting, earning himself the nickname “Sandorkraut.” His project turned into a career. Sandor has written five books on fermentation, and “The Art of Fermentation” is the winner of a James Beard Foundation Book Award and a New York Times bestseller. Sandor leads interactive workshops around the world on all sorts of topics related to fermentation from cultural heritage to gut health, and of course, how to ferment. Sandor also runs residency programs at his own fermentation school in Tennessee.
More information on upcoming events and Sandor’s books can be found at www.wildfermentation.com.
Fermentation is not unique to Jewish cuisine, and fermented foods can be found in nearly every heritage around the world: from Korean kimchi to Eastern European sauerkraut. When Sandor learned about Kvass, which is a mildly tangy and common drink in Belarus made of fermented rye bread, he not only went on a journey to find it and taste it, but he ultimately created his own brew. He described the flavour as nostalgic knowing that his grandparents would have been drinking something similar. “Food traditions are an important element of culture and heritage,” Sandor reflected. “A lot of what I’m doing is motivated by the desire to encourage people to learn these traditions from their parents, their grandparents; whoever’s still practising them.” Today, Sandor’s work is about more than just food, it’s about reconnecting with those traditions and helping others to do the same. Whether he’s teaching workshops in Italy, Colombia, or back in Tennessee, Sandor is driven by a desire to inspire others to explore their own culinary heritage. And for those who’ve lost touch with their roots, he offers a simple but profound message: it’s never too late to start.
It wasn’t until Sandor delved deeper into his passion for fermentation that he began to understand the profound connection between his grandparents’ homeland and the flavours they brought with them to New York, which he would ultimately end up recreating as he entered into the culinary space. As Sandor’s passion for fermentation grew, so did his appreciation for the cultural significance of these practices.
As a special gift to The Together Plan, Sandor has recently recreated his grandmother’s savoury kugel recipe, one of the few dishes she managed to teach him while she was able to. Sandor especially appreciates this kugel as unique from the sweet kugels that are more common in Jewish American culture. The recipe, which we’ve included below, is not only for you to use and enjoy, but it is also an invitation for you to explore your own family’s culinary traditions, dig through old recipe boxes, and ask your relatives about the dishes they remember from their own childhoods.
In the end, food is more than just sustenance—it’s a connection to our past, a way to honour those who came before us, and a means of preserving our cultural heritage for future generations. Sandor Katz’s work in fermentation is a testament to this idea- an almost too-perfect metaphor to remind us that the simple act of preserving some cabbage can also be an act of preserving your heritage.
Betty Ellix’s Savory Noodle Kugel Recipe
Ingredients (for about 4 servings)
- Onion, 1 medium
- Garlic, 1 or 2 cloves (optional)
- Butter, a few tablespoons
- Egg Noodles, 8 oz/250 g
- Eggs, 4
- Milk, 1/4 cup
- Sour Cream
- Salt
- Pepper
- Chop onion and garlic and saute in butter over medium heat until they are beginning to brown, not burn. Transfer to a mixing bowl.
- Boil egg noodles in salted water for about 5 minutes, until cooked but still chewy. Drain noodles, add to the onions in the mixing bowl, and mix well.
- Scramble eggs and milk, season with salt and pepper, then mix into noodle-onion mixture.
- Heat a 9-10″ cast iron or other pan, add a generous amount of butter, and once butter is melted, swirl the pan to cover the entire bottom with melted butter. Add kugel mixture, spread to even the surface, cover kugel, and cook over medium heat for 4-5 minutes. Once the kugel seems set, run a firm flipping spatula around the bottom edges to make sure it is loose enough to flip.
- Flip kugel to cook the other side. If this seems daunting, place a large plate over the pan, flip the kugel onto the plate, then slide it back onto the pan. Cook for another 3-4 minutes, until kugel is completely cooked.
- Serve kugel with sour cream, salt, and pepper.