The Best Vehicle I Know

Because there’s nothing a crisp little potato pancake can’t fix.

For as long as I can remember, a latke has been the little ritual that marked this time of year for me and my grandparents. The light would get softer, the air a little thinner, and suddenly there we’d be—grating, squeezing, sizzling. And to be honest? I never stopped. I still make latkes all the time, sometimes as often as once a week. I’ve started to think the latke might be the most Jewish part of me—maybe not technically true, but deeply felt. There’s something about the crisp edges, the golden lace of potato, the way it’s both humble and glamorous at once. It just lands.

And the thing about latkes is: they can be anything. Which feels exactly right, because at the beginning, they actually were something else entirely. Before potatoes showed up cheap and abundant in Eastern Europe, latkes weren’t even potato-based—they were little cheese pancakes, fried in oil to mark the Hanukkah miracle. Only later did they evolve (quietly, sensibly, beautifully) into the crispy, salty, irresistible potato version we know today. I love this. I love that this food has always shape-shifted to match what was available, what was seasonal, what was affordable. It makes adding sweet potato or zucchini or cabbage or even ramps feel like you’re simply carrying on the story.