When it comes to eating pasta, we rarely take note of the unique texture and formation of the particular pasta that we are consuming; however, long ago, the shape and size of each pasta type was chosen with specific purpose in mind.  Moreover, contrary to popular belief, shape does matter in the world of pasta; not all types of pasta taste the same or hold the same value.  Believe it or not, different noodles were created with a plan—a topic that I will now explore and analyze from two crucial sides; first, through an Italian perspective, and next, from the Chinese approach.

            In Italy, it all started with Marco Polo’s arrival and the introduction to spaghetti—known as macaroni at the time.  “The modern word ‘macaroni’ derives from the Sicilian term for kneading dough with energy, as early pasta making was often a laborious, day-long process” (History of Pasta).  On that note: “Spaghetti means ‘a length of cord’ in Italian.  This long noodle works well with a variety of sauces, and can even be used in Asian stir-fries” (An Intro to Italian Pasta).  In addition, different spin-offs on this basic form of pasta evolved as a result of modifications in width, such as spaghettini—a thinner version—and spaghettoni—a thicker version.  One example of a sauce with which spaghetti pairs well is tomato sauce—a staple dish on any ‘kid’s menu’ in a restaurant—which leads me to the discussion of another major discovery in Italy—that is, the “discovery” of the tomato in the 19^th century.  Interestingly, while tomatoes had been around for quite some time, people stayed away from them, believing them toxic:

“Although tomatoes were brought back to Europe shortly after their discovery in the New World, it took a long time for the plant to be considered edible.  In fact tomatoes are a member of the nightshade family and rumors of tomatoes being poisonous continued in parts of Europe and its colonies until the mid 19^th century.  Therefore it was not until 1839 that the first pasta recipe with tomatoes was documented” (History of Pasta). 

From that point on, the tomato took off in Southern Italy and led to its establishment as a staple for spaghetti—that is, in the form of tomato sauce.  Early on, pasta was made by hand and typically required drying—a time consuming and laborious process—a rate-limiting step for the variability of pasta shapes at the time; however, with the rise of technology and machinery, the pasta “ensemble” of expanded dramatically.  On that note, Oretta Zanini De Vita’s book, Encyclopedia of Pasta, discusses the importance and arrival of various pasta shapes.  In terms of technology and production, the pastaio was a great advancement for the Italians, as it eased the drying process.  Moreover, further improvements brought multiple “variations on a theme”—there were many more shapes and sizes, and of course, a lexicon to go with them:

“The pastaio was still needed, however, to dose out the water, the quantity of which was his secret; he made the dough harder for the largest sizes; softer for fettuccine, vermicellini, and capellini, and softer still for spaghetti and bucatini.  If the pasta came out defective, the pastaio would eliminate it as munnezzaglia (trash).  The shapes multiplied with the invention of new dies, now made not only with bronze but also with nickel and other noncorrosive materials.  Local scholars have estimated that the number of formats grew from about one hundred fifty to eight hundred or more” (Encyclopedia of Pasta, 8).

With that in mind, the next question we must address is the “deeper meaning” underlying pasta shapes in Italy—what purpose do such shapes serve, and how is each one special to an Italian?

            One major difference between pasta shapes is geographical, as various pasta shapes hail from specific parts of Italy.  Another major difference is the way in which they are made and the ratio of ingredients from which they are comprised.  One of the greatest differences, however, (per a plethora of sources) is how each is designed to be served.  From the owner of an Italian restaurant himself (whom I interviewed for the final project), pasta shapes are of utmost importance when it comes to deciding which sauce or “supporting” ingredients with which to serve the pasta; Antonio—proprietor of Bacio Trattoria, who is from the isle of Capri—told me that pastas with holes, such as penne or ziti, go really well with meat or cream sauces, as the holes allow for the chunks of meat or cream to become “trapped” inside of the pasta—hence the common pairing of Bolognese with ziti, and the creamy dish, penne alla vodka; Bolognese sauce is comprised of ground beef, tomato, onion, and herbs, while vodka sauce is a tomato-based sauce that incorporates a few additional ingredients—the most important one being heavy cream, giving it the creamy flavor, and rich mouth-feel.  On the other hand, Antonio firmly believes that long pastas, such as linguini and spaghetti (mentioned earlier), go really well with seafood or substantial meat, hence the two popular dishes: linguini with clams and spaghetti with meatballs.  The length of such pasta shapes allows for the pasta to be twirled around the fork, followed by the seafood or meat at the end of the fork, in order to keep the pasta “in place.” These lengthy pastas do not go well with thicker or meat-based sauces, as such sauces or small chunks of meat would tend to slip off.  Pastas with ‘pockets’—such as ravioli or tortellini—go well with any sort of filling, often cheese-based or of a similar consistency to ricotta cheese.  From a personal standpoint, mushroom-ricotta is my favorite filling, having tried many raviolis over the course of my life, from eggplant-ricotta to “three-cheese “ filled; after all, ravioli is my favorite food to this day.  The formal definition of ravioli stands by the earlier statement—Ravioli: “These square or round pasta pillows can be filled with cheese, meat, or vegetables” (An Intro to Italian Pasta).

            Antonio’s belief, that there are particular pairings for each pasta type—is widely held; it can be found across the internet and is prevalent in literature as well: “Pasta comes in many shapes and sizes, and each shape helps trap the sauce, stand up to a casserole, or elevate a salad” (An Intro to Italian Pasta).  On the site, life in italy, writer Justin Demetri discusses a brief History of Pasta, in which he further discusses the variety in pairings for two main categories of pasta—first, dried pasta, and second, fresh pasta.  Dried pasta is a category that includes the many popular, ever-evolving (and somewhat ridiculous) pasta shapes: “Shapes range from simple tubes to bow ties (farfalle, which actually means ‘butterfly’), to unique shapes like tennis rackets (racchette)” (History of Pasta).  Moreover, Demetri lists the common pairings for a variety of dried pasta shapes and the logic for such pairings: “Dried tube pasta (ziti or penne) often has ridges or slight abrasions on the surface to hold onto the pasta sauce as well.  These ridges and bumps are created during the extrusion process when the pasta is forced from a copper mold and cut to desired length before drying” (History of Pasta).  Here stands yet another reason for pairing tube-shaped pastas with meat or cream-based sauces, in that the ridges give the fine chunks of meat or thick, creamy sauce, a surface to which they can adhere.  Fresh pasta, on the other hand, is made differently and is meant to be eaten “soft;” “Many northern regions of Italy use all-purpose flour and eggs while southern Italy usually makes theirs from semolina and water but it depends on the recipe” (History of Pasta).  In addition, fresh pasta serves a different purpose from dried pasta, and it is often argued that the former is inherently better:

“Fresh pasta has been made in households throughout Italy for generations but the region of Emilia-Romagna has the reputation of making the best.  Here fresh pasta is often served with cream sauced or a simple sauce of butter and safe while light tomato sauces are reserved for the summer months” (History of Pasta). 

The above quote describes another reason for why fresh pastas, such as homemade linguini—which are less often found in unique shapes—are should be “married to” thinner sauces, such as butter or tomato-based sauce. So not only are these ingredients less likely to “slide” off the elongated noodle, but because of the freshness and simplicity of the “shapeless” noodle, it does not invite complexity: “A good rule is to remember simple pasta works best with simple sauces while complex shaped pastas are ideal for thicker sauces” (History of Pasta). 

So, why do the Italians have such a wide variety of pasta types?  The answer should be easy—and it is far from being for mere “looks.”  Cesare Marchi states it well:

“The introduction of dies for extrusion meant that there were no longer any limits on the number of possible pastas, whose shapes had very much to do with taste and enjoyment.  Cesare Marchi stresses the importance of the various shapes: ‘Try to drink a spumante first in crystal glass and then in a coffee cup. . .’” (Encyclopedia of Pasta, 19).

In other words, Cesare Marchi says here that the taste of spumante—an Italian sparkling white wine—is appreciated much more when served in a crystal glass versus a coffee cup, similar to the way flavors of different sauces are appreciated more when served with certain pasta shapes than with others.  Overall, Marchi’s quote serves as an accurate summation of the role the pasta shapes plays for an Italian. And the array of Italian pasta shapes is so wide that it impossible to count them all. The sky’s the limit to the assortment of pasta shapes and their assigned nicknames—hence the reason that a true encyclopedia of pasta types has neither been attempted nor does it exist, as the amount of varieties that exist is infinite.

            On the other hand, in the Chinese culture, different types of noodles  differ not only in terms of how best to pair, but also—and especially—in terms of the ingredients comprising the noodles.  The history of Chinese noodles began in the Han dynasty, during which noodles were originally referred to as cake; from then on, two staple noodles emerged in the Wei, Jin, and Northern and Southern Dynasties, giving rise to the expansion of noodle shapes for the future: “Two special kinds of noodles, called shui yin and bo tou, were included in the book Qj Min Yao Shu in the middle ancient era.  Shui yin is cooked by pulling the dough into strips as thick as chopsticks, cutting these into segments 30 cm long, soaking in a dish of water, then pressing them into flat noodles shaped as a leek leaf and cooking in a pot of boiling water.  Bo tuo is especially smooth and delicious” (Noodles, traditionally and today, 1).  Following this, the variety of noodles expanded at a rapid rate:

“There was a kind of cold noodle with a unique flavor, called Leng tao. . .There was another kind of noodle with full tenacity, referred to as ‘one of the seven wonderful health foods,’ which was saying ‘wet noodles can be used to tie the shoe.’  In the Song and Yuan dynasty period, fine dired noodles appeared, such as pig and sheep raw noodles and vegetable raw noodles sold in Linan city during the Southern Song period. . .In the Qing dynasty, five spicy noodles and eight treatsure noodles were included in Xian Qjing Ou Ji by dramatist Li Yu.  These two kinds of noodles were made of five and eight kinds of animal and plant raw material powder, respectively, and mixed into flour, which were considered top grade noodles” (Noodles, traditionally and today, 209).

The point is made that the emergence and growth of difference noodle types in ancient China arose not only from the ability to change the shape of the noodle, but most importantly, they sprung from different combinations of ingredients—unlike the Italian culture, in which some (but not all) of the noodles were modified solely by shape, via machinery.  The following quote summarizes this idea, in that the composition of noodles varies from one noodle to the next:

“Most kinds of noodles are made of flour (the powder made from wheat).  There is also another special composition of noodles: rice noodles. . .In addition, noodles can be classified according to thickness: they can be as thick as chopsticks or as thin as hair, such as the dragon beard noodles.  Some can be classified according to the how they are made, suchas hand-pulled noodles, shaved noodles, and so on” (Noodles, traditionally and today, 211).

Additionally, noodles can be otherwise categorized by methods such as seasoning, cooking crafts, and so on. In contrast to Italian noodles—which are classified mainly by their appearance and by their accoutrements—Chinese noodles are more often recognized in terms of their composition.  In comparison to Italian noodles, variations of Chinese noodles tend to go hand in hand with corresponding variations of sauces, broths, or seasonings.

            Ramen noodles—one of the biggest revolutions in Chinese noodle history, especially with the rise of instant ramen noodles—are almost always served in a meat or fish-based broth, sometimes with additional seasonings such as soy sauce or miso.  Instant ramen noodles come in a dry package, and are boiled in water.  The instant ramen noodles that I ate as a child  were seasoned with a small packet of ‘chicken,’ ‘beef,’ or ‘shrimp’ flavored seasoning.  It was not until I was much older that I learned how much sodium these seasonings contained, and I finally had to limit my intake! At authentic ramen restaurants however, these noodles are served in a natural broth, often accompanied by a soft boiled egg, cilantro, and meat—thin slices of pork or chicken, for example.  Udon noodles are a thicker, wheat flour-based noodle, often served in one of two ways—the first being in a stir fry, and the second being in a broth, mixed with vegetables.  Rice or rice vermicelli is another type of noodle that I have eaten on multiple occasions—these noodles are thin, white, rice-based noodles (gluten free, for those who require this!); these noodles are often served in stir-fries, soups, spring rolls, and salads, and it is of utmost importance that these noodles are not boiled, but soaked in hot water until tender, then drained, and patted dry (Rice Vermicelli Noodles).  One of my favorite Chinese noodle dishes, lo mein, is comprised of Chinese egg noodles—wheat noodles with egg.  Common variations of lo mein at several of my local Chinese restaurants include chicken, beef, shrimp, or vegetable lo mein.

            Another special characteristic of the different noodle types in Chinese culture is the fact in that certain types of noodles are designated for certain special occasions, whether it is a sickness, birthday, or family gathering, for example.  To expand on this principle, the following provides examples in support of the previous statement:

“In the aspect of noodles, Chinese people have lots of customs, which essentially mean ‘human nature’ and ‘worldly common sense’ materialized in the noodles.  At birthdays, people eat longevity noodles; at the time of marriage and moving into a new house people eat noodles with gravy, which means flavored life; on the day of lunar February 2 ‘dragon head,’ people eat dragon whiskers noodles to look forward to good weather.  We eat different noodles in different seasons and different festivals” (Noodles, traditionally and today, 210).

These are only some of the many special noodles that are designated for specific life events or occasions.  All in all, in the Chinese community values the different types of noodles for reasons that are very different from that of the Italian community—the two most unique ones being the actual composition of the noodles, and then the special occasion with which each type of noodle fits.  While Italian noodles may taste the same when ‘unseasoned,’ aside from its differing shape, size, and texture, overall, they are often made with the same ingredients when served plain; whereas, Chinese noodles do not taste the same by any means, as they are comprised of entirely separate ingredients.  While Italian noodles vary mostly by how they are served or what they are served with, Chinese noodles not only vary along these same lines, but also by their link to a significant moment or life event. It is this latter connection which matter most to the Chinese.

Chicken Noodle Soup

Back in the day when I had a cold,

My mother would prep my favorite cure on the stove.

The process a secret that was so old,

When I asked, love was one component she told.

The rest was all magic—a tale I once knew,

Because after one swallow, my pain went from a six to a two.

The sizzling of the stove made my mouth water,

Anticipating the taste and the power of fodder.

The clinging of spoons echoed the room,

Awaiting the seasoned, warm broth of the soup.

 

It slid down my throat,

Warming me up,

If I was lucky,

I would get a second cup.

The slippery noodles,

And tender, white meat,

Warmed up my body—from my head to my feet.

A dish so unique, no one could recreate,

Because the love that went in, one couldn’t imitate.

Response

I chose to imitate “Noodles in Broth” by Hong Junju.

I chose to imitate this piece because I was fascinated by the way in which Junju reminisces on the days during which chef Cui made bing.  I was entertained by the descriptive and detailed imagery that Junju provides to gradually engage the reader, causing me to imagine myself in his very setting, which was something that I believed I could imitate.

Through imitating this piece, I learned that in order to lay out and construct such an imagery-centered piece, I have to fully imagine myself in the setting that I am choosing to describe, which is harder than it sounds.  It takes time to close your eyes and practically bring yourself back to an old place or story, which writing this piece required.  In terms of culture, I learned that in the Chinese culture—as early as the 3^rd century AD (when this piece was written)—the making of noodles in broth, or “bing steeped in tea,” was/is not a simple process.  It takes time, a multitude of specific ingredients, and a series of steps—from frying onions to filtering ‘tea,’ and from kneading dough to seasoning with several meats—that is, it involves much more dedication than one outside of the culture would assume when given the name, “Noodles in Broth.”

While writing my piece, I learned about my own culture as well.  Focusing on a very similar subject to noodles in broth—that is, chicken noodle soup—I learned that such a similar sounding dish can be interpreted so differently when compared cross-culturally.  In my culture, I found that the process that goes into making this subject can be broken down metaphorically—that is, rather than the complexity of ingredients and steps that are involved in preparing this dish, my mind immediately fell to the love and dedication that go into the dish that I enjoyed throughout my childhood.  While it is a simple dish to make in terms of time and the recipe, the values and affection that are involved in preparing, serving, and enjoying it are what make it so special.

Furthermore, there is cultural DNA embedded in both the piece that I read and the piece that I created.  In the piece that I read, the cultural DNA ties into the specificity of ingredients and steps involved in chef Cui’s specialty bing—a way in which no other culture makes soup.  In the piece that I created, the cultural DNA ties into the thoughts of happiness, love, and pleasure that come to mind when I remember enjoying the dish myself; whereas, other cultures may laugh when ‘love’ is defined as an ingredient. 

 

For this assignment, I chose to interview a close friend, Laura.  Laura is of Mexican descent, each of her maternal grandparents having been born and raised in Mexico. Her background is reflected through her weekly family dinners—specifically, “Taco Night”—a popular specialty that her family has made into a bimonthly tradition. Laura does not often speak about her Mexican identity, so upon receiving this assignment, I figured that it would be the perfect way for me to capture the essence of her ethnicity and how traditions are upheld in her household.  I thought that it would be especially interesting to gather insight into what a family dinner, other than my own, might be like, and the value taken on by the dining room in a different culture.

Unlike my dining room table which is mainly utilized by my family members, Laura and her family often have guests over for dinner—especially on “Taco Night.”  It is part of their tradition.  Laura tells me, that every family member has an assigned chair during  these dinners, the guest sitting in the most comfortable chair, and that they have been doing this for years.  Each Taco Night, Laura and her immediate family members gather around the island in her kitchen to assist her mother in preparing each element for the tacos.  Of utmost importance, however, is the pulled chicken—her mother’s specialty, which was passed down from her grandmother.  Laura insists that there is no food more delectable than her mother’s pulled chicken and guests have always concurred. 

On Taco Night, Laura’s mother is picky and demanding about what goes with what and where.  For example, three key ingredients that are designated for the tacos include black beans with spices, a Mexican cheese blend, and the famous pulled chicken.  Laura’s mother stresses that each of these ingredients be served in its own “designated” bowl.  After the ingredients are prepared and placed in the bowls, Laura’s mother aligns them on the kitchen island, while Laura and her brother set the dining room table with the tablecloth, water pitcher, cutlery, placemats, and plates, at each chair.  In addition, Laura’s mother puts out her famous sangria for the adults.  While everyone is helping prepare for the meal, Spanish music plays in the kitchen; however, when dinnertime comes around, all distractions must be eliminated—that is, phones, television, and music.  This has always been an integral rule enforced in Laura’s family, as meal time is all about conversation, engagement and eye contact.  Conversations at Laura’s dining room table are typical, her family members sharing the details of his or her day, but when guests visit, Laura’s family often does “ice breakers,” questions ranging from “If you were an ice cream flavor, which one would you be and why?” to “Where do you see yourself twenty years from now?”  Questions such as these, by giving rise to humor, warm up the room, and those around the table become quickly comfortable with one another, even when the guests are not well-known to all family members. “You would be surprised if you saw how into it everyone at the table gets,” Laura tells me.  “If your response is too short and you don’t go into depth, you will be shunned!”

Three major anthropological methods that I employed to study this kitchen table were participant observation (with the participant being Laura), cultural relativism (in relation to the Mexican culture), and comparison (comparing my kitchen table to Laura’s).  I learned about these three methods in the assigned reading from Week I, that is, Gillian Crowther’s Eating Culture: An Anthropological Guide to Food.  In this introductory guide, Crowther discusses how the various anthropological methods that are used in assessing the historical backgrounds and symbolism behind staple foods of many cultures.  For example: “Comparisons can be made between different members of society, such as by age and gender, and between different cultural or ethnic groups, between different places, and between different times” (Crowther, XXII).  On the other hand, when it comes to cultural relativism: “The examination of food requires cultural relativism be maintained and the range of foodstuffs, methods of acquisition, preparation, and distribution be understood within the broader assignment of cultural meanings and values” (Crowther, XXII).  In other words, it was of utmost importance that I observed and examined Laura’s responses to my questions from an unbiased standpoint, before I carried out the comparison method.

Utilizing these three methods in my study, I gained much appreciation for how the kitchen table is valued across different cultures by families, and so did Laura; in fact, this study  helped Laura learn how special her family’s dinners are, and how their traditional methods are unique.  Moreover, studying Laura’s kitchen and dining room table highlighted the various similarities and differences that hold true between our families when it comes to eating. Every family has their own ‘thing,’ when it comes to eating meals together, and while some families are more family-oriented during meal time, Laura’s family always makes sure to really “pull in” a guest on Taco Night—something that my family has never done before.  My biggest takeaway from this study is the realization that meal time is not necessarily family time for everybody, though it is about conversation. It is social, whether it involves family, friends, or coworkers.  I am invited for next week, for Taco Night with Laura’s family. I will get to observe this firsthand—wish me luck, as I have already begun my preparation for possible icebreaker questions!

          Matzo ball soup is of great importance to me, almost a spiritual experience, for a variety of reasons—first and foremost, there is its delicious flavor.  There is nothing better than biting into a matzo ball of perfect size, texture, and density, with the right balance of spices.  It is very easy to tell when a matzo ball has just the right ratio of ingredients and was cooked for just the right amount of time.  Secondly, and in connection to the previous point regarding flavor, is the sense of home that a warm of cup matzo ball soup gives me.  There is a reason that people call matzo ball soup “Jewish penicillin,” for there is nothing better for soothing a sore throat or cold than a warm cup of matzo ball soup, prepared just right.  From my preschool through high school days, if I was home sick from school, my mom would offer me a cup of matzo ball soup.  It became associated with ‘sick days’ for me, and as I grew older, she did not even have to ask me anymore if I wanted it, for she knew that it was the one thing I craved in that moment.  When I came to college for the very first time and was hit with a severe cold during syllabus week of my Freshman year, my mom phoned Hillel at Emory—specifically, for their “Jewish Penicillin Hotline,” a special service offered by Emory’s Hillel (and Hillel’s nationwide) that caters to sick students, by delivering matzo ball soup to them at no cost.  More information about Emory Hillel’s “Jewish Penicillin Hotline” can be found on their website (https://emoryhillel.org/jewish-penicillin-hotline/).  I had the sense of warmth and of home upon sipping this cup of soup, feeling automatically better—despite my being several hundred miles away from home, my mother still had the ability to ‘take care of me’ via my favorite cure—matzo ball soup—thanks to Hillel’s program.  On another note, matzo ball soup holds special meaning for me because of the connection that it has to my grandmother.  My grandmother’s homemade matzo ball soup was my all-time favorite, and it wasn’t just the eating that ranked so highly but also the fact that we made it together which added up to a special bonding experience, —cooking in general was our main way of bonding.  If it were not for my grandmother, I most likely would never have found the pleasure that I do in cooking and baking (anything) to this day. She had a natural talent for this and delighted in sharing it with me. This was a true inspiration.  Although she is no longer with us, her lessons gave me the skills to continue her tradition and keep her memory close.

          The two photographs that follow are linked to the meaning that matzo ball soup holds dearly for me.  The first one is of my loving grandmother—the matzo ball master chef—and I, at my second birthday.  The second photo is of the dish itself—matzo ball soup—which I tracked down from NPR’s website (https://www.npr.org/sections/thesalt/2015/04/03/397213116/ahead-of-passover-learning-how-to-make-matzo-balls).  I could not find a photograph of my grandmother’s matzo ball soup but note the dill that is in the broth—a major contributor to the broth’s flavor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

          While my grandmother did not have a written recipe for her soup, years of observing and assisting—by being her “taste-tester”—taught me the optimal proportions of ingredients, and one day I made sure to write down everything that I had observed.  Moreover, there are two key parts to this soup—the first one being the broth, and the second one being the matzo balls.  Before making the matzo balls (my favorite part), she would make the broth, incorporating the following basic ingredients:

• FOR THE BROTH:
  • 1 whole Amish chicken
  • 1 tablespoon of vegetable oil
  • 2 cups of water
  • 4 medium carrots, peeled and diced
  • 2 stalks of celery, diced
  • 1 large onion, diced
  • 2 cloves of garlic, minced
  • 3 sprigs of dill, rinsed
  • 3 sprigs of parsley, rinsed
  • 1 teaspoon of black peppercorns
  • KOSHER SALT (to taste, by the pinch)

First, in a large pot and over medium heat, she would sauté the carrots, celery, onion, and garlic, in the vegetable oil.  Second, she would add the remaining ingredients, along with 2 cups of water, to the mixture in the pot.  Next, she would place the lid on top of the pot, over medium heat, and let it reach a boil—the point at which she would turn down the heat to a simmer and do this for 30 minutes or so.  In the meantime, I would help her out with making the matzo balls—my favorite part—which required the following ingredients:

• FOR THE MATZO BALLS:
  • 1 cup of matzo meal
  • 4 eggs
  • 1 teaspoon of baking powder
  • 3 tablespoons of vegetable oil
  • 3 tablespoons of water
  • 1 teaspoon of fresh dill, diced
  • 1 teaspoon of salt
  • FRESHLY CRACKED PEPPER

First and foremost, she would have me whisk together the ‘wet’ ingredients: the eggs and vegetable oil.  Next, I would add the matzo meal, baking powder, salt, and a pinch or so of freshly cracked pepper into the mixture—and lastly, I would add the water.  Then, it was time to wait, as we had to allow about 30 minutes or so for the matzo ball mixture to absorb the liquid and harden while in the refrigerator.  Right about now, the soup is fully simmered, and it is safe to remove and shred the chicken.  With the shredded chicken aside, the soup can be strained—thus, discarding the remaining solid ingredients, and the shredded chicken can then go back in.  When it comes to making matzo ball soup, the broth is the most challenging part, as it requires a lot of tasting and modification, accordingly.  Often, the measurements of salt and pepper have to be adjusted; thus, it is important to start off on the lower end in terms of quantity. One can always add more—otherwise, that is, if you add too much, it may be too late to fix.  Moreover, once the broth is complete and you have allowed for the matzo ball mix to harden and absorb the moisture while being refrigerated, you can sculpt!  On the side, you want to have a simmering pot of water, awaiting the sculpted matzo balls which are to be tossed in.  Molding the matzo balls was always my favorite part of the process.  Once they were all ready, in perfectly spherical balls, I would drop them into the simmering water, one by one, and set the timer for 25 minutes.  My grandmother taught me that the longer you cook the matzo balls, the lighter they become. And it is all about preference in this case; I enjoy my matzo balls just in between dense and light.  Once the timer had gone off, the cooking and preparation were complete, and the broth and matzo balls were ready to be combined!  For longer lasting matzo balls, I would often watch my grandmother reserve some of the matzo balls in airtight containers and refrigerate or freeze them (for me to have later on), but depending on the occasion, this was not always necessary.

          An additional factor marking the significance of matzo ball soup for me, is its origin in the Jewish culture and religion—one that my entire extended family has grown up following, and one which links us all together.  Moreover, the Jewish religion has been a major part of my upbringing.  Although matzo ball soup is linked to Judaism in general, it is most often eaten by Jews during Passover, as part of the Passover meal (or Seder). “The Jewish holiday of Passover celebrates the Biblical story of the Exodus, or the freeing of Hebrew slaves from Egypt. . .The Passover meal, known as a Seder, is all about remembering Jewish history.  Much of the food is deeply symbolic.  Matzo represents the unleavened bread the Jews ate while fleeing Egypt, for example, and horseradish is a symbol for the bitterness of slavery” (https://www.npr.org/sections/thesalt/2015/04/03/397213116/ahead-of-passover-learning-how-to-make-matzo-balls).  Furthermore, each component of the Passover meal has cultural significance to Judaism, as each symbolizes a concept relevant to Jewish history that has been taught and carried through Jewish tradition.  Thus, matzo ball soup’s which uses only matzo meal —is in keeping with the Passover practice of eating only unleavened food.  This is done because historically, was no time for bread to rise when the Jews left Egypt in a hurry; and the flatness of matzo is said to symbolize humility as opposed to arrogance. So matzo ball soup holds great symbolism for Jewish people during Passover, but I can eat it any day! It gives me all of the above: a sense of familiarity, of comfort, and of home, family, tradition, and religion.