Chopped Liver
Fleishig Our Friday night chopped liver was not just the start of another memorable meal but was also part of the Sabbath celebration. My late mother gave the preparation as much importance or respect as the main course. She used a few saved and koshered chicken livers, carefully extended with a mound of sweet fried onions, cooked gently with a little schmaltz and a handful of homemade gribenes, and hard-boiled eggs. She'd grind it all together in an old-fashioned grinder, clamped to the Formica tabletop, apart from one egg that was left to be grated carefully over the served mounds of liver—yolk and white separate. Finally the mixture was combined and, on extra-special occasions, moistened with a little Kiddush wine already sitting next to the polished candles. The chopped liver was then served in generous mounds on small glass plates from Woolworths and decorated with the egg and circles of pickled cucumber.
Fleishig Our Friday night chopped liver was not just the start of another memorable meal but was also part of the Sabbath celebration. My late mother gave the preparation as much importance or respect as the main course. She used a few saved and koshered chicken livers, carefully extended with a mound of sweet fried onions, cooked gently with a little schmaltz and a handful of homemade gribenes, and hard-boiled eggs. She'd grind it all together in an old-fashioned grinder, clamped to the Formica tabletop, apart from one egg that was left to be grated carefully over the served mounds of liver—yolk and white separate. Finally the mixture was combined and, on extra-special occasions, moistened with a little Kiddush wine already sitting next to the polished candles. The chopped liver was then served in generous mounds on small glass plates from Woolworths and decorated with the egg and circles of pickled cucumber.
- salt and freshly ground black pepper
- 2 large onions, sliced
- 1/2 cup fresh flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped
- 5 organic free-range eggs
- 1 lb chicken livers, trimmed (remove any green spots carefully)
- 1 tablespoon olive oil (or 1 tablespoon schmaltz, see below)
- a few gribenes (optional), see below
- 2 tablespoons kiddush wine, brandy or chicken stock
- a little paprika, to garnish
Step-by-step
- Hard-boil the eggs for 10 minutes, drain, and set aside to cool.
- In a large frying pan, gently cook the onions in the oil (or schmaltz) until soft and golden.
- Increase the heat, add the livers, and stir for a few seconds so that they absorb the flavor of the onion.
- Either pour the mixture into a food processor and process to a coarse or smooth paste with the gribenes (if using), or pass the mixture through an old-fashioned grinder.
- Scoop into a bowl.
- Grate the eggs on the coarse side of a grater and add to the bowl, reserving a little of the grated egg for the garnish.
- Stir in the parsley and fold in gently.
- Moisten the mixture with some wine, brandy, or chicken stock, and season to taste with salt and pepper.
- Cover with plastic wrap and chill until needed.
- Serve in scoops on individual plates topped with a little grated egg and paprika for color, and generous pieces of fresh Friday-night challah.
- Remove the spare fat from a raw chicken and place in a pan. (There is usually a lump of fat around the neck, in an older bird at least.) Add 1 cup (8 oz) dairy-free margarine, 1 teaspoon salt, and 1 large onion (with the skin left on to enhance the golden color).
- Remove the skin from the chicken, cut into smallish pieces, and add to the pan.
- Set over very low heat and cook for 1 1/2-2 hours until all of the fat has been rendered gently out of the chicken skin.
- Remove the skin from the pan and drain on paper towels to form gribenes or crackling.
- Pour the fat (schmaltz) into a heavy-duty glass dish and store in the fridge until needed*. As the fat cools, a rich jelly will collect at the bottom of the dish. This jelly forms a delicious base for soup or sauces.
- The fat (schmaltz) will keep for up to 6 weeks in the fridge. Store the gribenes in the fridge.
A Taste of Tradition: My Mother's Chopped Liver
The aroma of gently frying onions, the rich scent of chicken livers simmering in schmaltz – these were the comforting scents of my childhood Fridays. For my family, chopped liver wasn't just an appetizer; it was a ritual, a cherished tradition passed down from my mother. It was the culinary overture to our Sabbath dinners, a symbol of warmth, family, and the delicious, comforting flavors of our heritage. Preparing it wasn't simply cooking; it was an act of love, imbued with the same care and attention my mother lavished on the main course.
My mother’s recipe was no ordinary chopped liver. It wasn't just a simple mixture of ground livers and onions; it was a symphony of textures and flavors, artfully crafted from humble ingredients. Carefully selected koshered chicken livers, a mound of sweetly caramelized onions, the subtle richness of homemade schmaltz, and the satisfying crunch of gribenes – each element played a crucial role in creating the perfect balance. The hard-boiled eggs, grated separately – the yolks a vibrant yellow against the crisp white – added another layer of visual and textural appeal. And for special occasions, a touch of Kiddush wine elevated the already exceptional flavors, adding a touch of festive sparkle to our Friday night gatherings.
The process itself was a ritual. The old-fashioned grinder, clamped firmly to the Formica tabletop, was a centerpiece of the preparation. The rhythmic whirring, the satisfying sounds of the ingredients combining, it was a performance as much as it was cooking. The careful separation of the egg yolk and white, then their artful arrangement atop each mound of liver on the small, simple glass plates from Woolworths – every step was imbued with intention and reverence. It wasn't just a meal; it was a story unfolding, each element speaking of history, family, and the enduring power of simple pleasures. The final touch, the dusting of paprika on the delicately grated egg, added a bright pop of color, completing this culinary masterpiece.
This chopped liver wasn’t just a dish; it was a tangible link to the past, a delicious memory that transported me back to childhood Friday nights, the warmth of our family gathered around the table, the comforting sounds of conversation and laughter mingling with the anticipation of the Sabbath meal. The simple plates, the carefully prepared liver, the shared joy – these were the elements that defined not just a meal, but a cherished legacy of family and tradition. The taste, years later, remains a poignant reminder of my mother's love and the rich tapestry of our cultural heritage.
More than just a recipe, it's a story of family, tradition, and the enduring power of simple, heartfelt food.
