A Grandmother’s Strudel Recipe

A Little Bit of This, A Little Bit of That.

Nobody but my grandmother Malka could make my grandmother’s strudel. Not daughter nor granddaughter nor daughter in law.

Nobody would try. Nobody would dare to.

Until my friend, tasting the strudel at a party at my house, said to the old lady, “You made this?”

My grandmother nodded. “You like it?” It was a question posed for effect. Was there anyone who didn’t like my grandmother’s strudel?

“It is delicious,” said my friend. And then, “Will you show me how to make it?”

My grandmother lost the dignity of her almost 90 years for a moment. First she looked surprised … that a young woman would aspire. Then she nodded. The role of teacher appealed to her.

“Yes.” Her voice was strong. “I will come here for a few days soon, and I will make strudel. You will watch and you will learn.”

She came carrying her huge baking board and her rolling pin, and a small suitcase — because when you are almost 90, you don’t bake in the morning and go home in the afternoon. Besides, it’s fine to have a reason to spend a few days with your grandchildren and great grandchildren.

On the morning of the first day, we went to the supermarket to buy the necessary ingredients. Nuts. White raisins. Lemons. I reached a hand into the lemon pile and chose a lemon she rejected. I began to feel like the little girl who used to play with leftover dough on my grandmother’s baking table. I could not find the orange marmalade but she would not compromise with pineapple. I found the orange.

She strode down the supermarket aisle and stopped at the flour display.

“I like this flour best,” she said, pointing to a brand I never see advertised and never used. We bought the brand she wanted.

She came downstairs early the next morning in a neat skirt and blouse covered with an apron. She was ready for work. Gently, I restrained her. The women (the class had grown to two) were coming to learn, I told her. They must watch every step if they were to get a good recipe. Reluctantly, she agreed to wait.

The two students arrived, and one was my cousin, though not on this grandmother’s side of the family tree. Still, my cousin, Gloria, was not a stranger to her. Gloria came with her two pre-school boys in tow.

The old lady was polite, but firm. “You cannot come into the kitchen,” she told them. “This is not a job for boys!” They were properly awed by the authority of her tone and stayed out of the kitchen.

The lesson began.

Old hands, as white as the flour which soon covered them, measured, and mixed, and tested for consistency.

My grandmother belonged to the school of “a little of this and a little of that.” A measuring cup was not standard equipment for her. But a teacher must begin at the beginning. And so she measured, and the students watched and wrote everything down. Then, she added, and they erased. What emerged was a recipe fit for a cookbook.

The Dough

• 4 and one-half cups of all-purpose flour
• 1 heaping teaspoon salt
• 1 heaping teaspoon baking powder
• 2 eggs at room temperature
• 3/4 cup vegetable oil
• 3/4 cup sugar
• Enough warm water to make the dough stretchable

Mix dry ingredients first, then add eggs (beaten), oil, and water, and roll dough on a floured board and knead. Dough should be sticky, but light. Divide dough into four equal mounds. Knead each section in more flour. Then cover each section with a dry, clean kitchen towel, and let it rest for several minutes.

Cousin Gloria follows my grandmother’s recipe to this day. But there is an easier alternative. Buy phyllo dough at your supermarket and follow the instructions. You will find phyllo dough in the frozen food section.

The Filling

• 2 pounds white raisins, steamed, then drained
• 2 12-ounce jars cherry preserves
• 1 18-ounce jar orange marmalade
• 2 grated lemons
• 1 pound of fresh walnuts, shelled and chopped
• 1/2 cup sugar cinnamon
• 2 handfuls of cake and cookie crumbs

Combine all ingredients except crumbs, and set aside until dough is ready.

Now it was time to roll out the first mound of dough. Her students were silently respectful, but in awe of the old lady at the same time. Soon, she drizzled oil and then cinnamon on the thin dough. She followed that with a mixture of cookie crumbs, and then she spooned the fruit and nut filling generously on to the dough, making a two inch ribbon of filling. Now, she picked up another two inch edge of thin dough next to the filled dough, rolled up the dough, and stretched and filled and cut once more. Each layer of fruit and nut filling was thinner than the one before it.

She tucked here, rolled there, and the first strudel roll was ready for the oven.

Then she began again and filled another roll, her students watching with awe and respect.

When she was ready to begin the third mound, one of her students asked if she could try to make the roll of strudel.

Neither my friend nor my cousin were strangers to the art of baking. “Oh, no,” said my grandmother, in anger. “You will ruin it for me.”

The two students were reduced to the helplessness of beginners by my grandmother’s tone. They sat back in their chairs and returned to their note taking.

We brushed the tops of the strudel rolls with a beaten egg white and sprinkled with sugar. We made indentations where we would later make slices. This, my grandmother explained, would make the dough easier to cut when it was cool.

The rolls of strudel were baked at 350 degrees. I was too busy cleaning up to notice how long the strudel was in the oven, but the dough got nice and brown on the top.

It was three o’clock in the afternoon before the strudel went into the oven, a long time for a lady of Malka’s years to be standing on her feet. She looked very tired. I made her a cup of tea, and she went to a quiet room and took a doze.

I had just about dried the last pot and swept the last drops of flour from the floor when she walked into the kitchen.

There was a young sound to her voice.

“The little pieces of dough that were left,” she said. “It’s wasteful not to use them. Come! We will boil some potatoes and make potato knishes for supper tonight.”