Growing up in an Ashkenazi Ukrainian-Russian household during the Soviet era I have internalised an inferiority complex: our food is so unremarkably simple.
 

Yet at the same time this food has always had such a special place in my life. Simple it may be but it is so deeply nourishing and comforting, that I would not want to change it for the world.
 

What’s more, this kind of food in our family is symbolised by the very special figure of my maternal great grandmother, Rosalia. She was born in 1912 to a family of assimilated Jews, who came from the Eastern part of Ukraine then ruled by the Russian Empire.
 

Grandma Rosalia's recipes were not obviously Jewish

As a Holocaust survivor who escaped Nazi persecution, she had to give up her Jewish identity papers and assumed a fake Slavic identity under the name, Elena. Living during the Soviet regime, our family, like many fellow Jewish households, did not openly embrace our origins, and the only place where this hidden part came to life was the kitchen.

And yet the humble Ashkenazi dishes that I grew up eating often came under different, Sovietised, names, and were never associated with any Jewish holidays. As an adult, living in the UK, I felt the urge to revive my great grandmother’s Ashkenazi legacy and identity. I started referring to her by her authentic name and wanted to do the same for her recipes.

My mother (pictured above on the right) and I (on the left) are indebted to Rosalia for our love of the kitchen, and we treasure dearly her old handwritten recipe notebooks that survived to this day.

Whenever I feel a lull in creativity I ask my mom to browse those notebooks for some hidden gems.

Not so long ago, I was researching a recipe for knishes. Growing up with Slavic piroshki buns, I could not recall ever trying a knish and so I was certain there was no family recipe for those; in fact, my mother was not even familiar with the name, knish, when I told her about my research.

However, when I explained to her what those were, a sort of a culinary epiphany took place. My mother shared a cherished memory of the simple rolls that Rosalia made for her when she was young: a savoury kind with mashed potatoes and fried onion; and a sweet one, with sugar and cinnamon.

They were always made in huge batches and brought over to my mom’s place in a distinct Soviet-era white enamel pot.

The recipe which sat on the pages of Rosalia’s notebook all this time was deemed too unremarkable by mom to be included in any of my professional writing!

Although these are not strictly speaking a traditional Chanukah dish, the fact that they are fried in oil, make them relevant to the holiday's theme and what’s more, the different fillings allow you to enjoy something new over the 8 days, and might offer an exciting diversion from the traditional repertoire! But above all, to me these buns encapsulate Rosalia’s generous spirit which is a perfect fit for the festive season.

Find the recipe for Rosalia’s sweet knishes here and her savoury ones here.