Since my husband is Jewish and I’m Christian, we’ve been celebrating Chrismukkah together for years now. We like to invent new traditions to blend our holiday cultures. This year, for the first time, I decided make latkes with a Christmas twist…
Just follow the directions below to make your own delicious Chrismukkah latkes.
While you’re cooking, have your partner experiment with some Chrismukkah cocktails.
We shall call this one a Chrismukkah Mistake and we shall never speak of it again.
Pour it down the sink and have your mixologist go back to the drawing board.
In the meantime, open some wine and begin to combine your holiday traditions by cooking Sweet Potato Latkes.
Take 2 sweet potatoes and skin them alive.
Many recipes call for you to hand-grate the potatoes but since I’m
lazy a fan of modern-day appliances, I recommend tossing them right into the food processor until they look like something resembling this.
The next step involves pressing all the water out of your sweet potatoes in a colander.
I pushed on them so hard, I got really thirsty and was willing to try another Chrismukkah cocktail. This one involved champagne with Manischewitz drizzled into it. It was declared drinkable and deemed a Chrismukkah Spritzer.
I pushed and I pushed and still no liquid came out.
So I sat on them.
The only thing accomplished was that my ass broke the colander.
Next, it’s time to get creative. Rummage through your refrigerator for something to spice up the latkes.
Aha! I know what they’re missing! The most unkosher thing on the planet.
Hello, lover! You’ll do quite nicely.
Add a teaspoon of cloves, a little honey, 2 eggs and a shit ton of brown sugar.
Mix it all up with your hands.
Pat it into little pancakes and drop them into a hot frying pan with some oil.
Within a couple of minutes, if you lack the latke touch like I do, they’ll start falling apart. Embrace change, stir them up into hash browns and call them Latke NOTkes.
But they were DELISH!
And a new Chrismukkah tradition is born.
Still confused about what Chrismukkah is? Or why my Jewish husband might insist upon buying a tree that’s much too tall for our house, read this.
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