Between Two Tables
Chicken soup, almond cake, and the quiet ways we gather
This week we have Easter and Passover. I’m not a fan of mixing holidays, but somehow these spring rituals—the story of Passover, the plagues, the resistance, the coming together around the table, and making room for one more—make me thoughtful, reflective, and curious. And then there is Easter and the time of renewal.
In the kitchen, I am getting ready for both.
I will roast a whole chicken.
I’ll cut away the meat while it’s still warm, setting it aside for later, and save the bones—the real treasure—to make a rich, slow stock. Into the pot will go carrots, leeks, onions, garlic, celery, and fennel.
This will become matzo ball soup for the Passover table.
There is something about chicken soup that transcends all of it.
It heals. It steadies. It simply nourishes. It is a soup that brings warmth not just to the body but also to the spirit, like being held. Quietly, I think of my newborn grandson and want him to always feel nourished by chicken soup when I can no longer hold him.
It’s like the simplest form of love.
And then, because the kitchen never rests this time of year, I’ll make a couple of cakes.
I like to be efficient. One cake for Passover.
One cake for Easter.
YES! Both are gluten-free. I will freeze both.
Both are built from the same foundation: eggs and almond flour. Separate the eggs, whip the whites, and fold them into the batter of yolks, sweetener, your favorite puree, and almond flour.
The Passover cake will be carrot—because I love carrot cake. This version is lighter, less dense, and just sweet enough compared to the carrot cake we are typically familiar with, but with the essence of the warm spices. The other will be cranberry, because I am cleaning out my freezer—the same freezer that still holds cranberries from Thanksgiving.
Usually I make this cake with orange purée, but this week it shifts with the season—carrots for one table, cranberries for another.
Or rhubarb, if that’s what you have.
There is something fitting in using the same base.
Different expressions.
One recipe, told two ways. Sort of like Passover and Easter
So whether you are setting a Seder table, gathering for Easter, or simply moving through the week as it is, make the soup.
Let it simmer slowly. Let the house fill with nourishment. Because even outside of holidays, chicken soup belongs to each of us. And it comes from bones! It is not complicated. I promise.
Recipes attached, of course. Here they are for easy printing.
ROAST CHICKEN, STOCK & MATZO BALLS
AND Two Cakes
WHATEVER YOU DO THIS WEEK, there is always room for one more at the table.