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Carlos was skilled in the kitchen. He’d been raised in the kitchen, cooking alongside his mother. He felt close to his ancestors through the dishes that had been in his family for generations. He loved cherished the recipes from his great grandmother. Her recipes were always sparse. She’d write vague instructions like “enough flour to create a stiff dough” because she’d never needed the recipes; she knew them by heart because the kitchen was always the heart of her home. After mastering his family recipes, he’d expanded his repertoire, trying as many new recipes as he could. He’d practiced thousands of recipes, but he had never made latkes.
The problem wasn’t that latkes were particularly hard to make. With just some potatoes, eggs, and oil, Carlos could easily throw together basic latkes. But Carlos didn’t want to make just any latkes. He wanted to make latkes good enough to rival the best. It would be the first winter in their new home, and Carlos wanted it to be one to remember.
Carlos felt like he was in school again as he scrutinized the recipes around him, trying to decide which one would be the best. He’d searched through dozens of recipes, picking out the ten he thought would be the best. Some had flour, some had panko breadcrumbs. Some had onions, while others were just the potatoes.
“Do you want me to help?” T.K. asked from the other side of the counter. He sat on a barstool watching Carlos fret over a pile of latke recipes he had printed out in the weeks leading up to Hanukkah.
“I’m trying to decide what recipe is the best.” Carlos shook his head. “There’s just so many of them. Is there some kind of recipe your mom used?”
T.K. laughed. “I can’t imagine my mom cooking latkes.”
Carlos’ brow furrowed. “Didn’t you say that you always had them when you were a kid?”
“Well, yeah, of course, but my mom bought them from a Jewish restaurant near our house. I know you’re all about making things from scratch, but we were a buy the dishes to spare our stomachs kind of family.”
“Gwyn isn’t a bad cook.” She’d made dinner for Carlos and T.K. before, and Carlos hadn’t had any complaints. Besides, from what Carlos could tell, Gwyn was competent in pretty much anything she tried.
“No, but she doesn’t like cooking, so she’s not the most patient cook.”
“Got it. It sucks that you haven’t been able to see her. Or your brother.”
“I swear that kid is bigger every time we Facetime.” T.K. smiled at the thought. “I know he won’t even remember it, but I wish I could be with him for all his first holidays.”
“I’m sure your mom will send you a thousand pictures of the festivities.”
“She sends me thousands of pictures when he’s just doing normal baby things.”
“And you love every single one!”
“I do, T.K. smiled. “But just because I’ll miss being with them doesn’t mean I won’t have as nice of a time here. I’ll have the best latkes, after all.”
“Don’t hype them up before I’ve even chosen a recipe.”
“Babe, calm down. They’re one of my favorite parts of Hanukkah, but latkes aren’t life and death. Hanukkah isn’t even one of our major holidays. ” T.K. took Carlos’ hand. “It’s important to me, but I know you’ll get these latkes right.”
“Yeah, but I still want it to be good for you.”
“The sanctity of the holiday will still remain, even if we don’t have latkes.”
“I want this new home to be jammed packed full of memories. I know it probably won’t be our forever home, but it’s still part of our journey together, and I want to cherish that.”
“I know that, and I love you for wanting it all to be perfect. Not all my boyfriends were as accomodating as you.”
“Alex?” Carlos asked carefully.
“Alex was always pretty good about those things. It was the other parts of our relationship that he wasn’t good at, and to be honest, I wasn’t good at those things either. Neither of us communicated the way we should have.”
Carlos leaned over to kiss T.K. on the forehead. “Fortunately, we communicate.”
“Exactly,” T.K. said. “It took us a while, but we did it.”
“It’s almost hard to believe we’ve come this far.” Carlos glanced at the recipes in front of him. “Do any of these recipes look good to you?”
“I don’t really know. You know more about what tastes good than me.”
“T.K., please,” Carlos said, his brown cow eyes looking at T.K.
T.K. pulled the top recipe from the pile. “Definitely not this one. Latkes should have onions.”
“You’re the one who says I use too many onions.”
“You do. If it were up to you, you’d make latkes with all onions and no potatoes.”
“It wouldn’t be a latke if I did that,” Carlos pointed out.
“It would be an abomination.”
“I’d actually like to try it,” Carlos admitted, and with T.K.’s look of horror, he added, “But not for this occasion.”
“Thank God.”
Carlos sorted through the recipes, pulling out the ones with onions and settling the others aside. “That leaves six recipes.”
“I’m sure any of them would be fine.”
“Yeah, probably, but I still can’t decide.” Carlos flipped the recipes over and fanned them out like cards. “Maybe we should just leave the choice to luck.”
“You know I’m always up for a little risk,” T.K. said, pulling out a recipe from the group and handing it to Carlos.
“I know that far too well, actually,” Carlos said. “You can take risks with latkes, not your life, which is why you’re sitting on that side of the kitchen.”
“I couldn’t possibly get that hurt making latkes.”
“I’ve seen the way you use a potato peeler,” Carlos said, pulling out the potato peeler and waving it in front of T.K.’s face. “I think I’ll stick to doing this part myself.”
“What am I supposed to do? Just sit here looking pretty?”
Carlos started peeling the potatoes. “You know I won’t object to that.”
T.K. leaned over the counter, closer to Carlos. “Have I ever told you that you’re hot when you’re cooking?”
“Only every time you sit there watching me cook.”
“It’s about to get a little loud,” Carlos said as he set up the food processor and put in the potatoes. He grates the potatoes and dumps them into a kitchen towel.
T.K. looked at Carlos like he was crazy. “Did you just put the potatoes in a towel?”
“I have to squeeze the water out.” Carlos started to squeeze the ball of potatoes, and excess water dripped into the bowl.
“Look at those muscle flex!”
“You can’t stop flirting, can you?”
“I think I would die.”
Carlos gave the potatoes a last squeeze and put them into a new mixing bowl. He leaves the remaining water in the bowl for a few minutes before emptying the water and leaving the starch at the bottom of the bowl. He cracked the eggs into the starch bowl, beating the eggs and mixing the eggs with the potatoes.
“Get ready to cry,” T.K. quipped when Carlos started to cut the onion.
“I’m not much of a crier.”
“Says the one who cries at every sad movie.”
“And you cry right along with me.”
“We’re meant to be!”
Carlos put the onion in the mix and folded them into the mix. “That looks about right, doesn’t it?”
“Sure, why not?”
Carlos laughed at T.K.’s nonchalance. “You’re the least helpful in this pursuit.” Carlos got out a big pan and pulled out the clarified butter he’d made the week before.
“That’s the butter you took five hours to make, isn’t it?”
“I clarified it, and it didn’t take me five hours. It only took like two.”
“Only two! That’s nothing at all. I don’t know why you didn’t go to culinary school.”
“The same reason you chose to be a firefighter, probably.”
Carlos started scooping the latke mix into the pan. “Here we go, the final moments.”
“My stomach is so ready.”
Flipping a finished latke onto a paper towel and sprinkling on some salt, Carlos said, “How’s that look?”
T.K. smiled, “Like it will be perfect topped with applesauce.”