Apricot Rugelach

I didn't know I was Jewish until I was 12 years old. We were attending my mom's cousin's son's bar mitzvah, and I had so many questions. What was a bar mitzvah? Why didn't my mom have one? If I'm Jewish, as my mother now explained, does that mean I would have one when I turned 13 even though I've never attended Hebrew school? My mom hushed me during the ceremony but entertained my questions quietly when we sat down to eat afterward.

"A bar mitzvah is a ceremony for 13-year-old boys that signifies their religious adulthood," she said. "Girls can have one too, but it's called a bat mitzvah. I didn't have one because they were less common when I was a girl." She then went on to explain a plethora of Jewish traditions that sounded like she was speaking another language, but the only thing I remember was how silly I felt that I didn't know any of the people there even though they were all related to me. She then handed me a cookie that looked like a sweet version of a Pillsbury crescent roll and said, "I left all this behind when I met your father."

It took me two decades to realize she was talking about leaving the oppression of her Jewish mother so she could marry my Chinese father.

The thing about Jewish mothers is they manage to say everything you need to hear without opening their mouths. It's this magic talent that makes you feel smart and no-so-smart all at the same time. I knew I wasn't to pry anymore, so I asked about the cookie.

"These cookies are called rugelach," she said with a Yiddish accent. "They're made with a cream-cheese dough and filled with jam or cinnamon and nuts, then rolled up. My uncle Bernie used to have them at his Jewish deli in the Bronx called Schwellers. They're my favorite, but my mom used to not let me have them because she thought I needed to lose weight."

Believed to have originated with Eastern European Jews, rugelach, or "little twists" in Yiddish, is a cross between a cookie and a pastry. Its slightly crisp exterior is a foil to the soft, chewy interior, and the filling traditionally is cinnamon-sugar or chocolate. According to The World of Jewish Desserts by Gil Marks, rugelach was originally made with sour cream, but Joan Nathan, another Jewish food historian, thinks the marketers of Philadelphia cream cheese may have introduced their cream-cheese dough version in the 1950s. Rugelach are usually served at celebratory events, such as holidays or parties, and aren't associated with a single holiday per se, though I'm sure the traditions differ between families.

We never ate dessert at home, and while my mother always blamed my father for not liking sweets, now I knew the truth. My mother still had her mother's voice in her head all those years later. Plus, I've never had a sweet tooth either, so my mom decided dessert was just for birthdays.

My grandma didn't attend my parents' wedding ceremony. They had met in grad school at Columbia University in 1979, and when they said they were getting married, my grandma told my mom that maybe she should just try living with him for a bit. To which my mom said, "We already do," and while my mom and her mom stayed civil until the end, I'm not sure my grandmother ever got over the fact my mother didn't marry someone Jewish.

My parents had a penchant for being the odd ones in their families, the ones who couldn't blindly follow traditions, but they bonded over food. My dad took my mom to Chinese noodle restaurants where no one spoke English, and my mom took my dad to Jewish delis for matzo ball soup.

After years of dining with my parents at restaurants all over the world, I became a professional cook and recipe developer, much to the chagrin of my doctor parents. I most often reference my Chinese roots when I create recipes, because that's the food I primarily enjoyed growing up. But I'm obsessed with trying all types of foods. Knowing that I live to eat instead of eat to live, my mom recently brought home a bag of rugelach from the Whole Foods in San Diego. Apparently, they had a local baker who made them fresh and, in a moment of weakness, she tried one and said it was the best she had tasted since Schwellers.

One bite for me and I was back at the bar mitzvah. Much like a photo, food has a way of transporting us back to a time and a place. As I ate the rugelach, I decided to re-create them myself. I grabbed a notepad and jotted down a recipe for my mom. Simple, with a touch of whole grains and sweetened only by dried apricots and a touch of jam, this is my way of saying that her voice is always with me, and I don't mind it at all.