Gluten-Free Breakfast Blintzes

Hanukkah, night five. The menorah has five candles plus the shamash and the dining room glows with the specific warm light of candles that are not decorative but liturgical, which is to say they mean something, they commemorate something, they exist not for ambiance but for testimony: the oil lasted. Against all odds and expectations, the oil lasted. I find this more comforting every year.

Marvin does not light the candles anymore. Last year he could — he held the shamash and touched it to each candle with hands that trembled only slightly. This year he watches. I light them. I say the blessings. He listens, and sometimes his lips move with the Hebrew, the ancient words stored somewhere the disease has not yet pillaged, and I watch his lips move and I think: the oil lasts. Even in the dark, the oil lasts.

I made latkes — of course I made latkes, I make latkes every night of Hanukkah because that is what you do, you stand at the stove and you grate and you fry and you produce golden, crispy, shattering discs of potato and onion that you serve with sour cream and applesauce (both; choosing one is for gentiles) and you eat them hot, standing at the counter if necessary, because a latke that has cooled is a latke that has lost its purpose. David brought the children on Sunday — night three — and Ethan ate seven latkes, which I consider a personal best for a five-year-old and a family record. Sophie ate three and declared them "crunchy perfect," which is a phrase I am considering having engraved on my headstone.

Jennifer brought sufganiyot — jelly donuts — that she made herself, from a recipe I gave her. They were good. Not perfect — the dough was slightly dense — but good, and the fact that Jennifer, who was not raised Jewish, is making sufganiyot in her kitchen in White Plains from a recipe that originated in my mother's kitchen on the Grand Concourse is a kind of miracle that I find more compelling than the oil, if I'm honest. The chain doesn't just continue through blood. It continues through love. Through marriage. Through a woman who chose this family and this food and this tradition, and who fries donuts in December because her mother-in-law showed her how. That is the miracle.

Jennifer’s sufganiyot reminded me that the chain of this kitchen doesn’t require a bloodline—it requires only a willing pair of hands and someone patient enough to show the way. These Gluten-Free Breakfast Blintzes are what I make the morning after the last candle, when the house still smells faintly of oil and the menorah sits cool on the windowsill: thin, golden crepes folded around sweet cheese filling, pan-fried until they shatter just slightly at the edges, the way good things do. My mother made them on the Grand Concourse. I make them here. Someday, perhaps, Jennifer will make them in White Plains—and that, too, will be the miracle.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 45 min | Servings: 8 blintzes (4 servings)

Ingredients

For the crepes:
2 large eggs
3/4 cup whole milk
1/2 cup gluten-free all-purpose flour blend
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, melted, plus more for the pan
1/4 teaspoon salt
For the filling:
1 cup (8 oz) farmer’s cheese or dry-curd cottage cheese
4 oz cream cheese, softened
2 tablespoons sugar
1 egg yolk
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Zest of 1 lemon
For finishing:
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, for pan-frying
Sour cream and fresh fruit or jam, for serving

Instructions

Make the crepe batter. In a blender or medium bowl, combine eggs, milk, gluten-free flour, melted butter, and salt. Blend or whisk until completely smooth. Let the batter rest for 10 minutes so the flour can hydrate fully.
Cook the crepes. Heat a 8-inch nonstick skillet over medium heat and brush lightly with butter. Pour about 3 tablespoons of batter into the pan, immediately tilting and swirling to coat the bottom in a thin, even layer. Cook until the edges look dry and the surface is just set, about 1 to 2 minutes. Slide the crepe out onto a clean plate—do not flip. Repeat with remaining batter, stacking crepes between sheets of parchment. You should have 8 crepes.
Make the filling. In a bowl, stir together the farmer’s cheese, softened cream cheese, sugar, egg yolk, vanilla, and lemon zest until smooth and well combined.
Fill and fold the blintzes. Lay a crepe cooked-side-up on your work surface. Place 2 to 3 tablespoons of filling near the bottom third. Fold the bottom edge up over the filling, fold in the sides, then roll up snugly like a small envelope. Repeat with all crepes.
Pan-fry until golden. Melt 1 tablespoon of butter in the skillet over medium heat. Add blintzes seam-side-down in a single layer (work in batches). Cook for 2 to 3 minutes per side until deep golden and the filling is warmed through. Add remaining butter between batches as needed.
Serve immediately. Arrange blintzes on a warm platter and serve with sour cream and jam or fresh fruit alongside. Like latkes, they are best eaten hot—the moment the edges are still just crisp.

Nutrition (per serving, 2 blintzes)

Gluten-Free Breakfast Blintzes — The Chain That Continues Through Love