Grandma’s Potato Dumplings

The first night of Hanukkah fell on Sunday, and I spent it in the kitchen — not because I had to, but because I didn't know where else to be. This is the first Hanukkah since September, since the neurologist's office, since the word that has taken up permanent residence in our house without our permission. Alzheimer's. I have been turning it in my mind like a stone I found on a beach — examining it, unable to put it down, unable to carry it comfortably. The kitchen is the one place where the stone temporarily sets itself down.

I made latkes, of course. My mother's recipe: Yukon Gold potatoes, grated by hand against the box grater until my knuckles protested, one egg, matzo meal, salt, fried in canola oil at the temperature you know by the sound — a confident, decisive sizzle that means everything is right. I grated four pounds. I needed to be doing something with my hands that required my full attention and produced a result I could eat. The latkes obliged.

David came with Jennifer and Ethan and little Sophie. Marvin played dreidel with Ethan for forty minutes — full concentration, counting, laughing at the right moments, making a joke about accountants and odds that only Marvin would make. He was completely himself. The diagnosis is not a cliff edge; the doctors told us it's a slow slope, and today we were at the top, and the view was still good. I took a photograph of him and Ethan with the menorah behind them and thought: I will need this picture. I will need to show Marvin who he was.

We said the Hanukkah blessings, the same Hebrew words my mother said and her mother before her, and Marvin's voice was steady through every syllable. The prayers live in a different part of the brain, I am told. I don't know if I believe everything the doctors tell me, but I believe this. Sophie ate the applesauce off the top of her latke and handed the latke back to me with great seriousness. The candles burned down. Marvin fell asleep in his chair after dinner, face peaceful, entirely himself, and I sat across the room and watched him breathe and felt the full weight of thirty-six years of marriage: complicated, irreplaceable, mine.

The latkes that night were my mother’s, and they did their job—they kept my hands busy and my mind present. But the recipe I keep returning to in the days since, the one I made on the quiet Tuesday after everyone went home and it was just Marvin and me and the leftover candle wax, is this one: Grandma’s Potato Dumplings. It asks the same thing of you that latkes do—attention, patience, the particular faith that comes from trusting a simple potato to become something worth gathering around. That’s exactly what I needed. That’s exactly what it gave.

Prep Time: 30 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 50 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 1/2 pounds russet potatoes (about 5 medium), peeled
1 cup all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 1/2 teaspoons salt, divided
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted (for finishing)
Fresh parsley, chopped, for serving (optional)

Instructions

Boil the potatoes. Place the peeled potatoes in a large pot and cover with cold water. Add 1 teaspoon of salt and bring to a boil over high heat. Cook until completely tender, about 18—20 minutes. Drain thoroughly and allow to cool for 10 minutes so the steam escapes.
Rice or mash the potatoes. Pass the cooked potatoes through a potato ricer or food mill into a large bowl. If you don’t have a ricer, mash very thoroughly—no lumps. Let cool until just warm, not hot, before proceeding.
Form the dough. Add the eggs, flour, nutmeg, pepper, and remaining 1/2 teaspoon salt to the riced potatoes. Mix gently with your hands or a wooden spoon until a soft, slightly sticky dough forms. Do not overwork it. If the dough is too wet to hold a shape, add flour one tablespoon at a time.
Shape the dumplings. Lightly flour your hands and a clean work surface. Divide the dough into 12 equal portions and roll each into a smooth ball about the size of a golf ball, applying firm but gentle pressure to avoid cracks.
Cook in simmering water. Bring a large pot of salted water to a gentle simmer—not a rolling boil. Working in batches of 4—5, lower the dumplings in carefully. Cook for 12—15 minutes, until they float to the surface and feel firm when gently pressed. Remove with a slotted spoon.
Finish and serve. Transfer the dumplings to a serving dish and drizzle with melted butter. Scatter with chopped parsley if desired. Serve immediately alongside roasted meats, braised vegetables, or simply with applesauce and sour cream for a Hanukkah table.

Nutrition (per serving)

Grandma’s Potato Dumplings — When Your Hands Need Something True to Hold