Potato Croquettes

Hanukkah again. December 2019. The world is about to change, though none of us know it yet — in three months a pandemic will arrive and rearrange everything. But in this December, the only disease I know about is the one in my house, and I light the menorah and fry the latkes and try to make this Hanukkah feel like every Hanukkah, which is impossible and which I attempt anyway because attempting the impossible is what mothers do. It is what Sylvia did in the Grand Concourse kitchen. It is what her mother did in the shtetl. We attempt. We fry.

Ethan is five and a half and helped me light the menorah. His hands are steady — steadier than mine this year, because my hands shake sometimes now, from exhaustion or from grief or from the particular tremor that comes from holding everything together for too long. He held the shamash and touched it to the wicks, and I guided his hand the way I guide everything now: with the careful attention of a woman who has learned that nothing can be taken for granted. Not candles. Not hands. Not the man watching from the recliner.

Marvin watched the candle-lighting from his chair. He did not get up. He did not come to the menorah. He sat and watched with an expression that was not confused but distant — the look of a man watching something beautiful that he cannot quite reach. I brought him a latke. He ate it. He said, "Good." One word. A year ago he would have said, "This is the best latke you've ever made," with the hyperbolic enthusiasm that was his gift. Now: "Good." One word. I will take the one word. I will hold it like a candle in the dark.

Sophie, three, ate four latkes. She is becoming a serious eater — focused, appreciative, the kind of child who eats with attention rather than distraction. She reminds me of Sylvia. Sylvia ate with attention. Sylvia tasted every bite as if the bite were a piece of evidence and she were the judge. Sophie does the same. The granddaughter and the great-grandmother, connected across time by the way they close their eyes when something tastes right.

I called Miriam. "Happy Hanukkah," I said. She said, "How's Marvin?" I said, "He watched the candles." She heard what I did not say: he only watched. He did not light. He did not joke. He did not grate. She said, "The light is still there, Ruthie." She meant the menorah. She also meant Marvin. She is right about both. The light is dimmer. But it is there. The light is there. Not enough oil. And yet.

There was no latke recipe that Hanukkah — there was only the act of frying, which is its own kind of prayer. These potato croquettes are as close as I can get to what came out of that Grand Concourse kitchen: crispy on the outside, tender in the middle, smelling of hot oil and something older than memory. I make them now whenever I need to feel that the light is still there — not enough oil, and yet. You fry. You serve. Someone says “Good.” You hold it like a candle.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes | Servings: 6 (about 18 croquettes)

Ingredients

2 lbs russet potatoes, peeled and cut into chunks
1/4 cup sour cream
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 large egg, plus 1 egg yolk
1/3 cup finely grated yellow onion (about 1/2 medium onion)
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
3/4 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 cup all-purpose flour, for dredging
2 large eggs, beaten, for egg wash
1 1/2 cups plain breadcrumbs (panko works well)
Vegetable oil or schmaltz, for frying (about 1/2 inch depth in pan)
Sour cream or applesauce, for serving

Instructions

Boil the potatoes. Place potato chunks in a large pot, cover with cold salted water, and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce to a steady simmer and cook until completely tender when pierced with a fork, about 15–18 minutes. Drain thoroughly and let steam dry in the colander for 5 minutes — this matters; wet potatoes make soggy croquettes.
Make the filling. Pass the potatoes through a ricer or mash them well until smooth. Stir in the sour cream, butter, egg yolk, grated onion, garlic powder, salt, and pepper. Mix until fully combined. Taste and adjust seasoning. Let the mixture cool until you can handle it comfortably, about 15 minutes.
Shape the croquettes. Set up a breading station: flour in one shallow dish, beaten eggs in a second, breadcrumbs in a third. Scoop about 2 tablespoons of potato mixture and roll it between your palms into a small oval or cylinder shape. Dredge in flour, dip in egg wash, and roll in breadcrumbs to coat evenly. Set on a plate. Repeat with remaining mixture.
Heat the oil. Pour vegetable oil into a heavy-bottomed skillet (cast iron is ideal) to a depth of about 1/2 inch. Heat over medium-high until a breadcrumb dropped in sizzles immediately — around 350°F if you have a thermometer. Do not rush this step; the temperature is everything.
Fry in batches. Working in batches to avoid crowding, add croquettes to the hot oil. Fry, turning once or twice with tongs, until deeply golden and crisp on all sides, about 3–4 minutes per batch. Transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate and season immediately with a pinch of salt.
Serve warm. Arrange on a platter and serve right away with sour cream or applesauce alongside. They are best the moment they come out of the pan — which is also when you should call everyone to the table.

Nutrition (per serving)

Potato Croquettes — The Latkes We Fry Anyway