Potatoes Lyonnaise

December and Hanukkah is in three weeks and this is the last Hanukkah with Marvin at home, and the lastness of it has transformed the holiday from a celebration into a valediction — a farewell to every Hanukkah Marvin and I have shared in this house, to every menorah-lighting and latke-frying and candle-counting, to the forty years of flames that have illuminated this dining room and that will continue to illuminate it, but without Marvin in his chair, without his eyes reflecting the light, without the lip-moving and the foot-tapping and the body-remembering that is all that remains of his participation in the rituals he once led.

I am making the latkes with extra care — extra potatoes, extra oil, extra time at the grater, extra attention to the crispness and the salt and the proportion of sour cream to applesauce. The extra is the love. The extra is the goodbye. The extra is Ruth Feldman saying, through five pounds of grated potatoes: I am giving you the best latke I have ever made, because the best is what you deserve, because you are my husband and you are leaving and the leaving is not your choice and the latke is the last thing I can give you in this kitchen and I want it to be perfect.

I will light the menorah on Sunday. Marvin will watch. The light will be in his eyes. I will say the blessings. The Hebrew will fill the room. And the room will hold us — me and Marvin and the light and the oil and the miracle of persistence — and the holding is the holiday, and the holiday is the love, and the love is the light, and the light does not go out.

When I put down the grater and looked for a recipe to anchor the meal — something that honored what I was feeling without requiring me to explain it — I came back to Potatoes Lyonnaise, because it is a dish that understands patience: sliced thin, laid in hot oil, turned with attention, coaxed into gold one careful side at a time. It is the potato treated as something sacred, which is exactly what it was in my kitchen this December. If Marvin could not have the latkes the way they once were, he could have this — crisp and warm and made by my hands, which is the only gift I know how to give.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 35 minutes | Total Time: 50 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 lbs Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and sliced 1/4-inch thick
2 medium yellow onions, thinly sliced
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon fresh flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped

Instructions

Parboil the potatoes. Place sliced potatoes in a large pot of cold salted water. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat and cook for 6–8 minutes, until just barely tender but not falling apart. Drain carefully and pat dry with a clean kitchen towel.
Soften the onions. In a large heavy skillet (cast iron works beautifully), melt 1 tablespoon of the butter with 1 tablespoon of the olive oil over medium heat. Add the sliced onions and a pinch of salt. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 15–18 minutes until the onions are soft, golden, and fragrant. Transfer to a plate and set aside.
Pan-fry the potatoes. In the same skillet, melt the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter with the remaining 1 tablespoon of olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the potato slices in a single layer — work in batches if needed. Season with salt and pepper. Cook without moving for 4–5 minutes, until the undersides are deep golden and crisp. Turn and cook another 3–4 minutes on the second side.
Combine and finish. Return the caramelized onions to the skillet, nestling them among the potato slices. Toss gently to combine and heat through for 2–3 minutes. Taste and adjust seasoning.
Garnish and serve. Transfer to a warm serving dish and scatter fresh parsley over the top. Serve immediately while the edges are still crisp.

Nutrition (per serving)

Potatoes Lyonnaise — The Last Perfect Potato, Made With Everything I Have