NO ONE LIKES TO BE SICK. But if we’re lucky, we do at least get a bit of pampering to help us through. To be cared for when you’re unwell is to receive a transfer of love. This usually takes the form of that most basic of needs: food.
So what happens when it’s a chef whose got the cold?
Like many people who work with food, chef Olivia Ostrow usually makes the meals at home, too. “No one cooks for me” she laments. “After 25 years I’m still complaining to my husband that I don’t even get a coffee brought, ever, in bed.” Except if she’s sick. When Ostrow has a cold, she spends her days on the sofa watching British crime shows, while her husband and children buy a whole chicken and make matzah ball soup. As with many Jews, the emotional bond with this soup goes back to her youth.
Born in France and raised among two sets of Holocaust-survivor grandparents, Ostrow recalls childhood Shabbat dinners that were a mix of French and Ashkenazi comfort food: gefilte fish with horseradish, pot au feu — meat braised in stock on the stovetop, which Ostrow describes as akin to a French version of brisket — and, of course, challah dipped in chicken soup. These indelible family dinners gave her a lifelong hunger for classic French and Jewish cooking. “Everything in my childhood food was comfort food,” she says, “which translates in my food today. Even at the restaurant, which is fine dining. I like to say that my restaurant is a fine comfort food.”
In 2023, the chef opened Ostrow Brasserie in Miami, a restaurant she is keen to identify as serving French food that is kosher rather than the other way around. French cooking, famously, relies on heavy doses of butter the way the Earth relies on the sun. Asked how she navigates without it, Ostrow says there are two magic words: duck fat. (She has also concocted a butter alternative that she uses in a few dishes; it’s a recipe she prefers to keep secret until the cookbook she’s writing is published.)
Aside from these substitutions, her restaurant is strictly French: there is no matzah ball soup on the menu, none of the ungapatchka that many kosher restaurants indulge in, trying to offer something for everyone or dress up old standards. “I’m not a fusion person,” says Ostrow. “In my restaurant, there’s no smoke coming out of your steak. I don’t put sushi on my endive and blue cheese salad.” It’s a sense of purity that cuts both ways: just as much as she isn’t going to dilute French classics, she says, “I’m not going to make a Thai or Chinese version of my matzah ball soup.”
And so, Ostrow taught her husband and children to prepare her favourite comfort food to her standards, starting with a whole chicken, a bit of dill, and cloves. “I like the clove because it adds a little spice” says Ostrow. “And I also enjoy the smell in my house while it’s cooking.”
She instructs her family to simmer for hours. “The longer you cook it, the better it’s going to be,” Ostrow says. “That’s when you’re going to have that aroma and that brownish colour that’s lovely.” (There’s no one right way to make matzah ball soup. Though there is a wrong way. I loved my bubbe, but she was the worst cook. Her chicken soup contained no meat. Or matzah balls. Or salt. The chicken was removed and served on its own, with the rubbery skin attached.)
After making the broth, shredding the meat, adding carrots and celery and, if they are truly making it to her specifications, caramelizing onions, her family brings the soup to Ostrow to eat on the sofa. The only downside to this effort, the delivery of love and nourishment through cooking, is the mess they make in her kitchen. “They’re terrible,” laughs Ostrow. “It’s also probably why my husband doesn’t want to cook. Because if he cooks, and he leaves a mess, then I go a little nuts.”
Not that Ostrow is one of those chefs who cleans as they cook. “I like to create new dishes and taste flavours — to put music on and have a hundred ingredients out. And then it has to be cleaned up the moment I’m done. Not by me. Unless it’s at my house. I have the luxury of owning a business. Because I pay all the bills, someone is going to clean for me.”
Chicken Soup with Matzah Balls
Serves 6
Ingredients
- whole chicken, cut into pieces
- cloves (easily overpowering, so start with as few as possible)
- fresh dill
- onions, thinly sliced
- olive oil
- carrots, sliced into coins
- celery, roughly chopped
- matzah meal
- eggs
- salt
- pepper
Instructions
- Place the chicken, cloves, and some of the dill in a large pot. Cover with water and bring to a boil. (Adding salt during the simmering will make the broth too salty once the liquid has reduced; do not add it until the end.) Reduce heat and simmer for two hours. (“But when you’re sick, you want it fast,” says Ostrow. “So an hour and a half at the minimum.”) Strain the stock and transfer the chicken to a bowl to cool. Return the chicken stock to the pot.
- Meanwhile, place the onions in a wide pan with a splash of oil. Cook on low heat until caramelized — sticky, brown, and sweet — stirring only occasionally. (You’ll find many recipes online claiming that this can be done in 10 minutes. It can’t. These recipes are lying to you to make things seem easier. But doing this correctly requires no additional effort or skill, only time — at least 40 minutes. All you have to do is stir the pan gently every five or 10 minutes.)
- In a mixing bowl, combine matzah meal, eggs, salt, and some herbs (I added what I had — dried oregano and fresh parsley) until a dough forms. I used two eggs for one cup of matzah meal. Pour a little oil on your hands and shape the dough into golf-ball–sized spheres. Add the matzah balls to the strained soup, along with the carrots and celery, and simmer for 25 minutes.
- When the chicken is cool enough to handle, separate the meat from the bones. Discard the bones. Shred the meat and return it to the soup. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve with a spoon of caramelized onion in each bowl and garnish with a bit more dill.
