My grandmother made a great Friday night dinner in her two-story limestone in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. She might as well have run a restaurant. There was lots and lots and lots of stuff—kreplach, gribenes, gefilte fish, blintzes, homemade noodles, roast chicken, glazed carrots, egg barley with dried Polish mushrooms. In 1918 during an influenza epidemic my grandmother was 20 years old with two children. First her husband died and two days later her mother died. With eight younger siblings and two of her own, she took care of ten kids in the family. Then an aunt caught the flu and died leaving eight or nine children. My grandmother then married her uncle and raised 18 kids.
The secret to her roast chicken was to cook it long enough to render the fat from the chicken and make it crispy.
—Eddie Schoenfeld, New York restaurateur
