R: Oh, matzo ball soup. Every Ashkenazi home has their own version, passed down from bubby to bubby, simmered on high holidays and chilly winter days. There are two critical criteria by which this soup is judged. The first is the matzo ball, which we could call the closest thing Ashkenazis have to an American dumpling. It has to be tender and light enough to melt in your mouth, but still retain a firmness throughout, which has more to do with how you shape it than the recipe itself. The second is the chicken stock, which must be golden yellow and crystal clear, “clean” to the palate and the eye. So while roasting the bones or sim- mering the liquid for longer would actually give you a more intense flavor, that’s not quite the point of this dish. Matzo ball soup is intentionally a bit muted, like some- thing you eat when you’re sick.
All this is deceptively difficult to accomplish, and we’ve done our best to explain how we go about it. But no matter how hard we try, whenever Alex sees a group of old Jewish women walk into Arthurs and order this soup, he runs away. He knows that, without fail, they’re going to be drawing comparisons to their own recipe (it’s the Ashkenazi version of Moroccan Salade Cuite, see pg. 222).
Unless you’re trying to wow the bubby next door, don’t stress about keeping the ball perfectly soft or the stock perfectly clear. It doesn’t affect the taste whatsoever. All technique aside, the importance is that your soup brings you a feeling of heimish, of being at home.