The Charlotte Jewish News- March 2026- Page 2 Jewish Federation of Greater Charlotte
From the Editor’ s Desk: What We Carry to the Table
The reason I cook so much is simple: I love to eat.
I come from a family of eaters. Fressers, as my parents proudly called us. Adventurous, gourmet eaters, yes, but also enthusiastic participants in unapologetic gluttony. Supersized McDonald’ s French fries, aggressively salted and preferably obtained through a drive-through. Icecold Coke-flavored Slurpees at the movie theater. A warm slab of Camembert, oozing where it pleases. An entire loaf of challah drizzled in honey.
My brother does not consider a trip to the South complete without at least one meal at Bojangles, a rule that also applies to layovers at Charlotte Douglas International Airport. My sister once competed in, and won, eating contests at Princeton and later at Goldman Sachs.
My strongest memories are not tied to places so much as to tables. The dining room table
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Published by Jewish Federation of Greater Charlotte
Editor Elizabeth Johnson
Sr. Communications Specalist Jessica Goldfarb
Social Media Manager Shelby Robinson
Director of Marketing Dylan Vander Velde
5007 Providence Road, Suite 101 Charlotte, NC 28226( 704) 944-6765 www. charlottejewishnews. org charlottejewishnews @ shalomcharlotte. org
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of my childhood. Restaurant tables. Long tables on family trips abroad, a napkin in my lap, a knife in one hand, a fork in the other.
In the Jewish calendar, few holidays are as embodied as Purim, where joy is meant to be heard, tasted, and shared.
My mother clocked my relationship with food early. She once told me, with a mix of amusement and concern, that I was obsessed. Apparently, I was always thinking ahead to my next meal. Go figure. A note to self, still relevant: practice mindfulness and stay in the moment.
Somewhere along the way, without quite meaning to, cooking became part of that inheritance. I do not give myself credit easily, but time has made one thing clear: I am an exceptionally good cook and a creative one, to boot.
In 2007, I briefly flirted with the idea of culinary school, inspired by a close friend in New York City who had spent years at the Culinary Institute of America before becoming a well-respected recipe tester. She bore the oven-burn scars on her forearms to prove her commitment. I wanted those. My father disagreed.“ Absolutely not,” he said.“ Get this idea out of your head.” I later learned that one need not attend culinary school to earn them. An outstanding job offer with a relocation to Charlotte ended that fantasy, but the cooking never slowed.
I learned the fundamentals while studying abroad in Italy, where I signed up for a cooking class under the guise of securing a free meal and a glass of wine on a Wednesday night. Instead, I found myself captivated by a professor who spoke about food with reverence and affection.
Before long, I was making ribollita rich with olive oil, garlicky vongole with homemade bucatini, risotto with aged Parmesan and green asparagus procured from the Mercato Centrale, and tiramisu with confidence. Once, he told me my dessert would make his beloved nonna proud. I still think about that.
Since then, the rhythm has stayed with me. Braised meats. Bean stews. A pot of spicy chili on the stove. Brisket with shallots and horseradish that takes all day and is better the next day. Steaks seared properly. Shaved chocolate cookies baked with Lucy, sprinkled generously with Maldon salt.
My first dinner party came at 24, in Düsseldorf, Germany. It took all day to prepare. The guests went wild. And I have never really stopped hosting since.
My father, for his part, did not initially believe this was a skill I possessed. I once sent him a photograph of a dish I had made. He asked which restaurant it came from. When I told him it was mine, he was incredulous. Who knew Elizabeth could cook? Apparently, everyone would soon find out.
These days, when the family comes to town, we rarely go out. Why would we? We gather at our place instead, and I feed the clan. As my mother likes to remind me, I have added another notch to my belt.
In my family, we joke by asking,“ What would Big Teddy do?” It is shorthand for going all in. When it comes to food, Big Teddy goes for the gold: the best ingredients, the best version. We do too.
Travel has only sharpened this instinct. The travel bug bit me early, thanks to my parents, and wherever I go, food is the lens. I research, I plan, and I eat with intention. My honeymoon to Iceland was orchestrated around a coveted reservation at a quaint
restaurant in Reykjavik.
If a friend or family member is traveling somewhere new, I offer recommendations or volunteer for gastronomic due diligence. I have documented this affection for years on social media, long before it had a name or an audience.
What I have taught myself, over time, is how to take a few things and turn them into something delicious. When the result is also beautiful and well-received, that feels like icing, thickly frosted. This is not about perfection, and it is certainly not about instruction. What happens in my kitchen has always been personal: feeding myself well, feeding the people I love, and finding pride and happiness in the act of nourishment itself. Which brings me to Purim. Purim is a holiday that understands joy as something active. Food is meant to be shared. Gifts are meant to circulate. Stories are meant to be read aloud together, imperfectly, interrupted by laughter. It does not require restraint; it requires participation.
That ethos mirrors how I cook, how I collect stories, how I write, and how I edit. Take what you have. Make something nourishing. Offer it freely. Do not overexplain. Let people absorb what they need. This March issue reflects that
spirit. The stories that follow move outward. They connect. They invite engagement rather than observation. At Charlotte Jewish News, our work is not to tell the community what to think, but to create space where stories can be passed along, lived with, and carried forward.
May this season bring great food, boxes of hamantaschen, the absolute best of noise, and full tables of every kind.
Chag Purim Sameach, Elizabeth Johnson Editor, The Charlotte Jewish News