Passover : The Great Matzo Ball Soup Tour

At the beginning of March, I get cheery, knowing that Passover is but weeks away. And that means it’s time for matzo ball soup.

By the end of March I’m antsy, worrying whether I’ll be invited to a Seder dinner, the ceremony that recalls through ritual--and delicious symbolic dishes--the Israelites’ liberation from slavery in ancient Egypt.

This year I’ve decided to observe Passover, which begins Friday at sundown, at home alone, with prayer, a bottle of kosher grape juice--and matzo ball take-out.

Oh sure, the soup has little significance when compared to the traditional foods that occupy the Seder plate--namely the karpas , a green veggie such as parsley that is dipped in salt water; charoset , a mixture of fruits, nuts and spices; maror , or bitter herbs (either romaine lettuce or freshly ground horseradish), a roasted egg and a roasted shank bone. Then there’s the unleavened bread or matzo, a food that symbolizes freedom and reminds of the haste with which the Hebrews fled Egypt.

Many begin the festive meal with a very salty, cold, hard-boiled egg soup; others simply serve up the matzo balls. Then there are those who head straight for the gefilte fish.

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As Judy Zeidler, author of “The Gourmet Jewish Cook” (Morrow: $25) reminds, much of what we bring to the Passover table has its roots in nostalgia.

“People do what generations before in their family did,” says Zeidler. “My husband’s background was matzo balls that dropped to the bottom of the soup and the bottom of your stomach; my mother made them light and fluffy and they melted in your mouth. It’s all a matter of what you grew up with.”

I grew up in an Orthodox home in Johannesburg. Each spring my late mother, together with Sophie Mputhi, the Sotho woman who raised me in apartheid South Africa, would scrub the house from top to bottom, haul out separate sets of dishes and utensils, and as Passover approached, remove all chometz (leavened foods) from sight.

But mostly, I remember the matzo balls those two cooked up--perfect rounds, each with a sweet, brown filling. I recently phoned Mputhi at her home in Soweto to find out more about their concoction.

“We used to fry onions in chicken fat until they got a little brown, add a bit of sugar, a lot of cinnamon and then squish them all into the middle of the matzo meal,” she said. The duo would oftentimes box a half-dozen of their creations and send them via bus to Pretoria, where my anxious uncle Abie would retrieve them at the terminus for later presentation--and acclaim--at his own Passover table.

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These days, I don’t keep kosher. But in recent weeks, as I’ve searched for the perfect matzo ball soup to grace my table, I’ve discovered a number of kosher restaurants. I’ve also dined at delis that cater to those hungry for traditional Jewish foods.

I went with a friend one Sunday evening to Judy’s (129 N. La Brea Ave., Los Angeles), a kosher restaurant serving international cuisine. Here, the small, somewhat aloof matzo ball sat serenely in a sea--no, make that an ocean--of golden liquid, while little fat globules danced on by. After three bites, the tasty, tender morsels were gone.

At La Glatt’s Kosher Restaurant (446 N. Fairfax Ave., Los Angeles), a craggy matzo ball was placed before me. I sat still for a few minutes, inhaling the promising fragrance from the pale yellow broth. The matzo ball soon fell apart to my touch, opening magically like a golden-and-grainy flower. I finished every bite and left the brightly lit diner feeling warm and nurtured.

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I discovered Pico Kosher Deli (8826 W. Pico Blvd., Los Angeles) a few days later. A bowl of scalding soup soon materialized. Rich noodles filled the pleasant, unsalted, golden broth. A soft matzo ball, somewhat pinkish in color, quickly melted in the mouth. Nourishing, but not terribly exciting. Barney Greengrass (at Barney’s New York, 9570 Wilshire Blvd., Beverly Hills) also serves confident, no-nonsense matzo balls. But here, the protagonists are small and spiced with flecks of dill (I hate dill) and onion. The clear, golden broth also plays host to bits of celery, onion and carrot.

At the counter at Junior’s (2379 Westwood Blvd., Westwood), the firmly rounded matzo ball comes with chunks of celery, chicken, onion and carrots, and is served with rye bread (or matzo, of course, during Passover). Similarly, at Jerry’s Famous Deli (8701 Beverly Blvd., West Hollywood, also in Studio City and Marina del Rey), a big, bland matzo ball presides over strands of noodles and tender chicken strips. At Canter’s (419 N. Fairfax Ave., Los Angeles), a large, lumpy and ultimately zesty matzo ball reigns supreme.

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Art’s Delicatessen (12224 Ventura Blvd., Studio City) reopened last October following a remodeling after the Northridge quake. Here, the broth is dominated by large, sweet carrot pieces. Rice and succulent bits of chicken also crowd around. In the end, the large, fluffyish matzo ball seems irrelevant to the tasty mix.

I’ve yet to visit Ziggy G’s, Fromin’s, Factor’s, Nate-n-Al’s, Izzy’s, Roll ‘n Rye, Langer’s, Mort’s. But quite frankly, if I see one more matzo ball . . .

Since beginning my quest, however, I’ve received several invitations. A South African family has asked me to a Seder, as have a colleague and a lawyer friend of mine.

But come Friday night, I’ll light the candles at home, the way my mother did all those years ago, and will follow the service from either a feminist Haggadah or the one I got a few years ago at a singles Seder (don’t ask). Then, I’ll open the containers and nosh on the gefilte fish, chopped liver, tzimmes , potato kugel, sponge cake--and matzo balls--I’ve bought from La Glatt’s.

Pass the matzo please.