And again, happy 2010 to you all! I hope your new year’s was everything you wanted it to be, and that this year is full of delights, culinary and otherwise.

One delight I’ll be making a lot more of in 2010 is these semi-homemade tortilla chips. I was going to write homemade, but then I realized that until I start really slaving over some masa — and become the proud owner of a tortilla press — I won’t be able to have those bragging rights. These tortilla chips are pretty insanely great, however. You can really tell that they’ve been made fresh, rather than poured out from a bag; first, because they are still warm when you eat them; second, because you can control how crispy or chewy or whatever texture you want them; and third, because they have just that little touch of grease and salt that disappears upon packaging.

These are also insanely easy, though a little time-consuming. Do not start making these, as I did, when everyone is already eying the guacamole. You can make these a little ahead (say up to about 20 minutes) and they’ll still perfectly retain their charm. Make them more ahead, and I can’t make any promises, but I bet as long as it’s the same day they’ll still be demonstrably better than store-bought.

Semi-Homemade Tortilla Chips

Ingredients

- small corn tortilla, cut into sixths

- vegetable oil

- salt

1. Heat a couple of inches of vegetable oil in a medium-sized pot. The oil should get very hot. You can test it by dropping a piece of tortilla in and seeing if it sizzles.

2. When the oil is hot, add tortilla segments, a few at a time. You don’t want to crowd the pan.

3. Keep an eye on the chips, turning them in the oil once using a slotted spoon or a sieve.

4. Deciding when to take them out is all up to your personal preference. The chips will continue cooking a little (browning and getting crispier) after you take them out of the oil. A few minutes should be fine. Just try a batch or two and see what you think.

5. Remove, placing on a plate lined with paper towel (to absorb the oil). Sprinkle salt over immediately.

I know that during FJ’s history I’ve referred to many foods as “one of the world’s most perfect foods.” Latkes, though, are the world’s most perfect food, singular. I started writing this kind of as a joke, but with a second of thought I realize that I’m not really joking at all. Potatoes and onions, fried in oil until brown and crisp, served with applesauce and sour cream? How can it get better than that?

Here is a proof (because I love proofs):

1. Latkes > French Fries (bc latkes have greater surface area, allowing more oil exposure; they’re like the best crunchy fry tidbits at the bottom of the bag, but only those)

2. Latkes > Hashbrowns (bc latkes have more onion)

3. Latkes > all other potato preparations (bc French fries and hashbrowns are really the only competition)

4. The potato is the world’s most perfect ingredient (maybe the egg, but nobody is ever going to pick a fried egg over a latke)

5. Latkes are the world’s most perfect food.

QED.

Last week, Kevin gave you Melissa Clark’s Hanukkah recipe for a fried savory French toast. Last year, I gave you my mom’s recipe for tempura fritto misto. Both perfectly fit under the strictly regimented rules of Hanukkah, namely that you fry your food in oil. But how had we neglected to give you a latke recipe?! Or, really I guess since I’m the Jewish one, I am the one who should be experiencing some good old Jewish guilt about this oversight.

And so, with three nights left of Hanukkah, I’m going to right things! But you know what, here’s the biggest secret. Latkes can be eaten all year round! And they’re amazing. So I don’t know, really, why we don’t eat them year-round. They’re minorly daunting to think about, but in reality are incredibly little work.

Here are my (ie my mom’s) secrets to latkes:

1. To get the latkes as crispy as possible, the potatoes have to be as dry as you can get them. Potatoes have a lot of water in them, it turns out (and you’ll realize when you grate them). The best way to deal with them is to line a strainer with a couple layers of cheesecloth (really draping over the edges, you’ll need the extra). As you grate the potatoes, put them in the cheesecloth in the strainer, over the sink. When you’re done grating, gather up the cheesecloth and squeeze. You can let them continue draining in the sink or over a bowl in the fridge until you need them.

2. The only ingredients in your latkes should be: potatoes, onions, eggs, salt, and pepper (and oil). That means no matzoh meal or flour! If you want leaden bricks instead of shatteringly crunchy potato goodness, then be my guest and add flour. But I warned you.

3. Your oil should be very hot before you start frying. Here are my frying tips: Heat an inch or so of vegetable oil in a large skillet over medium-sized heat. After a couple minutes, take a little bit of latke “batter” and drop that into the oil. If the oil sizzles up around the bit you drop in, then the oil is ready for frying. If it’s still, then it needs to be heated longer. If it REALLY sizzles, then it needs to be cooler. This is something you will just pick up from practice. Be careful when you’re dropping in the bit, and also the subsequent food. The closer you are to the oil when you drop the food in, the less it will splash.

And now, a semblance of a recipe!

The Best, Crispiest Latkes

Makes about 24 latkes

Ingredients

- 10 Yukon gold potatoes

- 2 yellow onions, chopped

- 3 eggs

- salt and pepper

- vegetable oil

- serve with sour cream and applesauce

1. Grate potatoes with the largest holes on a cheese grater. You don’t need to peel Yukon gold potatoes! You’re welcome. Follow tip #1 above to squeeze moisture out of potatoes.

2. Mix grated, “dried” potatoes with onions and 3 eggs in a large mixing bowl. Add a good couple pinches of salt and a number of grinds of black pepper.

3. Heat oil in one or two large skillets. Follow tip #3 above on that. Drop in about a 1/2 cup of “latke” batter into the oil and flatten with a spatula. You should be able to fit three latkes in a pan without crowding. Cook for one to two minutes before checking the underside. If the latke is starting to hold together and the bottom looks golden, flip. Cook for another few minutes until both sides are golden.

4. Remove from pan and place on a paper-towel lined platter. Enjoy!

Greetings from Turkey! Looks like I’m Junta’s continent-straddling correspondent, and I’ll be bringing you what Turkish cuisine I can fit intothese posts. For starters, this post is about anchovies (stay with me…). In Turkey, anchovies are called Hamsi (pronounced HAHM-see); veteran Food Junta blogger Wills and I made hamsi in Turkey, and we think you should too, anywhere — you’re in for easy cooking and simple, finger-licking eating.  Sure, most Turkish dishes meld concoctions of stews and spices, and I hope to post abbreviated, Food-Junta-ish versions of these dishes in the coming months. But for now, hamsi, laden onto a plate, thrust onto a crowded table, will bring plenty of crunchy, fishy pleasure.

Our hamsi came from the styrofoam bin of an Istanbul fish market stall — they were caught that day, and still glistened with brackish water from the Marmara Sea. We were also excited that we walked across Istanbul’s Golden Horn at sunset, Süleymaniye Mosque, casting silhouetted dreams against the evening sky, to find the fish market, and that the Turkish fish-selling man charges us about four bucks a kilogram. How great that this went on, in the same place, two, three, five hundred years ago. And, unlike the endless and titillating experimentation of American cuisine, hamsi and most other Turkish food hasn’t changed.

Hamsi is usually eaten in a mayhane (MAY-hah-nay), which means “joy/fun house.” It is the second course of an elaborate scheme by Turkish people to sit at a table, eat, talk, and drink copious amount of rakı for several hours. Turks, especially Ottoman Turks, have been doing this for centuries. The mayhane is a beautiful, indulgent, drunken ritual that will sadly have wait for another post. Carrying on centuries of tradition, Wills and I made hamsi in my Istanbul apartment for New Year’s. We and three baudy Turks bumbled around the kitchen for an hour, then stuffed ourselves. The little fish are between three and five inches long, slender, shiny silver. You know, anchovies.  They can come cleaned or not cleaned, with all the mini fish-guts intact. Let me tell you, cleaning 3 kilograms of hamsi guts is work. I would go with the already-cleaned variety, though if you want to know your hamsi Michael Pollan-style, any bona fide fish monger can show you how (directions also below). Consider hamsi the tip of a Turkish culinary iceberg. Food is taken very seriously here, regardless of how simple or complex. And trust me, if meet a Turkish person and tell them you made hamsi with misir unu (MUH-suhr  OO-noo), they just might kiss you.

(fritters on top right are not hamsi)