“There’s an emotional response you get when eating this dish.”
–Michael Solomonov, Israeli-born chef and restaurant owner
If you’ve eaten much matzo ball soup, you know there’s a sacredness to it. The richness of the broth and the way it sits full-bodied on the spoon. How the matzo balls, saturated just enough to be plush but resilient, dole out the concentrated liquid they’ve absorbed with each bite. The meaty shreds of chicken and chunky vegetables, both reminders that this is cozy, nourishing home cooking. And the way, when you’re hunched over a bowlful, inhaling the savory steam, you can tell that someone fussed over this. That they distilled meat, vegetables, and aromatics down to this golden, schmaltz-anointed elixir; seasoned, formed, and poached the dumplings just so—and you are the beneficiary.
It’s a visceral experience, Michael Solomonov told me when we spoke on the phone about his lifelong love of matzo ball soup. The Israeli-born chef/owner of several acclaimed Philadelphia restaurants, including Zahav, rhapsodized about the purity of the broth, the alleged bronchial-healing effect of chicken fat, and the “magical pairing” it makes with cinnamon, which his mother uses to season her
