Fried and Not Fried: 8 meals of Hanukkah! 8 recipes for a week of celebration and light.
- Congregation Kol Ami
- Dec 13, 2025
- 6 min read
Fried and Not Fried: 8 Meals of Hanukkah
8 recipes for a week of celebration and light
Hanukkah is often introduced as a holiday of fried foods—latkes, sufganiyot, that glorious moment when a kitchen smells like oil and onions and sweetness. And yes: oil matters. We eat fried foods to remember the miracle of a small, consecrated supply of oil that burned longer than it should have, a stubborn light that refused to go out.
But Hanukkah has always been more than the fryer.
It’s also an olive-oil holiday—Mediterranean at its heart. It’s a dairy-and-cheese holiday in many Jewish communities, echoing the Judith tradition and the ways courage sometimes arrives through ordinary means: salt, comfort, a well-timed meal, a table that turns fear into steadiness. It’s a golden-and-glowing holiday—food that looks like light, tastes like warmth, and gathers us together night after night to keep kindling hope.
And one more layer of meaning I love about Hanukkah: in many Jewish communities it’s also a dairy-and-cheese holiday. Alongside the oil miracle, there’s a tradition linked to the story of Judith—a heroine remembered in later Jewish retellings for saving her people through courage and ingenuity. In that tradition, Judith offers an enemy general salty cheese (and wine), which makes him thirsty and drowsy, giving her the chance to defeat him and protect her community. So we eat dairy on Hanukkah not because it’s “cute” or trendy, but as a way of honoring a different kind of power: the strength that can come through food, through wisdom, through women’s bravery, through the ordinary tools of a kitchen that become instruments of survival. On a holiday about light, dairy becomes its own symbol—nourishment and protection, comfort that fortifies, a reminder that miracles sometimes arrive not with fireworks, but with a steady hand and a full heart.
So this week I’m offering a mixed menu: fried and not fried, traditional and a little Greek/Mediterranean, anchored in olives and olive oil and bright, bracing flavors. Eight nights. Eight recipes. A rhythm you can actually live with: some nights sizzling and celebratory, other nights simple and nourishing—because sometimes the miracle is in the frying pan, and sometimes it’s in the soup pot, the oven, the cutting board, the steady work of feeding people you love.
Choose one night. Or do all eight. Light the candles. Say the blessings. Let the food carry the story: a little oil, a lot of light, and the fierce joy of continuing.
Night 1 (Fried): Classic Potato Latkes
Why Chanukah: Fried in oil to remember the miracle of the oil in the Temple.
Symbolism: Golden, crisp “little flames” — light made from simple ingredients.
Ingredients (makes ~12):
2 lb russet potatoes, 1 small onion, 2 eggs, 1/4 cup flour or matzah meal, 1–1½ tsp salt, pepper, neutral oil.
Steps:
Grate potatoes + onion. Squeeze very dry in a towel.
Mix with eggs, flour/matzah meal, salt, pepper.
Heat 1/4” oil in a pan (medium-high).
Fry 2–3 min/side until deep golden. Drain; salt immediately.
Night 2 (Fried): Sufganiyot (Jelly Doughnuts)
Why Chanukah: Another oil-fried classic; especially beloved as a Chanukah treat in Israel.
Symbolism: Roundness = wholeness; sweet filling = hidden sweetness even in dark seasons.
Ingredients (10–12):
2¼ tsp yeast, 1/4 cup sugar, 3/4 cup warm milk/water, 1 egg, 3 tbsp oil/butter, 2½–3 cups flour, 1/2 tsp salt, jam, powdered sugar, frying oil.
Steps:
Bloom yeast + sugar in warm liquid 5–10 min.
Mix in egg, oil/butter, salt, then flour to soft dough; knead 5–7 min.
Rise 60–90 min. Roll 1/2” thick; cut circles; rise 30 min.
Fry at ~350°F, 1–2 min/side.
Pipe jam; dust powdered sugar.
Night 3 (Not fried, Greek + cheese): Spanakopita (Spinach-Feta Pie)
Why Chanukah: Uses olive oil (the Chanukah oil) and cheese/dairy, a Hanukkah custom linked to the Judith tradition in many communities.
Symbolism: Crisp layered phyllo = layers of protection + resilience; bright greens = life returning.
Ingredients (9x13):
1 lb spinach (frozen squeezed dry or fresh cooked + drained), 1 onion, 2 tbsp olive oil, 8 oz feta, 1–2 eggs, dill, pepper, 1 pkg phyllo, olive oil or melted butter.
Steps:
Sauté onion in olive oil; add spinach to dry it out. Cool.
Mix spinach + feta + eggs + dill + pepper.
Layer 8–10 phyllo sheets in pan, brushing each with oil/butter.
Add filling; top with 8–10 more sheets (brush each). Score top.
Bake 375°F 35–45 min until deeply golden.
Night 4 (Fried, Greek): Loukoumades (Honey Puffs)
Why Chanukah: Fried in oil; honeyed treats are common in Sephardi/Mizrahi Chanukah traditions too.
Symbolism: Little glowing spheres = many lights; honey = abundance + blessing.
Ingredients:
2 tsp yeast, 1 tbsp sugar, 1 cup warm water, 1¼ cup flour, pinch salt, frying oil; topping: honey, cinnamon, chopped walnuts/sesame.
Steps:
Stir yeast + sugar + warm water; mix in flour + salt (thick batter).
Rest 45–60 min until bubbly.
Fry spoonfuls in ~350°F oil until golden.
Drizzle honey; dust cinnamon; add nuts/sesame.
Night 5 (Not fried, Greek lemon “light”): Avgolemono Soup
Why Chanukah: Not every Chanukah food must be fried — this honors the holiday with brightness (lemon), comfort, and communal table-warmth.
Symbolism: Lemon-gold broth = radiance; warmth shared = light multiplied.
Ingredients (6–8 bowls):
8 cups chicken/veg broth, 3/4 cup rice or orzo, 2 eggs, juice of 2–3 lemons, salt/pepper, dill optional.
Steps:
Simmer rice/orzo in broth until tender.
Whisk eggs + lemon.
Temper with 1–2 ladles hot broth slowly while whisking.
Pour back; heat gently without boiling. Season; add dill.
Night 6 (Not fried, olive-oil forward): Briam (Greek Roasted Vegetables)
Why Chanukah: Olive oil is the star (Chanukah’s signature ingredient), without frying.
Symbolism: Vegetables caramelize into golden edges—the “slow miracle”: steady light, steady care.
Ingredients:
Potatoes + zucchini + eggplant (or what you love), 1 onion, 3–4 garlic cloves, 1 can crushed tomatoes (or 3–4 fresh), generous olive oil, oregano, salt/pepper.
Steps:
Slice vegetables; toss with tomatoes, garlic, oregano, salt/pepper, lots of olive oil.
Roast 400°F 50–70 min, stirring once, until glossy and browned.
Optional: finish with lemon + olives on top.
Night 7 (Not fried dessert): Olive Oil Orange Cake
Why Chanukah: Celebrates olive oil in a sweet form; a Mediterranean “oil miracle” cake.
Symbolism: Sunny citrus + golden crumb = hope + warmth; oil keeps it tender = enduring light.
Ingredients:
2 eggs, 3/4 cup sugar, 1/2 cup olive oil, 3/4 cup orange juice, zest of 1–2 oranges, 1½ cups flour, 2 tsp baking powder, 1/4 tsp salt. (Optional: 1/2 cup yogurt.)
Steps:
Whisk eggs + sugar. Whisk in olive oil, juice, zest (and yogurt if using).
Fold in flour + baking powder + salt.
Bake 350°F in greased 9” pan for 35–45 min.
Optional: brush warm cake with a little honey.
Night 8 (Fried-ish, cheese + olives): Pan-Seared Halloumi with Honey, Lemon, Olives
Why Chanukah: Dairy/cheese honors the Judith-linked custom; quick sear nods to oil; olives echo the oil source.
Symbolism: Sizzle = living flame; sweet + salty = strength + sweetness together.
Ingredients:
8–12 oz halloumi, 1–2 tsp olive oil, honey, lemon wedges, bowl of kalamata olives, sesame seeds optional.
Steps:
Slice halloumi; pat very dry.
Heat pan; add a tiny bit of olive oil.
Sear 1–2 min/side until browned.
Drizzle honey, squeeze lemon; serve with olives (and sesame if you like).
As the eighth night arrives, I always feel two truths at once: gratitude and ache. Gratitude for the steady accumulation of light—one flame becoming many. And ache, because so much in our world still feels tender, unfinished, and dark at the edges.
That’s why I love this mix of fried and not fried. The fried foods are the obvious Hanukkah story: oil, heat, crispness, that instant gratification of brightness. But the not-fried foods carry a quieter teaching: that light is also built through patience, through tending, through what happens slowly in an oven, gently in a soup pot, steadily in a body that keeps showing up.
In other words: the miracle is not only what flashes. The miracle is what lasts.
If you made even one recipe this week—one batch of latkes, one pan of spanakopita, one lemony pot of soup—then you practiced the deepest Hanukkah move: you took what you had and turned it into warmth for someone else. You fed the people you love. You honored the story not only with candles but with a table, with scent and texture, with the holy work of “again.”
So here’s the blessing I want to send you off with:
May the fried nights remind you that joy can be immediate and deserved.
May the not-fried nights remind you that survival is also sacred.
May your kitchen be a small sanctuary—imperfect, lived-in, luminous.
And may the light you kindled this week follow you beyond Hanukkah, into the ordinary days, where we need it just as much.
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