Andrew Scrivani for The New York Times  A beet spread with ties to both Ashkenazi and Israeli traditions. More Photos »  NOAH BERNAMOFF was eating a smoked meat sandwich as he talked latkes at the Mile End Deli in Brooklyn. More specifically, he argued for the pancake’s status as the iconic food of Hanukkah.  Sure, there are doughnuts if you’re from Israel, and maybe fried chicken in Italy. But in general, Ashkenazi Jews, whose ancestors settled in middle or northern Europe, gravitate toward the potato.  “For Hanukkah, that’s what people do,” said Mr. Bernamoff, who owns Mile End and its satellite sandwich shop in Manhattan with his wife, Rae. “It’s a given.”  His mother made them every year, slathered with homemade applesauce (never sour cream). I top mine with smoked salmon, frying up batches upon batches of the lovely, crisp-edged pancakes that are just greasy enough.  But every year I wonder: Is there something different I can make that still says Hanukkah?  Two new excellent cookbooks can help answer that question: “The Mile End Cookbook” (Clarkson Potter, 2012), which the Bernamoffs co-wrote, and “Jerusalem” (Ten Speed, 2012), by Yotam Ottolenghi and Sami Tamimi.  The books exemplify two current trends in Jewish cooking: Ashkenazi Brooklyn hipster (in the Bernamoffs’ case, by way of Montreal), and cross-cultural, vegetable-based Israeli. Both volumes have recipes for classic latkes, but the overlap pretty much ends there.  “The Mile End Cookbook” is filled with familiar deli classics infused with a modern, D.I.Y. spirit. Along with the requisite gefilte fish, borscht (made from beet — rather than beef — stock) and kasha varnishkes with homemade egg noodles, you’ll find homemade beef salami, lamb bacon and smoked mackerel.  Mr. Bernamoff serves his classic latkes at Mile End all year long because, as he said, “that’s why people come to a Jewish deli.” Then at Hanukkah, he breaks out the variations. Celery root and parsnip replace potato in one version, the sweetness of the parsnips tempered by the grassiness of the celery root. Mr. Bernamoff suggests topping these with horseradish cream.  Hanukkah doesn’t get much play in “Jerusalem.” But I did find a stunning recipe for Swiss chard fritters, packed with fragrant dill and cilantro, and studded with loads of feta that melted and browned as it fried. I figured that since frying in oil really was the focal point of Hanukkah, this was as valid a holiday recipe as any, and it provides a green vegetable counterpoint to all the usual starchy potato.  You could absolutely crown both these fritters with smoked salmon and maybe a little yogurt and they would be terrific. But in the end I decided not to.  After reading both books, the flavors of the Middle East and Eastern Europe started melding together in my head. I wanted to come up with a sauce or dip influenced by both cultures — something unusual, but familiar at its heart.  From the Ashkenazi tradition I borrowed cooked beets, dill, walnuts and horseradish. Then I mixed it all with the yogurt, garlic and olive oil of Israeli tradition.  Into the blender the ingredients went, whirling until everything came together into a pungent magenta purée. It was thick enough to dollop on top of the Swiss chard fritters, and creamy, tangy and garlicky enough to serve on its own as a dip with vegetables.  The beet purée would even work well on top of classic potato latkes. It wouldn’t be traditional, but it would still be Jewish. After all, as Mr. Bernamoff said: “Jewish food isn’t just one thing. It keeps evolving.”  Both his book and “Jerusalem” are proof of that.
Two new cookbooks can help you make different dishes, like celery root-parsnip latkes and Swiss chard fritters, that still say Hanukkah.