Food is basically the main character when we talk about any celebration, but festival of lights foods hit a bit differently. Most people hear "Festival of Lights" and immediately think of Hanukkah or Diwali. That’s fair. They are the heavy hitters. But honestly, the culinary landscape of these festivals is way more complex than just "something fried" or "something sweet." If you’re just showing up for the generic grocery store version of these dishes, you’re missing out on the actual soul of the kitchen.
The connection between light and fat is no accident. It’s physics, history, and a bit of culinary genius rolled into one. When we talk about these traditions, we’re talking about how people survived dark winters or celebrated the triumph of good over evil using whatever was in the pantry. Usually, that meant oil. Lots of it.
The Oil Obsession in Hanukkah Traditions
Let's look at Hanukkah. You probably know the story of the oil that lasted eight days when it should’ve only lasted one. Because of that, the festival of lights foods in Jewish households are almost entirely centered around the frying pan.
But here’s where it gets nuanced. Everyone talks about the latke. It’s the king of the Hanukkah table. Yet, the potato latke is a relatively "new" invention in the grand scheme of Jewish history. Potatoes didn’t even become a staple in Eastern Europe until the 1800s. Before that? People were making cheese pancakes. It was a nod to the story of Judith, who supposedly fed salty cheese to an enemy general to make him thirsty for wine, then... well, took care of business once he fell asleep.
So, if you want to be authentic, you should probably be looking for a ricotta-based pancake rather than just grating five pounds of Russets. That said, the potato latke is a masterpiece of texture when done right. You need that jagged, lacy edge that shatters when you bite it. If it’s soggy, it’s a failure. Pro tip: squeeze the liquid out of your shredded potatoes until your hands hurt. Then squeeze some more. That starchy water at the bottom of the bowl? Save the white sediment (the potato starch) and mix it back in. It’s the secret to a structural miracle.
Then there are the Sufganiyot. These are deep-fried jelly donuts. In Israel, these aren't just a treat; they’re an obsession. You’ll see bakeries competing to create the most insane fillings—pistachio cream, salted caramel, even savory versions. But at its heart, it’s a yeast dough that hits the hot oil, puffs up, and gets a shot of strawberry jam. It’s messy. It’s heavy. It’s perfect.
The Sugar Rush of Diwali
Now, flip the globe to India. Diwali is arguably the most famous festival of lights globally. If Hanukkah is about the oil, Diwali is about the Mithai (sweets).
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Honestly, the sheer variety of Diwali snacks can be overwhelming. You have Chakli, those crunchy, spiral-shaped savory snacks made from rice flour and gram flour. They’re spiked with cumin and sesame seeds. They’re addictive. You start with one and suddenly the whole container is gone. It's a problem.
But the sweets are the real stars. You’ve got Gulab Jamun, which are basically milk-solid donuts soaked in a rose-scented sugar syrup. They should be soft enough to collapse under a spoon. Then there’s Barfi. No, not that kind of barfy. It’s a dense, milk-based fudge. Sometimes it’s flavored with cardamom, sometimes topped with a thin layer of edible silver leaf called vark.
What’s interesting about festival of lights foods in a Hindu context is the concept of Prasad. The food is offered to the deities first—usually Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth—and then shared among the community. It’s not just a meal; it’s a blessing.
Beyond the Big Two: Other Traditions
We shouldn’t ignore the smaller or more localized festivals that use light as a theme. Take St. Lucia’s Day in Sweden. It’s celebrated on December 13th. The "light" here is literally worn on a crown of candles by a young girl. The food? Lussekatter.
These are Saffron buns. They’re dyed a brilliant, sun-like yellow because saffron is the world’s most expensive spice and using it is a massive flex of celebration. They’re shaped into "S" curves and tucked with raisins. They aren't overly sweet. They’re earthy. They taste like the sun coming back to a frozen landscape.
Why the Deep-Frying Matters
You might wonder why so many festival of lights foods are deep-fried. Sure, there’s the symbolic "oil" connection, but there’s also a practical side.
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- Fat is a flavor carrier.
- Fried foods are high-calorie, which mattered a lot more back when people were trying to survive winter without central heating.
- Oil was a luxury. Using a lot of it was a way to mark a day as "different" from the rest of the year.
Think about the Kue Kembang Goyang in Indonesia or the various fried doughs used in different lunar celebrations. When the sun goes down early, you want something hot, crispy, and satisfying.
The Savory Side We Forget
We focus on the sugar and the grease, but the savory dishes provide the backbone. For a Diwali dinner, you’re looking at elaborate vegetable curries, Puri (puffed fried bread), and maybe a rich Daal. In a Jewish home during Hanukkah, the latkes are often a side dish to a beef brisket that has been braised for six hours until it’s basically a pile of tender, savory threads.
The pairing matters. You put applesauce or sour cream on a latke to cut through the fat. You drink strong tea with Mithai to balance the intense sweetness. It’s a calculated culinary balance.
Common Mistakes and Misconceptions
One of the biggest mistakes people make with festival of lights foods is trying to make them "healthy." Look, I get it. We all want to watch our cholesterol. But a baked latke is just a sad hash brown. A baked donut is just a muffin with an identity crisis.
If you're going to celebrate, do it right. Use the oil. Use the ghee. The authenticity of these dishes is tied to their decadence. Another mistake is thinking these foods are universal across an entire religion. Sephardic Jews (from Spain, North Africa, and the Middle East) don't really do the potato latke thing as much as Ashkenazi Jews. They might make Bumuelos or Zalabia—fried dough rings soaked in honey.
Diversity is the point.
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Making These Foods at Home
If you’re attempting these at home, temperature control is your best friend. If your oil isn't hot enough, the food absorbs the grease and becomes a heavy, oily sponge. If it’s too hot, the outside burns while the inside stays raw.
For latkes, aim for about 365°F (185°C). Use a high-smoke point oil like grapeseed or peanut oil. Don’t use extra virgin olive oil for deep frying; you’ll just fill your kitchen with acrid smoke and regret.
For Indian sweets, if you’re making something like Gajar Halwa (carrot pudding), patience is the only ingredient that actually matters. You have to slow-cook those grated carrots in milk until the liquid evaporates and the sugars caramelize. You can't rush it. You shouldn't rush it.
Actionable Steps for Your Next Celebration
If you want to experience festival of lights foods the right way, stop buying the pre-packaged versions.
- Find a local ethnic grocery store. For Diwali, find an Indian market that makes fresh Jalebi—those neon orange, syrup-soaked crispy coils. Eat them while they’re still warm.
- Host a "Fry-Off." Invite friends over and try making three different versions of fried dough from three different cultures. Compare a Polish Pączki to an Israeli Sufganiyah.
- Focus on the garnish. A latke is only as good as what’s on top. Skip the jarred applesauce and grate some fresh apples with a squeeze of lemon and a pinch of cinnamon.
- Invest in a kitchen thermometer. Seriously. It’s the difference between a golden masterpiece and a greasy disaster.
These traditions are about more than just eating. They are about the defiance of darkness. Every time someone drops a piece of dough into hot oil or stirs a pot of milk for three hours, they’re participating in a chain of history that stretches back centuries. It’s delicious, it’s caloric, and it’s deeply human.
The next time you’re standing over a stove with the smell of frying oil clinging to your hair, remember that you’re doing exactly what people have done for generations to keep the "light" alive during the darkest parts of the year. It’s a lot of work, but one bite of a perfectly crisp, salty, oniony latke makes it all feel worth it. Or a piece of Kaju Katli that melts on your tongue. Choose your fighter. Just make sure it's authentic.