Matzo ball soup is suddenly something it’s never been: cool.

The 19th century Jewish German staple is showing up on Bay Area restaurant menus in ways that would make my grandma Frances roll over in her grave. We’ve got matzo ball gnocchi at pop-up Hadeem. Matzo is making its way into falafel at Bubbelah’s in Menlo Park. The Marina’s new designer deli Super Mensch is even mixing a matzo ball soup margarita made with parsley, carrot top, celery, dill pollen, and shmaltz-infused tequila. 

Pair these newfangled balls with a pastrami tower as tall as Coit, and it’s very clear: Jewish food is trending, with chefs reimagining the oldest of recipes and taking them far beyond your bubbe’s kitchen. 

Though this isn’t the easiest time to be an American Jew, with antisemitism on the rise and intense discord within the Jewish community over Israel’s conduct in Gaza, it is a remarkable time for Jewish food. Nobody embodies the trend more than Adam Rosenblum’s Super Mensch, which has been sardine-packed since it opened last month on Rosh Hashana, the New Year holiday marking year 5786 on the Jewish calendar.

At the same time, James Beard Award-recognized chef Spencer Horovitz has been pounding the pavement in search of a permanent space for his wildly popular Jewish Californian pop-up Hadeem. David Nayfeld of Divisidero’s Che Fico recently revamped his Menlo Park alimentari into Bubbelah, a fast-casual ode to the food of the Jewish diaspora. And the Boichiks, Schloks, Loveskis, and Wise Sons of the city’s bagel scene seem to be proliferating like Hasidim in Brooklyn.

“More and more Jewish American concepts are coming out,” Rosenblum says. “We’re all taking very, very different approaches. The more the merrier.”

Of course, all these nice Jewish boy-chefs aren’t trying to make anyone feel better about the state of the world. That’s too heavy of a lift. But they are hoping to bring people — all people — together, in the name of pickles, not politics. 

Mere weeks into Super Mensch’s existence, Rosenblum worries (a natural condition for a member of the tribe). But he also feels blessed. The place is fully booked; passersby peek in to say thank you for being here.

He is humbled, he says, watching a mix of Jews and gentiles brunching on challah French toast and hunks of chocolate cake. Gen Zs snap pics beneath the restaurant’s sign to text to their moms. It’s enough to make a Jew feel something uncommon: optimism.

“Super Mensch is not like some deep political stance I’m taking,” he says. “I try not to mix politics and religion and food. There’s a time and place for each, respectively. But I know the world we’re currently in. I know what the perception of Judaism is and Israel is.” 

Super Mensch isn’t meant to reflect anything other than his heritage, namely, the significance of the word “mensch,” Yiddish for someone with integrity and honor.

“It’s a word that has a really important meaning to me,” he says. “It’s something I strive for as a human being. To be a good person. It’s what we should all strive for.”

Wise Sons founder Evan Bloom — a Jewish-food pioneer who brought good bagels, matzo balls, babka, and many a visiting East Coast bubbe to the Mission 15 years ago — says communing over kugel, corned beef, and kitsch in the form of, say, a bagel and lox martini, is a way to show support for a culture under duress.

“The Jewish community feels like it needs to come together right now. People are afraid to show their Jewishness,”  Bloom says. “Food is familiar, innocuous, the great equalizer. It’s Jewish penicillin. It’s comfort. It’s comforting.”

For Nayfeld, rebranding his Menlo Park market as Bubbelah, a Yiddish term of endearment his dad still calls him, doesn’t mean he peddles in stereotypes, either. Jewish food contains multitudes, like Jewish people, which is why the Bubbelah menu takes inspiration from Egypt, Italy, Syria, Georgia, and Lebanon. Are there latkes? Sure. But not lox. 

Born to Soviet refugees, Nayfeld has never been big on Seinfeldian cuisine. “This sounds sacrilege, but deli is not my favorite,” he admits. “I don’t just dream of going to delis. Although I have mad respect for all the deli men out there.”

Tal Mor is definitely not a deli man, either. His Jewish diaspora-focused bakery, Loquat, turns 3 years old this month and just keeps getting busier. People pile in for Friday challah pickups and during monthly sabich nights for fresh pita stuffed with eggplant.

Mor, who was born in Israel to an Iraqi father and Ashkenazi mother, says Jewish food can be a bridge over the ever-deepening chasm between Jews and Palestinians. 

Mor and Sam Mogannam, the Palestinian American owner of Bi-Rite Markets, have been hosting weekly, Quaker-inspired “community gatherings” at Bi-Rite’s teaching kitchen 18 Reasons since the start of the war. They brew tea, snack on Loquat pastries and Bi-Rite’s perfect produce, and reflect. “There’s a lot of division,” Mor says. “But food places can serve as safe spaces for the community, as places to connect without politics.”

Still, Mor admits it’s a scary time to open a Jewish business. And yet, it’s also a good time. “People are experiencing both — being embraced and boycotted.” 

Nayfeld, Mor, Bloom, Rosenblum, and Horovitz all agree that they’ve never felt more buoyed by the Bay Area’s Jewish community. “Support has grown a hundredfold in the past three years,” Nayfeld says. “Especially those of us who are going out on a limb to create spaces and be unabashedly ourselves.”

It’s perhaps even harder to be a Palestinian business right now, notes Mor, which is why he goes out of his way to source z’aatar and olive oil from Palestinian producers, promote Palestinian cookbook authors, and foster community with colleagues like Mogannam. “I always try to lead with heart,” he says. “I think that’s a very Jewish thing.”