Close your eyes and think of a dumpling you'd like to eat right now. Chances are, even the mere thought brought a slight upturn to the corners of your mouth and a gentle softening of your spirit. Dumplings, whether fried, boiled or steamed, are incorporated into a wide range of cuisines across the globe. It stands to reason, as this kind of food, no matter how it is prepared, can be a resourceful way to turn small bits of unused ingredients into satisfying and filling mouthfuls; there's something universally comforting and calming about their form, including, but not limited to, when soaked in a warm broth. 

When choosing one comforting dumpling from the pool of Ashkenazi food traditions, the first that many think of is matzoh ball soup, or kneidlach, as it's often called in the UK. Though it can be eaten at any time of year, matzoh ball soup is a traditional soup served by Ashkenazi or Eastern European Jewish families during the Passover Seder to commence the eight-day celebration. 

Matzoh balls, the term most used stateside, began life as knöedel, meaning 'dumpling' in German. They were created around the eleventh and twelfth centuries as a means to use up leftover bread and often eaten in soup by Germans, Austrians, and Alsatians – an area of France that formerly belonged to Germany. As these bready dumplings travelled to Poland, Russia and Lithuania, the dumplings began to change, much like the language used to name them. Kneidlach, the Yiddish version of knöedel, were sometimes made with meat inside, amongst other variations. As they continued their migration to the US, Manischewitz, a prominent kosher US company, began to sell kits to make the dumplings, originally under the name "feather balls Alsatian style", according to the research of Jewish cookbook author Joan Nathan. These 'feather balls' were formed by using a company-made product called matzoh meal. The kits coincided with the rise of other convenience foods in the US following the Great Depression and the Second World War, helping to cement their presence in American Jewish culture and their prevalence today.

Beyond matzoh balls, there is a wide range of dumplings and variations from the Jewish diaspora. Given the matzoh ball's origins, it makes sense that others from across Europe might be similar in form or function. Hungarian dumplings, known as griz galuska, are traditionally made into egg-like dumplings similar to a quenelle shape and served in soup or broth. Rather than breadcrumbs or matzoh meal, griz galuska are traditionally made with farina or semolina.

According to Jewish Italian cook and author of Jewish Flavours of Italy Silvia Naccamuli, Ashkenazic diasporas in Venice – once home to a 500-year-old Jewish quarter and thriving Jewish community of many origins – make gnocchi all'ebraica, a Jewish-style dumplings also known as cugoli. These dumplings are smaller than matzoh balls and can be made with breadcrumbs or matzoh meal. The cugoli are mixed with a well-cooked soffrito of onion, garlic, and parsley before being rolled into dessert-spoon-sized oblongs and boiled. 

Cugoli can be served in soup, like matzoh balls, or equally in a rich tomato sauce, walking the line between Italian and Ashkenazi cultural traditions. 'They're a classic combination of Italian and Ashkenazi cooking,’ says Naccamuli. ‘You could make this dish for Passover, for Shabbat, or as a substitute for pasta during Passover, serving the dumplings in the sauce instead.’

Nacamulli also includes a second Italian Jewish dumpling in her book, zuppa imperiale di Pesach. This adaptation of a traditional Italian dish involves baking a thick sheet of matzoh meal – which is seasoned with nutmeg and salt and bound together with eggs – until the edges are crispy and then cutting the sheet into cubes. Cubes can be added to soup, where they will soften to take on a more dumpling-like texture.

‘As far as can be from dainty matzoh balls and clear chicken soup, the dumplings I dream of are kubbe – semolina dumplings filled with meat in a thick punchy broth from the Iraqi/Kurdish/Syrian diaspora,' writes chef, author and co-founder of Honey & Co Itamar Srulovich. ‘There are many versions: of dumplings, of filling and of soup, and I haven't yet met one didn't love, but of all them the kubbe hamusta has to be my favourite; the savoury, slightly dense dumpling is cooked in a swampy green soup made mostly with celery and serious amounts of lemon – irresistible.’

Kubbe or kubbeh hamusta is also featured in the co-authored book Jerusalem by Sami Tamimi and Yotam Ottolenghi. Similar to the Palestinian kibbeh, it's a meat-stuffed semolina or ground rice dumpling, but is poached in broth rather than being fried. Both dumplings' origins and influences come from Kurdish, Iraqi and Syrian cuisines.

‘You could call them dumplings, but they are a many-splendored thing that defies characterisation’, Jewish food historian Claudia Roden writes in The Book of Jewish Food. ‘Kibbeh, (known as kubba amongst Iraqi and Kurdish Jews) are the hallmark of Syrian cooking —the standard by which once upon a time women were judged…They represented refinement and elegance.’

Then, there's kreplach, possibly my favourite dumpling of them all. Kreplach, meaning 'dumpling' in Yiddish, was first introduced by the Jewish diaspora of Germany, through Venice, with additional signs pointing to influences of other similar foods like the pierogi of Poland and vareniki of Ukraine. Varieties included meat-filled kreplach, eaten in chicken soup, and cheese kreplach, which were served separately to preserve kosher law. Kreplach are now a traditional food made and eaten in celebration of several Jewish holidays within Ashkenazi tradition, including Kol Nidrei, the evening service marking the start of Yom Kippur, Purim, Sukkot and Simchat Torah.

My associations with kreplach, have less to do with these holidays, and more with the ritual and rhythm of making them with my family, pulling out the well worn index card and following my great grandmother’s instructions — an undertaking that would only happen once a year and often took two days to complete. My sister and I would carefully fold the thinly rolled circles of dough, sealing the filling my mother had made the day, before then passing the chubby results over to my father for boiling. Any breakages during the cooking were ours to consume on the spot. In between the annual ritual I’d order ’the whole megilla’ from the local Jewish deli, consisting of chicken soup with matzoh balls, egg noodles and a giant kreplach; thicker than what we would make at home, but an act of comfort and self-soothing from start to finish.