This much Russia knows: the chilly, early days of spring go hand-in-hand with cabbage. Throughout the countryside, rows of cabbages can be found poking through the ground even as the last freeze thaws. The tough, squeaky heads are impenetrable to all but the peskiest of creatures, but give them some attention with a sharp knife and persistent flame and you’ll see why cabbage is the pride of Russian home cooking. From cabbage rolls to borscht, Russian cookbooks are fat with ideas to use up the spring harvest – and at a mere $2-$3 per head at the market, it’s tempting to attempt them all. But if I had to pick just one, cabbage pie seems to shows off the humble vegetable’s truest potential. Cook it up with little more than butter, a smattering of onion and lay it between sticky spoonfuls of sour cream batter… bake, then slice into neat squares and you’ll have a feast fit for any potluck. (We took it over to our neighbor’s potluck party; the casserole was cleaned out in mere minutes!) The ingredients …
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When winter raindrops slide down the glass… when the droplets are so close to ice that they sting on my wind-chapped face… there’s nothing better than a piping hot bowl of soup. Thankfully for me, Slovakia knows what’s what in this department. The fine people of Slovakia could probably make this staple soup with their eyes shut, and – for the first part, at least – that’s exactly what they do. While the house slumbers under the bright moon, a quiet bowl of bean sits in the shadows, soaking overnight. In the morning, after a big stretch, the softened beans are put to a bubble with bits of bacon (or perhaps a ham hock), potato, and – not to be forgotten – a splash of vinegar. The whole thing is thickened with sour cream and flour (or sometimes cream). The result is a bowl of warm, thick goodness – but of course every family has their own version… versions so good, you’ll want to snag a bite (or three) from under each other’s noses. While traditional …
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Every once in a while we need chow down on good, ol’ fashioned home cooking. The kind that reminds us of mom, checkered aprons, and creaky kitchen chairs. We all need this edible comfort, especially when the wind chill drops down into the single digits. Keith informed me that, against all odds, I happened upon one such recipe when I selected Potato Musaka for our Serbian Global Table. “This is kind of like my mom’s ‘Hobo dinner,’” Mr Picky said, after his first taste. “Hobo what?” I asked, brow furrowed. I need not have worried. Clearly this was a good thing; he forked bite after bite of the layered potatoes and ground pork into his mouth, working quickly, looking more like a teenager than a 40-something who generally shows more restraint around food than I can fathom. After scraping his plate clean, he went back for seconds. Then thirds. He’s in good company. Potato Musaka is much beloved in the Balkans, especially in Serbia. She’s quite similar to her somewhat sloppier cousin, Eggplant Moussaka which can …
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The scrambled eggs in Russia are so moist and creamy, you’d swear there’s cheese folded up inside. To achieve this texture, the eggs are never whisked or salted at this stage, but broken directly into a pot (not a pan), then cooked over gentle heat in a “on again, off again” game that makes Ross and Rachel’s relationship on Friends look stable. Finally, a generous swoosh of heavy cream and a sprinkle of seasoning finishes the eggs off right. Then, while they’re still steaming hot, you slide them inside a hollowed out egg shell. Even with all this glamour, it’s the glimmering, shimmering egg topper that really steals the show: the caviar (a.k.a. more eggs). Caviar is Russia’s love. To give you an idea of how precious these fish eggs are, imagine spending $8,000 on a pound of anything. Well-to-do Russians are happy to spend that much per pound on caviar. Thankfully for the wallet, one only eats an ounce or two in one sitting. I got the idea for today’s recipe from Andrew Zimmern. Here’s how they …
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Sometimes it’s hard being a mom. Take this week, for example. People I don’t even know have been throwing candy at my daughter from giant parade floats. They call it Halloween, but I call it “the reason why my daughter is still awake an hour and a half past her bedtime, thrashing around like a junkie in withdrawal.” You see, I don’t let Ava eat all her candy in one sitting. She gets a couple of pieces at snack time for a few days in a row. That’s it. Any candy that remains gets donated to the Laura Dester Shelter, for kids in crisis situations. Ava’s reward for sharing? A fun adventure to either Incredible Pizza or the Zoo. Her choice. All this to say that Ava clearly hasn’t consumed a ton of candy but what she has eaten went straight to her crazies. Now is the time for something wholesome. Something nutritious. Something unabashedly Russian to sort her out. Enter Pumpkin Olad’yi. It’s practically science: whenever I mention Russian food, 9 out of 10 people suggest we try …
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I don’t usually give a lot of thought to Dracula, except for that one era in the nineties when several movies came out and I read “Interview with a Vampire” in two and a half late-night sittings. For a long time afterwards my brain bore the imprint of fear. Do not leave the windows open in the glittering, eerie night, a little voice told me. Whatever you do, sleep with garlic in close proximity – preferably around the neck, the voice added. (I would have done so, if it hadn’t been so uncomfortable) So here we are – a decade and a half later – the week before Halloween, and we’re cooking Romania. All those old feelings have come back, jittering out from my psyche. To quell this nervous energy, I’m happy to report I found a recipe inspired directly by the cuisine of Dracula’s hometown: Transylvania. Perhaps the Count ate it himself. Dracula was a real man from the 1400’s (with an epic mustache), originally known as Vlad the Impaler because of the extraordinary punishments he doled …
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Cabbage patch kids always seemed creepy to me when I was little. What kind of baby grows out of a cabbage? Could you still eat the cabbage once you harvested the baby? This doll raised lots of questions. Not to say this stopped me from wanting a cabbage patch doll more than Rainbow Brite leggings, because I did. The urge was major. Now that I am a couple (few) decades older, I know exactly what was going on – mostly because it’s starting to happen with Ava. I wanted those dolls because all the other kids wanted them. They were collected in the 80’s quicker than Michael Jackson gloves. As a rather “thrifty” family living in a “thrifty” part of Boston (I slept in one corner of our apartment’s living room while my brother slept in the other), I wanted nothing more than to play with these dolls that rich kids littered their deluxe playrooms with. It all seemed so fancy and grand. And I thought maybe having a doll would make me popular – like the kids who had them. …
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Misery. When I get out of a steaming hot shower in the icy heart of winter and frost settles onto my damp neck before I can towel off. When I eat too much food at the fair and go to bed immediately afterwards. When my feet are tired and hot after a long, long day but – for whatever reason – I can’t take my shoes off yet. When I eat cucumber salad? I feel fresh. Happy. Not exactly miserable. But misery is the Polish name of this crunchy, creamy cucumber salad made with sour cream, dill, a bit of sugar and a splash of vinegar. As for whether or not it lives up to its name? I’ll let you be the judge. Serves 2-4 Ingredients: 2 cucumbers, peeled and sliced medium thinly sour cream 1/2- 3/4 cup, to taste 1 Tbsp chopped fresh dill 2 tsp sugar, or to taste 2 tsp vinegar, or to taste Method: Don’t blink, or you’ll miss the instructions. Toss everything together and serve. Enjoy the misery. Preferably …
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We don’t always do what’s expected in my family. We laugh in the face of drama. We cry whenever happy. We eat pizza for breakfast. And we’re generally 10 years out of fashion (note: I’ll never slip into skinny jeans, so don’t hold your breath on that one). P.S. We never had normal birthday cakes. I liked to have the unusual and highly troublesome (in the best possible way) German Tree Cake on my birthday. Half the time my brother Damien requested apple pie for his. If we were Polish, homemade, sugar dusted Szarlotka is surely what he would have gotten. Since it’s apple picking season, any excuse is a great excuse to make apple pie. And I’m thrilled Poland has such a fun version… Now, I should clarify – this is not exactly pie per se – that’s simply the translation most often given for this sweet treat. Instead it looks more like a fruit bar with apple pie filling. The “crust” is like a cross between a shortbread cookie and pie crust. The dough is made …
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At any given moment I’m an arm’s reach from my cellphone. It’s not just a phone, it’s a laptop, a GPS, and – when my daughter tells it “I love you” – a female voice replies with almost lifelike bashfulness “You are sweet.” Frankly, I’m frightened. That’s why, when I receive mail – real mail, bundled up in cardboard and clear packing tape – I get so excited. Cardboard boxes don’t talk back. The postage stamp doesn’t double as a GPS when I’m fifteen minutes late for a show. It simply sits there, until I open it. The best possible mystery. The way it should be. This week, Global Table Adventure received a package from my mom which tickled my funny bone in the most delightful way. This is reason #3,568,999 why my mom is so special. Ava, who was as curious as I was, tore out the sheets of crinkly tissue paper to reveal a heavy duty heart-shaped bowl, small pitcher, and a covered sugar bowl. The bottom of each bowl read “Handmade in Poland.” …
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There are very few things that surprise me any more. A toddler falling apart five minutes past her bedtime? Predictable. Going twice as long between mowings in the 100F-mid-July-inferno? Guaranteed. Two things that do succeed at surprising me? The last season of Lost (no spoilers please!) and using couscous to make a tangy-sweet pudding. Yes. I’m considering eating caakiri while watching Lost to see if the surprises cancel each other out. It could happen. So. Let’s back up a moment and talk about caakiri. Remember when we made steamed “rainy day” couscous? Well, this is what you make with the leftovers. This is what you make to stretch simple carbs into a rich treat. Made with couscous, yogurt, sour cream, and evaporated milk, Caakiri is a slightly tangy pudding of sorts. It can be served unsweet (in which case it tastes very yogurty and rather nice for breakfast), or with sugar. This is where it takes on dessert-like qualities. Perfect to get you through a walk in, say, the desert. If, after the first time, you decide …
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As a teenager in Luxembourg, I never really thought about high class cuisine. We spent a lot of time over at Quick, the aptly named fast food place. If we weren’t there, we were eating a the local pizzeria, bar, or patisserie. It’s a shame, really, because the world’s first and only female winner of the Bocuse d’Or, a highly competitive culinary competition, is from Luxembourg and has two restaurants right around the corner from where we hung out. Talk about missed opportunities. The chef’s name is Lea Linster and her impeccable dishes show that country food can be just as classy as city food. As I watched her speak about this traditional green bean soup, I knew I had to try it. With a few simple flourishes, she turns a country-bumpkin dish into something I’d be willing to serve at any dinner party. Especially because she insists on inlcuding the same special ingredient I do: lots of love. Serves 4-6 Ingredients 1 1/2 pounds fresh green beans, diced (about 5 cups) 1 onion, diced 1 …
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