How to prepare pierogi fit for a dumpling queen
The Polish proverb "A guest in the house, God in the house" was probably never more apt. (Unless you overstayed your welcome, at which point they might have used another proverb: "A guest and a fish stink on the third day.")
Now you can return the favor and invite your Polish friends over and impress them with your ability to whip up some traditional Polski dishes - pierogi and kolduny. Or if you're invited over for Christmas Eve, muscle your way into the kitchen and insist on throwing together a kettle full of bobbing mushroom-and-cabbage pierogi.
Pierogi are most likely an old Slavic invention, according to the book "Old Polish Traditions in the Kitchen and at the Table" by Maria Lemnis and Henryk Vitry. Kolduny, meanwhile, originated in Lithuania, coming over to Poland in "the great dumpling trade of 1386" in which a Polish dumpling, Queen Jadwiga, was sent to the Grand Duke of Lithuania in exchange for the Lithuanian dumpling - kolduny - which, hmm, proved to be a lot like pierogi, only smaller. So the Poles insisted that the Lithuanians throw in "some of that pink stuff," which turned out to be chlodnik.
But I digress. Over the centuries, pierogi and kolduny have become staples in many a Polish household. The key to pierogi has to be their versatility.
You can serve them as a starter or a meal, you can call them dumplings or pierogi, you can eat them in one bite or two, and you can put just about anything in the middle. (A Maluch wouldn't be out of the question, which says more about the size of the car than the size of the helping.)
Making pierogi from scratch is so damn easy and inexpensive you'll wonder why you've never done it. All you need is flour, eggs, something to put in the middle and a pot of boiling water. I also recommend a bottle of vodka.
You'll be rewarded because the taste is worth the effort. It sure beats the traditional expat way of making pierogi - take them out of the package, drop them into some boiling water, slide them onto your plate and eat (plate is optional).
To get the lowdown on how to make pierogi, we relied on the Polish hospitality of the friendly folks at Restauracja Dom Polski, ul. Francuska 11, the translation assistance of waiter Hubert Stablewski, and the expertise of the restaurant's chef, Robert Semenowicz.
Semenowicz prepared veal-and-mushroom pierogi. Finally, I could eat a "pierogi z miesem" without worrying about the mystery of the meat. Many of the prepackaged "pierogi z miesem" varieties taste like a cross between Spam and canned dog food (not that I regularly dine on the latter).
To begin, you need boletus mushrooms; a half-kilo of roasted veal (about a pound), preferably from the rump region (as illustrated by Semenowicz's pantomime of grabbing his buttock); a half-kilo of flour, two eggs, butter, chicken bouillon, salt, pepper.
Make the filling first because once you start in on the dough, you can't let it sit around and get dry:
• Rehydrate the mushrooms.
• Grind the veal. Because veal is dry, add some butter to the mix.
• Chop and grind the mushrooms.
• Saute and grind some white onions and add them to the mixture.
At this time you might want to taste your concoction, despite your worries about salmonella poisoning from the raw egg that was added to the veal, and season it with some salt and freshly ground pepper. You can also add the chicken bouillon.
Put the mixture aside and prepare the dough:
• Make a little volcano out of a half-kilo of flour (add a pinch of salt) on a wooden cutting board.
• Crack open an egg and put in the volcano's crater. (Looks cool, eh?)
• Mash it all together with your hands, adding a little bit of water if the dough is too stiff.
• Roll out the kneaded dough with a wooden rolling pin. You want the dough to be paper thin.
This is where the vodka comes in.
While the cooks at Dom Polski can expertly roll out paper-thin sheets of dough without any holes or gashes or having the whole wad stick to the rolling pin, the kitchen novices might find it maddening. I recommend that you do this part alone, without your roommate or spouse, unless your friendship/relationship is strong enough to withstand frothing invectives flung around as angrily as the lump of uncooperative dough you just slam-dunked into the waste basket.
Relax, take a slug of vodka and try again:
• Once you get the dough rolled out to the desired thickness, use a round cookie cutter (or a wine glass) to cut circles in the dough.
• Put a heaping teaspoon of filling in the center of the circle, fold the circle in half, pressing the edges firmly together, and then crimp it to make the little ridges.
• Gently drop the pierogi into a pot of boiling water (slightly salted). Warning: Don't boil them too long and use a big enough pot so they don't stick together.
• When the pierogi float to the surface, allow them to cook for another minute and then remove. Serve them with fried bacon bits and grease over the top.
The first time I made pierogi, I dumped the fellas in boiling water and then relaxed with the rest of the vodka, a cigarette and a thorough toenail inspection. (We all have our own ways of relaxing.) When I returned to the pot, the flotsam and jetsam of burst pierogi roiled on the surface.
Semenowicz, naturally, didn't have such distractions and served up a plate of the best pierogi I've ever had.
The differences between kolduny and pierogi are slight. For example, to prepare kolduny you use raw meat and more spices; the dough is cut into little squares; and it's served on top of melted butter or with barszcz. The mixture for the dough is the same as pierogi.
For the stuffing, take a half-kilo of mutton (specifically from a ram), 100 grams of kidney suet (ask your butcher for loj), one whole onion, 80 grams of sheep bone marrow, four cloves of garlic, marjoram, ground pepper and salt. (If mutton isn't available, you can substitute sirloin.)
Boil the bone marrow and the kidney suet for a minute. Grind everything and combine, seasoning according to your tastes.
Roll out the dough and cut into 2-centimeter squares. Roll the filling into balls and place in the middle of each square. Fold the opposite corners of the square and press together. You should have something like a pregnant triangle. Take the other two corners and fold them together. Now you have a little ball. Boil them until they float and then serve.
Smacznego.
Now you can return the favor and invite your Polish friends over and impress them with your ability to whip up some traditional Polski dishes - pierogi and kolduny. Or if you're invited over for Christmas Eve, muscle your way into the kitchen and insist on throwing together a kettle full of bobbing mushroom-and-cabbage pierogi.
Pierogi are most likely an old Slavic invention, according to the book "Old Polish Traditions in the Kitchen and at the Table" by Maria Lemnis and Henryk Vitry. Kolduny, meanwhile, originated in Lithuania, coming over to Poland in "the great dumpling trade of 1386" in which a Polish dumpling, Queen Jadwiga, was sent to the Grand Duke of Lithuania in exchange for the Lithuanian dumpling - kolduny - which, hmm, proved to be a lot like pierogi, only smaller. So the Poles insisted that the Lithuanians throw in "some of that pink stuff," which turned out to be chlodnik.
But I digress. Over the centuries, pierogi and kolduny have become staples in many a Polish household. The key to pierogi has to be their versatility.
You can serve them as a starter or a meal, you can call them dumplings or pierogi, you can eat them in one bite or two, and you can put just about anything in the middle. (A Maluch wouldn't be out of the question, which says more about the size of the car than the size of the helping.)
Making pierogi from scratch is so damn easy and inexpensive you'll wonder why you've never done it. All you need is flour, eggs, something to put in the middle and a pot of boiling water. I also recommend a bottle of vodka.
You'll be rewarded because the taste is worth the effort. It sure beats the traditional expat way of making pierogi - take them out of the package, drop them into some boiling water, slide them onto your plate and eat (plate is optional).
To get the lowdown on how to make pierogi, we relied on the Polish hospitality of the friendly folks at Restauracja Dom Polski, ul. Francuska 11, the translation assistance of waiter Hubert Stablewski, and the expertise of the restaurant's chef, Robert Semenowicz.
Semenowicz prepared veal-and-mushroom pierogi. Finally, I could eat a "pierogi z miesem" without worrying about the mystery of the meat. Many of the prepackaged "pierogi z miesem" varieties taste like a cross between Spam and canned dog food (not that I regularly dine on the latter).
To begin, you need boletus mushrooms; a half-kilo of roasted veal (about a pound), preferably from the rump region (as illustrated by Semenowicz's pantomime of grabbing his buttock); a half-kilo of flour, two eggs, butter, chicken bouillon, salt, pepper.
Make the filling first because once you start in on the dough, you can't let it sit around and get dry:
• Rehydrate the mushrooms.
• Grind the veal. Because veal is dry, add some butter to the mix.
• Chop and grind the mushrooms.
• Saute and grind some white onions and add them to the mixture.
At this time you might want to taste your concoction, despite your worries about salmonella poisoning from the raw egg that was added to the veal, and season it with some salt and freshly ground pepper. You can also add the chicken bouillon.
Put the mixture aside and prepare the dough:
• Make a little volcano out of a half-kilo of flour (add a pinch of salt) on a wooden cutting board.
• Crack open an egg and put in the volcano's crater. (Looks cool, eh?)
• Mash it all together with your hands, adding a little bit of water if the dough is too stiff.
• Roll out the kneaded dough with a wooden rolling pin. You want the dough to be paper thin.
This is where the vodka comes in.
While the cooks at Dom Polski can expertly roll out paper-thin sheets of dough without any holes or gashes or having the whole wad stick to the rolling pin, the kitchen novices might find it maddening. I recommend that you do this part alone, without your roommate or spouse, unless your friendship/relationship is strong enough to withstand frothing invectives flung around as angrily as the lump of uncooperative dough you just slam-dunked into the waste basket.
Relax, take a slug of vodka and try again:
• Once you get the dough rolled out to the desired thickness, use a round cookie cutter (or a wine glass) to cut circles in the dough.
• Put a heaping teaspoon of filling in the center of the circle, fold the circle in half, pressing the edges firmly together, and then crimp it to make the little ridges.
• Gently drop the pierogi into a pot of boiling water (slightly salted). Warning: Don't boil them too long and use a big enough pot so they don't stick together.
• When the pierogi float to the surface, allow them to cook for another minute and then remove. Serve them with fried bacon bits and grease over the top.
The first time I made pierogi, I dumped the fellas in boiling water and then relaxed with the rest of the vodka, a cigarette and a thorough toenail inspection. (We all have our own ways of relaxing.) When I returned to the pot, the flotsam and jetsam of burst pierogi roiled on the surface.
Semenowicz, naturally, didn't have such distractions and served up a plate of the best pierogi I've ever had.
The differences between kolduny and pierogi are slight. For example, to prepare kolduny you use raw meat and more spices; the dough is cut into little squares; and it's served on top of melted butter or with barszcz. The mixture for the dough is the same as pierogi.
For the stuffing, take a half-kilo of mutton (specifically from a ram), 100 grams of kidney suet (ask your butcher for loj), one whole onion, 80 grams of sheep bone marrow, four cloves of garlic, marjoram, ground pepper and salt. (If mutton isn't available, you can substitute sirloin.)
Boil the bone marrow and the kidney suet for a minute. Grind everything and combine, seasoning according to your tastes.
Roll out the dough and cut into 2-centimeter squares. Roll the filling into balls and place in the middle of each square. Fold the opposite corners of the square and press together. You should have something like a pregnant triangle. Take the other two corners and fold them together. Now you have a little ball. Boil them until they float and then serve.
Smacznego.
