New Year's Traditions

Not Quite My Grandmother's, But Close

My father's family is/was Hungarian. My mother's family is/was German and Welsh. Growing up, my sister and I were much closer to Dad's family than Mom's. We did love Poppie and Grandmom G (Mom's father and step-mother) and were very close with and spoiled rotten by Grandmom Cookie* (my mother's birth-mother).

But Grandmom B was the comfort grandmother. No one hugged liked her; no one smothered with kisses like her and no one sure as hell cooked like her! Holiday meals cooked by Grandmom B were a spectacular blend of traditional Hungarian cooking and American standards. And for my sister and I, the best thing about Grandmom's holiday meals included her astonishing stuffed cabbage. How many children do you know who eat cabbage? How many of you do? My grandmother's stuffed cabbage remains to this very day, my favorite meal of all time. She taught my father, who in turn taught me (one of the few things for which I am grateful to him). I later taught my sister, who has adapted a smaller yield recipe for her slow-cooker. 

My mother, Lord Love a Duck, has never been taught this recipe, yet she manages to chime in about some ingredient she thinks I've gotten wrong every time I make it. Of course, once she eats it, she admits I was right. The recipe is not written down, that I am aware of and will (very sadly), die with my sister and I. Hmm... Perhaps I will actually prepare a copy for posthumous publication. It's too good to let die. Though the recipe is hardly exact but Sis and I have learned to know when it looks, feels and tastes right as we go along. My version is getting closer to Grandmom's every time I make it, though I haven't quite hit the jackpot. It's the "rontasz" or Hungarian rue, that's the hardest to get right.

I make this dish twice a year; for my birthday in July and for New Year's Day. It's as much work for a small batch as it for  large, so I (and almost everyone else I know who makes it), make a huge (16 qt, for me) batch and immediately freeze half. The other half is left to cool and then refrigerated overnight so the flavors can marry. The prep time is almost as long as the cooking time, if you want it to turn out right. My fingers end up wrinkled and shriveled long before it actually starts cooking. This is one of those massive multi-step recipes that takes not only careful instruction, but trial and error to get right.

So, here's the deal. I hate to see Grandmom's recipe go away. Tell me in the comments of you would like a copy of it. If enough of you ask politely, I'll share it with you. I only ask that if you should share it, you do so using Grandmom's name (provided as the title of the recipe).

I also just realized that I haven't had her Chicken Paprikash in a long time, something she did teach my mother. Hmmmm... next weekend, for sure!

And now how's this for a segue?

Uncle Prospero received the hoodie you see on the right for Christmas. It says "Hungary" in Hungarian (or at least the Arabic equivalent of the Cyrillic) and features the crest and colors of the Hungarian flag. I am wearing it even now, as I was this afternoon when I ventured out to get some essentials and something no one ever gives me for Christmas -- a calendar. Luckily, Barnes and Noble still had a good selection at 50% off.

I got exactly the one I wanted, cheap! 

As I got up to the counter, the young woman behind it said: "Oh! That's not Mexican!"

"Excuse me?" I said, thinking she might be having a stroke.

Her: "Your shirt. I thought it was a Mexican flag, but... what does it say?"

Me: "Oh. It's Hungarian. It says 'Hungary.'"

She kind of squinted her eyes and said "Um, what? You're hungry?"

I started looking around for a hidden camera. 

Me: "No, Hungary. It's an Eastern European country near Austria and Romania."

Her: "So like, near Sydney, right?" (On my life, she said this).

Me: "No. Austria, not Australia."

Her: "Oh. I'm a Spanish major, so I thought it was Mexican."

Me: "Oh. Well, no. It's definitely not Spanish."

She finished my transaction and I left, wanting to cry for the future of Humanity, all over again. Of course, maybe the world can be saved. Grandmom's stuffed cabbage is a magical food, after all...

As the year gets closer to being history, I find myself  counting both my blessings and my pennies. I was lucky enough to have two vacation trips in 2011, something I don't see happening next year. And I was unable to be as generous as usual for Christmas this year, but still managed to deliver gifts that pleased (or at least their recipients were polite enough to lie about it convincingly -- of course, most of my friends are truly excellent actors). Personally, I'm looking forward to 2012. I already have tons of great stuff scheduled well into the summer and I can't wait to get started! I leave you with this, something you've probably already seen but I haven't had the chance to do so until now:

Once I've finished cooking, it's back to Flemington for a quiet New Year's Eve with my three wise folk, Q; K and Dale.

So, what are you doing New Year's Eve?

More, anon.
Prospero

*The actual cookie jar Grandmom Cookie had.

Why Isn't Everyone Hungarian on St. Stephen's Day?

I'm Hungarian. And German, with a little Scotch thrown in for good measure. But I grew up knowing more about my father's Hungarian roots, simply because he was first generation and my mother's family had been here much longer. My father's parents came over in the early 1900's as children and ended up in the Hungarian neighborhood of Trenton's Chambersburg section, which was mostly Italian. I grew up eating my grandmother's Hungarian Stuffed Cabbage, Chicken Paprikash and a curious version of bruscetta that in phonetic Hungarian is called "shutney sullan-ya," which translates as "Dirty Bread." It's delicious, but so bad for you. Diced onions, tomatoes and peppers on rye bread, covered in the drippings of slab bacon which has been cooked on a stick over an open wood fire. When the bacon is cooked, that gets sliced up and put on top. I haven't had it in years, but my mouth is watering describing it for you.

Anyway, today honors Saint Patrick, the Patron Saint of Ireland, who supposedly drove all the snakes out of the country. Everyone is Irish on Saint Patrick's Day. We all wear green; get sloppy drunk on Guinness, Harp and Jameson; eat corned beef and cabbage and have green bagels for breakfast.

The Patron Saint of Hungary is Saint Stephen, the first Catholic King of Hungary. Saint Stephen's day is a big day of celebration in Hungary, but nowhere else. Americans don't spend the day eating goulash (a dish my grandmother hated and never made), dancing the Csardas and drinking pear brandy until they puke.

So, if I'm going to be Irish today, I'm going to do it in my own way. Via BoingBoing comes this rather amusing, silly Steampunk vid about catching a leprechaun from the League of S.T.E.A.M.:

And while this has nothing to do with Ireland or Steampunkery, I haven't talked about movies since Sunday, so... BoingBoing also recently posted this amazing trailer for the upcoming Ridley Scott-produced film Parallel Lines. Five different directors were given the same dialogue with no stage directions and asked to make a film out it. Each short is totally different in tone, style and genre. I think the whole concept is fascinating and can't wait to see it:

Oh, well. Back to being a boring old American tomorrow. Until then Saide Felte everyone.

More, anon.
Prospero