BITES&NIBBLES January 2024
BIG thanks to Carolyn Swartz and Amy Burzlaff for their January B&N contributions! You will receive Amy’s in mid January.
ENJOY!!!!
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story, recipe + photography CAROLYN SWARTZ
Many of us can't actually pinpoint the origin of our holiday food traditions. We know only that they've been in the family for generations. Pfeffernusse spice cookies, black-eyed peas, Stollen, plum pudding: we may not be able to identify the long-lost relative who introduced it, but year after year, we take the stained, dog-eared recipes out of boxes and notebooks and get to work.
How I came to my holiday tradition is a little different—mainly because I grew up in a Jewish family that pretty much ignored the entire holiday season. Sure, we lit candles for the right nights of Chanukah, and for a few of those nights, my sister and I could expect gifts of hastily wrapped knee socks or a set of jacks. Occasionally my grandmother made latkes. But basically, my family wasn't big on celebrations or tradition.
It wasn't until I was an adult and living in Greenwich Village that I would discover the holiday tradition that would survive three marriages (okay, two were to the same guy), thirty years (and counting), and a move from New York City to Maine.
It started with the parents of an old friend of my Polish ex-husband: a Hungarian couple who lived in Queens. Elsa was Jewish; her husband Bundy a Catholic. And every major holiday on the calendar of either religion was a great excuse for a festive dinner with friends.
My first Elsa-and-Bundy experience was on a frosty Christmas Eve in the late eighties. I had been hearing for weeks about Elsa's famous "Christmas Cabbage," which didn't sound as appealing as, say, Christmas goose, turkey, or even ham.
But once we opened the front door of Elsa and Bundy's unassuming three-family home, I immediately got it: an indescribably tantalizing aroma that wafted down the stairway, into my nose and directly into my brain to light up the part that stimulates appetite and desire.
Never mind that I soon realized we'd be sitting around a Formica table in the kitchen under a fluorescent ring light worthy of an interrogation room in Teheran. When Elsa, in her loose holiday caftan, her freshly dyed black hair pinned into a kind of French twist, cheeks rouged, and lips a bright crimson, brought individual bowls of cabbage rolls to the table, it could have been the Ritz. Or a subway station. The setting didn't matter: it was all about the food.
Happily, Hungarian stuffed cabbage bears little resemblance to the Jewish step-cousin I knew as a child: a cloying dish made sweet and only a little sour by gobs of grape jelly and squeezes of lemon. Hungarian (or Christmas) cabbage is a complex and satisfying mix of taste sensations: a blend of sweet from fresh cabbage, sour from the sauerkraut, smoky from sliced smoked pork, and piquant from a generous use of paprika. Stuffed with ground pork, ground beef, and chopped onion and garlic, the cabbage rolls are cooked in the sauerkraut mixed with the smoked pork, and served with sour cream, which turns the clear orange broth into an appealing opaque umber.
Christmas Cabbage was nothing short of a culinary revelation. And Christmas Eve at Elsa and Bundy's was a tradition we looked forward to for years. Only when age and time brought it to an end did I try to recreate Elsa's signature dish myself.
By the time I found what would turned out to be the quintessential recipe in The Cuisine of Hungary, a cookbook by the late Hungarian-born restaurateur, journalist, and food critic George Lang, our son was in pre-school, and we had a slew of new friends—the parents of kids in his class. I decided to try it out not as a sit-down dinner, but as a drop-by, eat, and stay-as-long-as-you-like affair.
On the kitchen counter, next to simmering Le Creuset pots of cabbage rolls on the stove, we set out stacks of deep bowls (not elegant nearly flat soup bowls), soup spoons and a bowl of sour cream. We invited guests to take their own to start things off before moseying over to the dining table laid out with ham and kielbasa from the Ukrainian butcher in the East Village, half sour tomatoes, and homemade potato salad. In honor of my then-husband, we called the event Polish Christmas— despite the uniquely Hungarian recipe for the rolls.
This new holiday tradition lasted the duration of our (okay, two) marriages and, after a couple of missed years, started up again with a new Hungarian, not Polish, Christmas when I got together with my wonderful forever-husband Wayne. We hosted Hungarian Christmas for years in the City, and now, over the past five wonderful years in Portland, it has become, among our circle of dear friends, a (minor) Maine event as well.
The recipe is reassuringly foolproof. If you can find a Polish market for the smoked pork, all the better. (You can also buy such items online.)
The only slightly wild card—and it's not really all that wild—is the fresh cabbage, which can vary in texture each year depending, I'd guess, on the growing season. Some years, after the requisite 10-minute immersion in boiling water, large heads yield supple, translucent leaves that make for easy rolling. Other years, like this one, smaller heads have thicker leaves with heavier veins that need to be cut out with a paring knife. These are not quite as easy to roll and seal.
Either way, the end result is equally delicious. In fact, there's a related Hungarian dish called layered cabbage, calling for the same ingredients except the cabbage and meat get layered instead of rolled. Full disclosure: this year some rolls remained intact, and others not. But a serving spoon inserted into the pot will put it all together. Add a dollop of sour cream and enjoy.
George Lang's Stuffed Cabbage, Töltött káposzta
1/4 cup uncooked rice
1 pound lean pork, ground
1/2 lb. lean beef, ground
2 garlic cloves, mashed
2 medium sized onions, chopped fine
1 egg
1 tablespoon Diamond Crystal kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
2 tablespoons (sweet) paprika
1 head of fresh cabbage
2 lbs. of sauerkraut*
1 cup tomato juice.
1/2 lb. smoked pork butt, sliced
3 tablespoons lard or rendered pork fat
3 tablespoons flour
1/2 cup sour cream
* If your supermarket or specialty store has fresh sauerkraut (in a barrel out back), all the better. But good jarred Polish-imported sauerkraut is good, too.
1. Cook rice in 1 1/2 cups water for 10 minutes. Drain.
2. Thoroughly mix the ground pork and beef with garlic, half of the onion, the egg, the drained rice, salt, pepper, 1 tablespoon of the paprika.
3. Core the cabbage and cook the head in enough water to cover it for 10-15 minutes. (If you get to the middle of the cabbage and it seems like it could use more time in the boiling water, just toss it back for 5 or so minutes.)
4. Gently take apart the cabbage, leaf by leaf. Cut out the heavy veins.
5. Use a large oval or round casserole, about 6 inches high—preferably enamel-covered cast iron. Put sauerkraut in the casserole with the tomato juice and sliced pork butt (and/or ribs) in enough water to cover. Bring to a boil, then lower heat and cook for 5 minutes.
6. With well-floured hands, fill cabbage leaves with the stuffing mixture to form rolls. Don't make the rolls too tight because the stuffing will expand slightly in cooking. Pinch the ends of the rolls together to seal them. (Leftover stuffing can be made into small meatballs and dropped into the pot.) Cut the remaining cabbage leaves into fine shreds and add to the casserole.
7. Make room in the sauerkraut with a wooden spoon and place the cabbage rolls in it. Cook covered over very low heat for about 1 hour.
8. Meanwhile, make a roux of hot lard, flour and remaining chopped onion. Cook it for about 10 minutes until the mixture is golden (but don't let the onions brown.) Off heat, stir in 1 tablespoon paprika and whip it up with 1 cup of cold water. (Don't skip this step! Pork fat is good fat.)
9. Very gently remove the stuffed cabbage rolls from the casserole and place on a large plate or in a large bowl. Take out a ladleful of sauerkraut broth and whip it into the roux. Return this liquid thickening to main casserole, stirring it well. Bring to a boil.
10. Carefully put the stuffed cabbage leaves back in and cover the casserole. Finish in a 350 degree oven for 15 minutes, or do what I do: bring back to a low simmer on top of the stove.
Serve with sour cream. Of course.
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Nancy Gordon
nancy.zestmaine@gmail.com
