Underestimating the charms of the Eastern European dumplings |

For a long time, when I wanted to talk to people about Ukrainian cuisine, I hasten to note, defensively, that “it’s not all about the dumplings with potatoes, you know.” It was drummed into Eastern Europeans, mainly due to misguided Westerners that our food is monotonically heavy, with little besides an overcooked cabbage and potato pasta. I was ready to prove that the food from Ukraine and other former Soviet countries, both seasonal and regional as it was in places with the most reputable cooking, such as Italy and France. Our outdoor markets during the spring and summer are full of bright soft grass and sorrel, a massive pink tomatoes and enormous watermelons, cherries and fragrant peaches, and our food in the warm time of the year, respectively, light and bright.

These days, though, I’m not trying to hide the fact that my death-row meal would be, without a doubt, consist of varenyky, the Ukrainian version of that in Poland called pierogi. Although the name comes from varyty, which means “to boil” these Crescent-shaped dumplings, sometimes steamed or boiled and then fried. My favorite stuffing is one of the simplest: home-made curd cheese, called cheese mixed with egg yolk and heavily seasoned with salt. The filling is wrapped in thin pasta dough and boiled briskly. To serve, drop dumplings in a large bowl about half a stick melted butter and served with thick, greasy creme fraiche called smetana. I can only eat ten dumplings at a time, but I can easily pack away about forty dumplings in one sitting. When I eat them, I feel the euphoria of the child.

There are other dumplings in my life. One of my grandmothers, Vera, a native of Siberia, so I also grew up with dumplings stuffed with meat dumplings, served with plenty of black pepper and dipped in vinegar. They are the ideal food for colder climates. Faith remembers how her mother keep a massive bag of them right next to the house during the freezing Siberian winters. They will be immediately frozen, the perfect convenience food; a few handfuls fell directly into the boiling water, you can cook dinner in a few minutes on a family of six. As a young woman, Faith, adventurous spirit. In the early fifties, eager to rest from the rigors of life in the North, she took the train to Uzbekistan, and on the way she met my Ukrainian grandfather. They lived in Samarkand and Tashkent, where my father was born, for the next ten years. There she learned to cook many of the dishes, and brought them with her when later she and my grandfather moved to South Ukraine.

Here is how I have formed very personal relationships with dumplings called manti, which is known throughout Central Asia. Traditional Manty, which probably originated in China, was made with hand-minced lamb cooked in large bamboo steamers, they are the grain of the wood to enhance the flavor of the dough. Instead, I grew up with mantishnitsa, a large, three-tiered metal steamer specially designed for manti. We will prepare at least sixty ravioli at a time; if we don’t eat them all on the first turn we could refry them in butter the next day, allowing them to develop a luxurious, crisp on the bottom. The filling was also adapted with what was available at the regional level.

Outside the box, dishes of the Muslim part of the world, my grandmother used pork. She hand-chopped meat with an equal volume of chopped onions and chunks of homemade butter instead of the traditional lamb tail fat is called fat tail. The juice of onions is combined with fat from butter and meat to form a delicious broth inside pockets of strong stuff.

Manti, intricately folded, somewhat reminiscent of the hat of a sailor, some of the rosebuds. In Central Asia, they are often served with yogurt and spicy hot pepper. However, we always ate them doused with butter and lots of black pepper on top, following my grandmother with her home dumplings. In the last few years, I’ve gained a preference for serving them with beurre Noisette and crispy shallots. Regardless of the accompaniment, they should be eaten with your hands, and there is a skill involved in doing it right. Like any other good soup dumplings, you have to take a bite of dough from wrap your lips around the slit and sucking the liquid, then shove the rest in her mouth without sacrificing any juices to the chin or to your clothes.

There are other cousins of these meat-filled dumplings around the ex-USSR. Georgian khinkali, large and shaped like a money bag, characteristic of Chile, fenugreek blue, and sometimes (strife) fresh coriander in pork and beef or lamb filling. There is a vegetarian version, too, from the Georgian mountains in Kazbegi. They are filled with the remnants of mashed potatoes mixed with cheese and look exactly like in Sardinia culurgiones and many varieties of Chinese dumplings. Once you get the scythe-like folding method, they are most pleasant to spend time training.

Which brings us to another issue: making dumplings takes time. Consider tiny called dyushbara, from Azerbaijan, for example, served in a saffron broth and sprinkle with sumac, mint and purple Basil. The less the better, I say. I’m known to make fifteen hundred a day, ending with a severe case of “dumpling neck” from what my head is bowed in the kitchen for hours. A chef who decides to make these really want to please the one whom they feed. But it’s one of the reasons why the dumplings are so enjoyable to eat.

Dumplings Of Pork

Twenty dumplings

Dough

1 large egg, lightly beaten
150 ml water
300-350 grams of flour (plus for dusting)

Filling

250 g (8 oz) boneless pork belly or shoulder
150 g (5 oz) onion, peeled and finely chopped
50 g (2 oz) butter
Good pinch of fine sea salt

To serve

150 grams of butter
3 of shallots, peeled
A handful of wheat flour
Salt
200 ml vegetable oil (for frying)

Route

Sourse: newyorker.com