Paprikash – PursuitOfPaprikash

Rascal the Rooster

December 23, 2015

Today, I butchered a rooster. It took two weeks to find a good bird. I named him Rascal and with the help of my family I murdered him in the backyard. This butchering brought up an issue I want to revisit. Remember when I challenged you to clean all of the meat off of your chicken bones? It was a request in my very first post and the challenge remains. Even more so now than before. Seriously, if you are going to eat chicken on the bone, you better get all of the meat. Suck, slurp, tear, do whatever you have to, but for the love of eating animals, clean that bone! Get over the gross part and clean it like you mean it. Like you truly appreciate and respect the life that was given in order for you to enjoy that piece of chicken with all of it’s fried, grilled, roasted and/or saucy glory.

If this is grossing you out, you should probably stop reading. Wait…no. If this is grossing you out, you should most certainly KEEP READING. I think we have become disconnected with how our food arrives on our plates. We go to the store, throw some things in the basket, cook it and eat it; probably wasting some of it (meat on the bone!) without really thinking about the process or resources that go into the dozen buffalo wings we suck down before the team even runs on the field. Being the butcher gave me the ultimate farm to table lesson and heightened my appreciation for the animals that give us juicy, meaty, delicious meals.

I have also learned that here in Hungary, every part of the animal is used. I mean, every part. The head, brains, kidneys, feet, lungs, EVERYTHING! Well, almost everything. I think the only thing I’ve seen go into the trash were the chicken claws, but that is simply a necessary safety precaution. The parts that are nowhere to be found in most U.S. markets are considered prized additions to traditional Hungarian dishes. Chicken paprikash is delicious, but if you can get your hands on some pig kidneys and a brain, you just took paprikash to another level! And soup? The bones and other parts make a broth oh so tasty!

This rooster butchering; my short-lived relationship with Rascal, made a big impact on me. It was one of the most enlightening things I have experienced in the past few months. It’s not about killing things, it’s about appreciating the food you eat and respecting where it came from and how it got to your plate. I know you all know that if you eat meat, an animal had to die, but even I, an avid food lover and cook have never seen the butchering of an animal from start to finish. I was raised in the city. I too generally grab my meat from the grocery and head on home without much thought about its life prior. It took me 33 years before my first bird butchering. It really struck a chord. And to top it off, I did it alongside my great-aunt Juci (pronounced Yoot-see). She doesn’t mess around. She’s an amazing cook, a mighty fine teacher and we’ve gotten really good at laughing together.

Here is our rooster story, from start to finish. I should warn you, some of what you will see may be unpleasant, but it is reality. Find a farm, get yourself a bird and go for it. I guarantee if you butcher your own, you’ll clean that bone.

This story is dedicated to Rascal, the rooster and the many animals who have allowed for our table’s bounty. May you appreciate their sacrifice this holiday season.

Some live video footage. My technique may not be the best, but in my defense, I couldn’t understand most of the directions given to me.

Uncle Sándor helps with the next step: submerging the bird in hot water to ease with feather plucking.

Juci and I plucking away.

The feathers are gone, but little hairs remain. Singeing them off is the best method.

What’s cooking without a little fun? I couldn’t help myself.

One more close inspection.

First to go, the feet. They are delicious after a couple hours of simmering.

A cleaver is the recommended tool for this project.

Into the pot the parts must go. Cousin Zoli stokes the fire and stirs the stew.

And finally, real, authentic, home-made from start to finish, rooster pörkölt in all of its glory.

Conquering Hurdles, Hungary, Paprikash

Still in Pursuit

November 6, 2015

To my dearest readers,

Are you still with me?!

Gosh, I sure hope so.

I must apologize. Here I went and created this website, told you all about my dreams and plans to get there, hopefully got you all excited and then I managed to drop off the face of the earth for the last few months. Sorry to be such a tease. It was not intentional, please know that, but the last three months have indeed been a whirlwind; running all over the earth, hurdling time zones as if I actually enjoy track and field.

Without much internet in Skagway, I sort of forgot or stopped caring about computers and technology. I got swept up in the moment of living and experiencing Alaska, which was a beautiful moment to get swept away in, but I forgot about telling my story even though it was still happening.

It IS still happening. I have things to share! I promise to tell you very soon.

Don’t get me wrong, it was really nice at times to leave the gadgets aside, but I made a commitment to you and this chronicle, but most importantly to myself. I have to tell my story. It is what will help me turn my dreams into reality. That is how I function anyway; the more I talk about something, the more likely I am to make it happen. My 2nd grade teacher once wrote on my report card, “Sara is doing very well in all of her subjects, but she talks a lot during class.” I’ve been doing it for too long, I can’t shut up now. This is my opportunity to talk to all of you out there and there’s no teacher around to say shhh.

Last I wrote, I was in Skagway trying hard to keep all the cruise ship goers happy and fed, but mostly just working hard to save money so I could get to Hungary. You may already know this, but I made it!! As I type, I take glances out of our tiny, A-framed house kitchen window to the rose bush outside that is still managing to give us flowers. It is only three thirty in the afternoon, but the sun is already falling fast towards the horizon. The house was my grandmother’s, who, if you recall, was the remarkable woman who sparked all of this crazy traveling all over the world. Now, here I sit near the banks of the Danube river, anxiously awaiting the next two months of my life here in Hungary. I have stories coming. No more teasing. Seriously, the pork products here are out of this world and are sure to make for a good story. I’ll tell you more about that later, but I assure you there will be much more action this time around. I’m still in pursuit so you’ll be hearing from me again very soon.

Oh, and thanks for sticking with me. It’s really nice to be back.

Alaska, Paprikash

Haribo Gummy Bears & Hot Sauce

May 9, 2015

I love road trips. I love the open road. I love looking at the map and figuring out the time to the next possible destination, the next possible enlightenment. And then you find the perfect rhythmic song to create a train in your mind and you’re off and running. Throw on a Johnny Cash or Waylon Jennings album and it’ll be several zip codes before you are concerned of your whereabouts.

We are so fortunate to be able to get in the car and drive just about anywhere we want in this country and even beyond our borders. Think of all of the people who worked tirelessly to create the great highway system we have come to know and love in the U.S. Think of the pioneers who packed supplies, horses, infants and their entire livelihood to set out for a better life. An unknown land with potential – potential for what? Gold? Property? A better life? It was a risk they took. They had dirt paths at best and were lucky if they chose the right route along with forgiving weather and terrain. The Donner family, back in 1846, decided to up and move in search of opportunities and a better life in the west. To their dismay, they had much more dire circumstances than the present day traveler has with 24 hour gas pumps and continually lit vacancy signs. They battled the Sierra Nevada, they lost horses, they lost lives, they lost dignity succumbing to cannibalism because of no other choice, all without the luxury of a Motel 6 or a rest stop; stops we have come to expect without question. They were the ones who truly defined road trip. To them I am grateful. I am grateful for the small highway that brought me to Alaska; I think it may be the closest thing to pioneer like conditions that I could even come close to imagine.

We set out for Alaska on Wednesday, April 22nd with only the belongings that fit in my 2004 Hyundai Elantra. I had new tires, fresh oil, three bags of Haribo gummy bears (among other snacks, but those are the most important) and thanks to my wonderful friends, a dancing hula girl air freshener. We were set. A person doesn’t really need much more than those items that fill a car. It forced to take a step back, reevaluate the material possessions in my life and made me realize the things that bring true happiness to my life. I had some clothes, my dutch oven and chef’s knife, my favorite boots, music, a loving companion and an open mind. What more do you need?

Andy had done the drive before without stopping and wanted to conquer the great unknown once again, but I wanted more than that. I wanted to see all there was to see and spot the elusive moose if my luck would have it. I didn’t see a moose (not yet anyway), but I saw so much more. My eyes took in more than ever before and I experienced the greatest road trip of my life thus far.

Have you ever been on a road where you forgot about the next gas station because everything else mattered more than fossil fuels? Have you been on a road that has caribou crossing, mountain goat crossing and moose crossing signs alike? Have you ever been on a road, alone, without oncoming traffic, for more than 20 miles? If you have, you may know how this story ends, but in true road trip fashion you only know a few mile markers. Every road trip is unique. Everyone chooses a different stop or destination or chooses to devote time and energy to something others may not. That is the beauty of a the trip.

The beauty is in the discovery. Sometimes your are forced to stop because of a small bladder or empty gas tank, but other times you stop just because. Because of the misty cloud cover and mysterious river valley that you may never see again.

Because no matter how old you are, those wooden boards with face holes always make you feel like a kid again.

Because you haven’t seen snow in a year and suddenly a yellow road sign looks artistic against the white terrain.

Because you haven’t had hot food in two days and you stumble upon the Toad River Lodge. Named not because of 4-H winning toads, but because of Oregon Trail style towing across the river back in the day. Somewhere along the line the name got mixed up. And then, someone left their hat behind and it started a “thing”. A “thing” where everyone had to affix their hat on the ceiling. And now you have the Toad River Lodge, home of 9198 hats stuck to the ceiling, just because.

Then, just when you think nothing can surpass the charm of hats on a ceiling and a bowl of the best homemade chicken noodle soup you’ve ever had, you stumble upon Watson Lake, home of the Sign Forest. This tiny town in the middle of Canada has a sign forest? The natural, living forests aren’t enough one has to make a sign forest? I guess so. I’m sure glad they did. It is amazing! Signs from all over the world! People drive thousands of miles, even cross oceans to visit this sign forest. They bring personalized signs to post there and prove their presence. I didn’t even know it existed. I thought it would be about 50-100 local signs that were artfully placed to somehow draw attention. Oh, no. This forest competes with Sherwood forest. Well, I should say I’m easliy amused so Robin Hood’s home may trump this, but it was pretty damn awesome. Rows upon rows of twenty-foot posts, littered with signs of all shapes, sizes and materials brought from all over the world. You may have to like signs to find the allure. I like signs.

Now, what I’m about to tell you, you may call bullshit, but please know I would never make this up, especially about my Alaskan road trip. I’m writing a blog, I mean, chronicle, I do not lie.

Upon entering the forest, what was the first sign my eyes lay upon?? A sign from Tata, Hungary.

Hungary! What are Hungarians doing all the way over here in the middle of nowhere?! What was I doing in the middle of nowhere. Being adventurous, I guess. Oh, my mother county. How I love thee. I should say, I’m not 100% set on fate and signs (pun intended), but I’ll take this as a hug from from my grandmother who may up there trying to remind me that I’m on the right path. Sometimes, it’s the small things. Well, for me, most of the time it’s the small things. If I do the math right the many small things I have accumulated will create one big thing. Paprikash. My restaurant. Remember that first meal in Skagway I talked about? Come on people, it was paprikash!

I welcomed Skagway with paprikash and Skagway has welcomed me with so much more. More than I ever thought possible. I am revelling in it. I am eager to share more stories with you, but I have to leave you now, I’m on a quest to find a specific hot sauce. Small town equals limited supplies. I’m very determined though and more than likely there will be a story to tell. Until then, take a road trip, discover something new, find a simple pleasure. When we meet again, we can share stories.

Alaska, Conquering Hurdles, Paprikash

Something Substantial

April 29, 2015

I think I left off with throwing the going to Alaska card at you. I mean, I couldn’t give you all of the details right out of the gate. My father always taught me to save a wildcard or two to really keep the game interesting. Keep the players alert and attentive and then really take the game with a powerful last hand, the kind no one saw coming. I’m not the world’s greatest card player, but I grew up learning to build runs and pairs with my grandfather. Trying to stealthily grab all nine cards in the rummy pile, organize them so meticulously to orchestrate the last winning (hopefully) trick and slam my cards on the table as hard as he did. I guess it’s the suspense and the unknown that always kept me interested in playing cards. The thrill of the chase. The surprise of the draw. I love surprises, big and small.

I think it is my love of surprises that has led me on this pursuit. Surprises keep life fun and interesting. They keep us on our toes. They remind us of childlike joy and emotions. At least that’s how I see surprises. I’m sure some people despise them, but I think those people need to let their guard down and just let things happen – get rid of the white board and day planner and let the day surprise you. You never know, you may find yourself in Alaska someday.

Oh, yeah, ALASKA! I suppose you want me to let you in on that part. It was actually really hard for me not to tell you all about it in my last post, but I had to get you hooked right? Isn’t that what we learned in writing class?

It was many months ago when the Alaska idea came up. I was sitting with Andy (my boyfriend) and enjoying a Hite, a traditional Korean beer. It was only my second beer so I don’t want you to think I was all drunk and ready to start crushing cans on my head when I made the decision. But, in the words of one of my favorite breweries, things get a little bit more honest after two beers. Thank you Two Beers Brewing, you make wise decisions and delicious beer. Yum. Anyways, I have had a trying year. I’m not going to get all Young & the Restless on you, but let’s just say I had a year that tested my comfort levels, increased vulnerability at times, and forced me to step back and take a hard look at things. Shit, I’m sure glad I had my very own soap opera episode. We all know we’ve had some version of it (maybe not the six husbands, mother as your sister-in-law and little, weird, witch woman, but a toned down version?) Whatever the scenario, we just have to accept it, learn from it, and get through the muddy road.

It had been a year and I needed something substantial. That’s all I said to Andy. I had been wanting to spend a few months in Hungary for several years, but the cards just didn’t fall right. Turns out it takes a few dollars to get to Hungary and even a few more to live there and work for little to no money. “Do you want to go to Alaska?” That’s all Andy said to me. Supposedly there is money to be made in Alaska. Money I could use to get to Hungary. I said YES! I said it immediately. I said it confidently. I said it without hesitation. Have you ever had that feeling? The no doubt feeling? Like, really, seriously, no doubt? If only every decision in life came that easily.

So, here I sit in Skagway, Alaska. A little, touristy town of 920 people, wooden sidewalks and not a single stop light. YES! I’m already here! Of course I will tell you more – there is a lot to tell! It took us 36 hours to get here, did you really think I would leave that part out of my chronicle of adventures? I have a few more cards to play. I hope you are up for the surprise. Until then, I have to prepare for our first home cooked meal in Skagway. Any guesses as to what it will be?

Budapest, Cooking, Paprikash

How Clean Are Your Chicken Bones?

April 13, 2015

I always loved watching my grandmother raise her large cleaver and strike down on those poor little chicken legs. With each whack! I got more excited for the meal to come. Weird, I know, but take a cleaver to a bone sometime and you’ll understand what I’m talking about. She did it without remorse, with such ease and precision. I never viewed it as gross or disturbing, but just another step in the careful preparation of one the many dishes she would take all day, sometimes two, to prepare for us. And for the record, I was taught at a very young age about appreciating the bird and using/eating every part of it. Have you ever seen me eat chicken wings? Try to get more meat off than me, I dare you.

This primal butchering was a crucial step in my grandmother’s most prized dish. The dish that changed my life. The dish that has sparked this blog (or chronicle of adventures as I’m going to call it – I just can’t get used to the term blog). The dish that will one day be served in a brick and mortar, cooked with love by me, for all of you reading this and hopefully hundreds of other people who seek warmth and adventure in food as I do. This dish – so appropriately described by a dear friend as a culinary hug – is called Paprikash. It can reek havoc on your pastel colored t-shirts, but damn does it make your belly happy!

This chronicle is my pursuit of paprikash. My dream. My future restaurant. My tribute to my grandmother. She, along with my mother and grandfather emigrated to this country to start a restaurant – a Hungarian restaurant – which would have had the best paprikash west of the Mississippi.

She never did get her restaurant, but she devoted her life to rolling out (probably millions of ) noodles, stuffing sausages, slicing, dicing, baking and slowly cooking pot after pot of the Hungarian staple – paprikash.

And now, I am devoting my life to those things. I’m going to open the restaurant my grandmother never had.

So, I’m moving to Alaska. Alaska?! Yes, Alaska. Why you ask? All in the name of paprikash. I know, what the hell does Alaska have to do with this widely unknown dish? I’ve been getting that question a lot lately, rightfully so. The goal is to get to Hungary by way of Alaska. It will make sense soon. Stay in touch and I’ll fill you in on the details.

The next eight months of my life are only partially mapped out. As adventures unfold, I hope to have you right there with me. In the mean time, work on getting all that meat off the bone.