How Clean Are Your Chicken Bones?

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.