Ukrainian Style Saurekraut

This is my childhood's sauerkraut. The big jar of fermenting cabbage with a precariously balanced stack of smaller jars weighing it down is pretty much a staple in any Ukrainian grandmother's kitchen, and I have very fond memories of sneaking samples from the giant jars (regardless of how close to done they were) while my grandmother was busy elsewhere.

This version is dryer, crispier and generally milder-tasting than the German-style sauerkraut you generally find at the store. While it's incredibly delicious raw, it's also the main ingredient in the tasty but underrated sour cabbage soup (Sour Schi in Russian, or the similar Ukrainian and Polish Kapusniak), and also makes for a nice stewed cabbage side dish, both of which I'll get to later.I posted a more detailed version of this recipe and process here a few years ago.

Stuffed Pickled Green Tomatoes

I love green tomatoes. They're beautiful, tangy and have a satisfying crunch both fresh and pickled. Back in Sacramento they were an occasional treat at the end of tomato season -- the swan song of your dying tomato plants, a gift from a gracious neighbor, or a lucky find at the local ethnic market. I assumed this sorry state of affairs would change when I moved to North Carolina, since what culinary tradition has more green tomato recipes than the American South? They serve them pickled, fried, in chow chows, baked into pies -- you name it!

Boy was I wrong. In six months here I have only seen them once, at the local farmer's market in August and priced equally with ripe heirloom tomatoes. Maybe next year I'll be luckier.

For those of you who somehow have regular access to these delicious little things, here is my favorite way to pickle green tomatoes and a method common in Eastern European countries.  This can be done with either full sized tomatoes or grape tomatoes. I made these with green grape tomatoes from my mother-in-law's plant. This recipe is for naturally fermented tomatoes, but I'm sure a simple vinegar brine can be substituted if that's what you prefer.

Green Borscht -- Sorrel Soup

Ever since I saw this post, I've been thinking about sorrel soup. In the absence of any sorrel (wild or otherwise) I contented myself with trawling the web for recipes, taking in suggestions from dozens of sources. Last week, I finally got my soup. My grandmother was visiting my parents, and brought along a huge bag of the stuff, of which I got half.  I told her about all of the variations on the soup I had read, in particular that a number of sources had suggested that nettles are an appropriate addition to a sorrel borscht (an idea I had been toying with mostly because I knew of a nice nettle patch, and I have always wanted to try nettles).

My grandmother replied that when she was about my age, she heard the same thing. Nettles are healthy, add color and grow abundantly wherever you don't want them to grow. When she decided to try adding them to her borscht, she found she couldn't get past the smell. See, in those times (and probably in these times as well, since nettles grow well in abandoned dwellings, and Ukraine is full of these) nettles were pig food -- you'd throw a bushel in a steaming cauldron to take the sting out and serve it still hot to the piggies. Now, I have no such association of nettles and pigs, but I take from my grandmother's story this simple moral: keep it simple.

I've kept this recipe incredibly simple.

Sorrel Soup, or Green Borscht, is a very unusual tasting soup. It has a sort of sweet/sour flavor profile with the sourness coming from the high levels of oxalic acid, which gives the sorrel an almost citrusy taste.

Beet Kvass: Not For the Faint of Heart

First off, let me just say that I take no responsibility for this recipe. I tried it, it was tasty, and there were no ill effects so I am assuming it's safe enough. There is, after all, enough wild yeast in your average kitchen for this to culture properly without adding bread, salt or whey like most beet kvass recipes will suggest. A tsp of salt per quart will definitely make this safe, but my dad swears that isn't how his grandmother did it.

Farmer's Cheese -- not quite tvorog, but not quite not.

I'm not going to lie: this isn't the best way to make tvorog. In fact, it can hardly be called tvorog at all because it's really more like a paneer or a farmer's cheese than tvorog -- it lacks the tang of a true tvorog. Still -- if you're in a hurry, or if you have a gallon of milk that's about to go bad, or if you like your soft cheeses to be milder and sweeter this is a perfectly good method. Traditional, proper tvorog depends on live cultures from kefir, cultured sour cream or buttermilk (or in the case of raw milk, you can culture it by simply letting it sit out and go sour). As demonstrated here, you mix warm milk with your culture and let it sit for a day. Heat again, separate the curds and there you have it.

This is faster, and while the flavors are decidedly less complex, it's still a good cheese.

You need:
Milk - 1/2 gallon
Vinegar - 1/4 cup

Zucchini Pancakes

Everyone loves to grow zucchini -- it's a forgiving vegetable in any climate and even the worst gardener will often find themselves with a veritable bounty in no time. The trouble is, few people like to eat squash, so they try to hide their secret shame away in zucchini bread, brownies, and other places where you won't actually have to taste zucchini. These crunchy pancakes are my favorite use of the summer surplus of squash. They're really not a lot more difficult to put together than a pancake mix once you get comfortable making them. Since there is so little flour in the mix, it really doesn't matter what kind you use. They come out crunchy on the outside, and tasting like a pancake (and not much like a squash) on the inside.

If you puree your squash, you can pretty much use this recipe to make dainty little zucchini blintzes, but that's a story for another time. 

Poppy Pasteli

Some time ago, I had the brilliant idea that I'd make my own Halvah. The giant blocks at the Russian stores strike me as a bit questionable -- they never seem to change shape or size, which raises some questions about freshness. So, I went out and got myself some 2 pounds of sesame seeds from the bulk section at Winco, and promptly forgot about them. This is how my great ideas usually end. By the time I remembered this bag of seeds (or rather, found it under a pile of reusable grocery bags while tidying the pantry) my craving for halvah had passed.

These pasteli are roughly traditional Greek pasteli, only with added poppy seeds because we really like poppy seeds around here. Pasteli have been around since at least the 15th century BCE, so really that should be proof that they're pretty much timelessly delicious.

You'll need:
1 cup sesame seeds
1/2 cup poppy seeds
3/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup honey


Heat your sugar and honey on a low heat. Once they're all mixed together, add your seeds and let them cook for about 15 minutes, stirring constantly. By this point, the seeds should have lost their initial pallor and become a rich golden brown. If they're still pale, keep cooking, otherwise transfer your mixture to a greased(!!!) piece of parchment paper or baking sheet and smoosh it down. Cut it before it cools if you want nice clean lines.

If you, like me, end up spreading your seed mixture onto an ungreased parchment paper -- fear not. You can get it off by simply heating a cookie sheet or pizza pan on the stove and laying the parchment+pasteli on it for a minute or so. The paper will peel right off, and make the whole thing easier to cut up as well.