Eastern European

Fresh sour cherries usually appear in farmers’ markets in early July, but the season is short—about three weeks. If you can’t find fresh sour cherries, substitute two pounds of frozen ones; defrost before using. To make the strudel, you’ll need a large, clean cloth and a work surface that you can easily walk around, such as an island or your kitchen table.

Fanciful peaks in a spectrum of shades crown cupcakes with a motif inspired by a vintage Russian cookbook. You could also opt to use just one color of frosting, or leave it untinted. White cupcakes, made with egg whites only (instead of whole eggs), are very light and delicate. For a stronger vanilla flavor, scrape the seeds of one vanilla bean (halved lengthwise) into the milk in step one, and omit vanilla extract.

By curious circumstance, I found myself in Vienna in 1968, shortly after the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia and just over a decade after the Soviet invasion of Hungary. I was there for the International Philosophical Congress, which didn’t hold my interest long. There was much more to see and experience outside the confines of academia. Aside from the eternal beauty of Vienna as a center for music, the fine arts, and fine pastries, the streets were filled with people—Czechs as well as Hungarians—who had taken refuge in the welcoming city following the invasion of their countries. The energizing buzz over the politics of the time was everywhere, expressed in Czech, Russian, Hungarian Magyar (a language unrelated to nearly all other European languages and incomprehensible to ears unfamiliar with it), and in other tongues as well. But, as always, the food served as a binding, cohesive force. The city’s dining establishments, casual bistros and more formal restaurants alike, were filled with east Europeans, Viennese locals, and tourists like me, all looking for something good to eat. In addition to the impossible-to-resist Viennese fare, there were many Hungarian dishes which had become a familiar part of Viennese cooking. That is when and where I discovered the essential tastes and food combinations of east European cuisine, and, more important, that no matter what, food of the homeland is never left behind.

The familiar Polish sausage known as kielbasa was introduced to American cuisine in the neighborhoods of Chicago, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Michigan, where many Polish immigrants settled during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Nowadays, kielbasa is widely produced commercially and is marketed to food purveyors nationwide. It is usually smoked and sandwiched in a hot dog bun, tucked into a hearty cabbage borscht, or added to a robust sauerkraut dish (page 46). That is not the whole story, however. Kielbasa is actually the generic term for sausage in Polish and there are many versions. I prefer a fresh, not smoked, sausage, but with a hint of ham to suggest a smoky flavor.

These leaf-shaped chrusciki (khroost-CHEE-kee) are adapted from Martha’s mother’s classic Polish recipe. The dough is kneaded for a while, to incorporate lots of air into it and keep the finished cookies light and delicate. If you’re storing fried cookies, wait until just before serving to dust them with confectioners’ sugar.

I’m very partial to chicken thighs, with their silky, succulent flesh. Slathered in a BBQ sauce spiked with good Hungarian paprika and made velvety with sour cream, this is a sensuous dish on a cold winter night, especially when served with buttered noodles to sop up all the good sauce.

A pilaf is a savory dish of rice that has first been sautéed in fat and then cooked in a seasoned liquid. (It differs from a risotto in that the liquid is entirely absorbed.) Depending on the recipe, a pilaf may also include nuts, spices, a few vegetables, or even a complex meat stew. I make mostly simple pilafs, such as the red rice pilaf that follows, to go with quesadillas and black beans, or a basmati rice pilaf with saffron and onions to eat with a vegetable ragout. Long-grain rice is usually used in pilafs, although some cuisines use short-grain rice. Sautéing the rice before adding the liquid enriches the flavor of the dish and coats each grain in fat. This, along with thorough washing, keeps the rice from sticking together or clumping. Olive oil and butter are the most commonly used fats. To avoid burning the butter while sautéing the rice, add a little oil to it, or use clarified butter (see page 125). Onion is usually sautéed for a few minutes in the fat before the rice is added. After the rice is sautéed, a flavorful liquid is poured over it and brought to a boil. The pilaf is simmered, covered, until all the liquid has been absorbed, about 15 minutes. Depending on their cooking times, vegetables and meats are added sometimes with the liquid, sometimes after the rice has been cooking for a while. The tomato in the red rice pilaf here is added at the beginning to color the rice evenly. When done, pilafs should be allowed to rest for about 10 minutes before serving.

This groglike drink has been popular in Russia for centuries. It’s usually prepared without alcohol, but it’s pretty good with it, too—just add 1/2 to 3/4 cup vodka or brandy during the last couple of minutes of simmering. It’s not often served cold in Russia, but I like it that way, as a kind of spicy, odd relation of Masala Chai (page 668).

Tea is usually served black in Russia, with preserves. You can add milk or cream if you like. Also completely optional, but not inappropriate, is a bit of vodka, brandy, or rum.

You might call this pickled fruit, but more people will discard the fruit and drink the vodka than the other way around. You could, of course, eat the one and drink the other.

Contrary to what you might believe, Absolut and Stolichnaya did not invent flavored vodka; it’s been around forever, and you can make your own.

Boiled potatoes and sour cream are a classic Eastern European combination, but this recipe takes the idea a step further to produce a rich, full-flavored main course that is especially great in winter. Serve with a light salad and rice or crisp bread.

Caraway seeds bring their interesting, bitter character to this simple soup, which is produced throughout Eastern Europe. It’s light but flavorful when made vegetarian, richer and more robust with bacon and beef stock. The Scandinavian variation is even simpler (and sweeter). To crush the caraway seeds, put them in a small plastic bag or wrap them in plastic or wax paper and press on them with the bottom of a pot (or other heavy object) or go over them with a rolling pin.

This classic Ukrainian dish is one of pure indulgence, and was common in French restaurants in the middle of the last century. Warn your guests: When made properly, butter spurts out of the chicken when it is cut; it’s quite spectacular. You can prepare the chicken rolls ahead of time and fry just before serving, but it cannot be said that this is a dish that takes no work— it’s about as complicated as I care to get. Traditionally, Chicken Kiev is served alongside crispy potatoes and fresh green peas, but rice and salad are good too.

Sauerkraut complements roast goose perfectly. The acidity cuts through the grease and adds a wonderful flavor. Don’t overestimate the number of people a goose will serve; it’s a large bird, but not a very meaty one.

If you think Eastern European cuisine is boring, this will change your mind. It’s probably the most famous dish from Romania and something that may become a part of your summer grilling repertoire. Flank steak is classic for this, but I like it best with sirloin or ribeye. Omit the butter if you’re feeling health-conscious, but it adds a wonderful richness. Garnish with the parsley and serve.

Boiled chicken may seem a thing of the past, but if the chicken is good to begin with, you don’t overcook it, and you serve it with this classic walnut sauce— sometimes called tarator or skordalia—it can be quite fabulous. Make the chicken and the sauce in advance if you like; both are good at room temperature. And, if you prefer, sauté the chicken and serve it with this sauce; see, for example, Chicken Escabeche (page 294) for the cooking technique. If you want to make the sauce without stock, see page 600. Walnut sauce, or tarator, is good not only with chicken but also with plain steamed vegetables— that’s what I’d serve with this, perhaps along with a rice or potato dish.

This is a typical Eastern European dish, rich with flavor, its sweetness tempered by the lemon juice. It makes a nice presentation, especially if you use a meaty fish like carp. The same technique can be applied to any fish fillet: reduce the cooking time to 10 minutes (or less; the fish is done when the point of a thin-bladed knife inserted into the thickest part meets little resistance). You might want some mashed potatoes or rice here, along with a simple salad.

This classic Hungarian dish employs paprika liberally, but it does not overpower the dish, because the spiciness is tempered by the sour cream. This is good over buttered noodles or rice or with bread.Other cuts of meat you can use here: cutlets or chunks of pork, chicken, or turkey.

A wonderful spin on beef stew containing both dried fruits and vegetables. You see this combination throughout Central Asia (and occasionally in the Middle East and Europe), and it’s an easy one to exploit. Dried fruits keep forever and take no preparation to add their wonderful body, sweetness, and acidity to what otherwise might be a dull dish. Other fruits often used here are quinces, chestnuts, or dried apricots. You can make this up to a day ahead of time and reheat before serving—it only gets better with time. Serve with couscous (page 526) or any other simple grain dish. Other cuts of meat you can use here: lamb or pork shoulder, lamb shanks or short ribs (both of which will take considerably longer to become tender).