The Poor Man's Potica: Pisani Kruh

Does the photo above look like potica? It should. But it's not.

That dark spiral could pass for one of the familiar sweet fillings--walnut, poppy seed, or even chocolate. But it's really a moist, tangy layer of buckwheat yeast bread. The lighter spiral is actually two different layers of yeast bread: yellow corn bread and white wheat bread.

The Slovenian name for this unusual fool-the-eye creation is pisani kruh or multicolored bread, sometimes translated as motley bread or tricolor bread. It is also called revna (poor) potica--or, in English, poor man's potica.

This was a dish for hard times, when butter, eggs, nuts, sugar, and honey were scarce. I first read about it last spring, when I was researching the food traditions of Dolenjska, the rural region where my ancestors were born, for my Slovenian language class.

On the Slovenian government's tourist website, I discovered an interview with noted ethnographer and cooking authority Dr. Janez Bogataj, who had recently published a cookbook about potica, Slovenia's most famous dish. He described a mock-potica dish called pisani kruh, or layered whole grain bread, that was popular in Dolenjska and other poor regions as a way of creating an air of "festive abundance" from simple ingredients.

I was intrigued. I had never heard of this dish, but it seemed like the sort of adaptation my humble ancestors might have tried. I knew that my great-grandfather Adamič was the son and grandson of millers. I had even visited the old mill house (see below) so it was safe to assume that flour was the one ingredient that was always available.

Here is a photo of the old Adamič mill house in Ponikve, a small village in the Dolenjska region:























It was hard to find a recipe for pisani kruh. Finally, I found a few examples on the Slovene cooking site Kulinarika. Some used two contrasting layers of dough. I liked the one with three layers--wheat, corn, and buckwheat--contributed by a woman named Marta, who offered a version for the bread machine and another made the standard way.

The recipe was challenging to adapt--and not just because of the translation issues or the metric conversions. The method was an unusual one, since the corn and buckwheat doughs began with a sort of mush. It was hard to be precise about the amount of water to use, or how much flour to knead in. Marta herself seemed to have made changes as she went along. She also mixed the yeast directly into the flour instead of proofing it.

I have made pisani kruh four times, using that Kulinarika recipe as the foundation. Each time, the measures of water and flour come out a little differently. Once, I mixed the dry yeast directly into the flour. It worked just fine, but I still prefer to do an initial proofing. I have made free-form round loaves but I prefer to use rectangular bread pans.

Below is the current version of the recipe for pisani kruh that has evolved over the past year of experimenting. It may sound challenging, but it turns out to be a forgiving recipe. It has worked out every time. The end product is a moist, slightly spongy loaf with a distinctive tang from the buckwheat. It keeps well and freezes beautifully. It makes tasty toast. And it always looks beautiful!

I like to think my resourceful Dolenjska ancestors would be proud.

Pisani Kruh (Multicolored Bread, Tricolor Bread)

(A translation and adaptation of this recipe by Marta from the Slovenian cooking site Kulinarika)  

For buckwheat dough:

200 g buckwheat flour (1-1/2 cups)
360  ml boiling water (1-/1/2 cups + 2 T)
200 g white (wheat) flour (1-2/3 cups)
1 package yeast, dissolved in 2 T warm water and sprinkle of sugar
3/4 t salt
1 t sugar
40 ml oil (3 T)

For corn dough: 

200 g corn flour (1-1/2 cup)
310 ml boiling watet (1-1/4 cup +3 T)
200 g white (wheat) flour (1-2/3 cups)
1 package yeast, dissolved in 2 T warm water and sprinkle of sugar
3/4 t salt
1 t sugar
40 ml oil (3 T)

For wheat dough:

400 g white (wheat) flour (3-1/3 cups)
1 package yeast, dissolved in 2 T warm water and sprinkle of sugar
3/4 t salt
1 t sugar
350 ml lukewarm milk (1-1/2 cups + 1 T)
40 ml oil (3 T)

To prepare the buckwheat dough: Add enough boiling water to the buckwheat flour to make a soft but stiff mush and allow to cool. (You may need to add more water.) Proof yeast in warm water and sugar. Stir the yeast, oil and salt into cooled buckwheat mush. Then knead in white flour as needed. Knead until smooth. Form into ball and place in oiled bowl. Cover and let rise until doubled.

To prepare the corn dough: Follow the same directions as above, preparing corn mush, cooling, and then adding white flour. Note that this recipe calls for corn flour, or finely ground corn meal. I used Bob's Mills brand.

To prepare the white wheat dough: Stir salt into flour. Proof yeast in warm water and sugar. Add yeast, oil and most of the milk to flour. Add the rest of milk as needed. Knead until dough is smooth. Form into ball and place in oiled bowl. Cover and let rise until doubled.

To form loaves: Roll the wheat dough into a rectangle on a floured surface. Roll out buckwheat dough into a rectangle of similar size and place on top. Repeat with corn dough. Press the three layers of dough together. Roll up the rectangle from the short edge and seal the ends.

Cut the roll into two or three pieces and seal ends. Place in oiled loaf pans (preferred) or shape into free-form rounds. Top with melted butter. Let rise till double. Bake at 350 degrees F for 25 minutes or until done. Let cool. Enjoy!

Walnut Syrup Cake (Orehove rezine)

Just in time for the holidays, I have discovered a wonderful new addition to the Slovenian dessert menu: walnut syrup cake, or orehove rezine ("walnut slices").

I've had my eye on this recipe for some time. I found it in my favorite modern cookbook, The Food and Cooking of Slovenia, by Janez Bogataj. The source is impeccable, but I hesitated to make it, because the recipe struck me as unusual. And I'd never seen it anywhere else, so I wondered if this was really a traditional Slovenian dish.

The cake includes chopped walnuts, white and whole wheat flour--and uncooked polenta. (See Note below.) After baking, it is soaked in syrup. There is honey and cinnamon in the cake, plus honey in the syrup. I couldn't quite imagine how all these ingredients would come together. 

Finally, a few weeks ago, I took the plunge. I shouldn't have worried. This unusual sweet is amazing.

To call this a "walnut slice" doesn't do it justice. This is a rich, moist dessert that straddles the line between decadent and wholesome. It looks like a dense cake or torte but it tastes like a less cloying version of baklava. And it keeps beautifully. 

As it turns out, the recipe can be found in many places on the Internet, usually without attribution. One Slovenian blogger who grew up in Maribor, in the northeastern part of the country, confesses that she had never heard of this dish before, but perhaps that is because it is traditional to the northwest!

The directions below closely follow Janez Bogataj's recipe in the English language version of The Food and Cooking of Slovenia.

Enjoy!


Note: In a recipe like this, "polenta" refers to the uncooked product--in other words, a medium grind of yellow cornmeal. For further discussion, see my previous cornbread post, or check out this link.

Walnut Syrup Cake (Orehove rezine)
                                                                  --from Janez Bogataj

1-1/2 cups (175 g) walnuts, toasted
10 tbsp (150 g) butter, softened
2/3 cup (150 g) light brown sugar
4 tbsp (60 ml) set honey
3 eggs, lightly beaten
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 cup (50 g) white flour
1/2 cup (50 g) whole wheat flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp cinnamon (I used 2 tsp)
pinch of salt
1/2 cup, generous (65 g) polenta (or medium grind yellow cornmeal)
5 tbsp (75 ml) milk

(for syrup)
1/2 cup (90 g) golden caster sugar
4 tbsp (60 ml) set honey
1/2 cup (120 ml) water


Notes on ingredients: Set honey is referred to as spun, creamed, or whipped honey in the US. Regular honey can be used, although it is probably harder to blend. For golden caster sugar, I substituted raw cane sugar, which also has a slight caramel flavor.
 





First, prepare the walnuts: Spread out on a baking sheet and bake for 8-10 minutes at 350 degrees F (180 C) until toasted. Let cool, then chop roughly and set aside.

For cake: Sift together the white and whole wheat flour, baking powder, cinnamon, and salt. Set aside. In a large bowl beat butter, sugar, and honey until fluffy. Beat in eggs gradually, then add vanilla. Sprinkle the dry ingredients over the wet ingredients and fold in. When partially combined, add the nuts, polenta and milk, and fold in.

Spoon batter into an 8-inch round cake pan (or spring form pan) that has been greased and lined with parchment paper. Bake at 350 degrees F (180 C) for 45-50 minutes, until firm and light brown.

While cake is baking, prepare syrup: Combine sugar, honey, and water in a pan. Heat gently until sugar dissolves then simmer for 5 minutes. Turn off heat.

When cake is done, let cool slightly. (If desired, remove from pan and place carefully in a pretty serving dish with sides.) Pour warm syrup slowly over the top, so that it is absorbed evenly. Let cool. To serve, cut into thin slices.

Slovenian Braided Bread, or Bosman

Slovenian Braided Bread, or Bosman

I love hearing from readers.

Last month, a charming woman named Sara sent me a question about a traditional Slovenian bread she learned to make from her mother, called menihi or monk's bread. She included a photo of a gorgeous, braided loaf that reminded me of challah, the popular Jewish Sabbath bread. Had I ever heard of it?

The name didn't ring a bell, but I had seen images of Slovenian breads that sounded similar. I started to search.  No monk's bread, but I did find references to several other festive, decorated breads on the Slovenian government's official Travel Guide. The closest was the photo of an impressive-looking bread called bosman, described as:

"...a richly decorated ceremonial bread, which used to be a compulsory gift to brides, as well as newborns and children being christened. It is decorated with several lines of plaited dough and various dough ornaments, as well as paper flowers."

I found a recipe for bosman, or plaited bread, in Janez Bogataj's The Food and Cooking of Slovenia. The dough was very much like Sara's monk's bread, and both seemed similar to the egg-rich challah recipes I had made in the past. 

Most Central and Eastern European cuisines do seem to have a tradition of making light, braided yeast breads for holidays and other celebrations. These treasured dishes are a reminder that white flour was once a precious commodity that ordinary people enjoyed only on special occasions. 

Bogataj's dough recipe turned out to be surprisingly easy. No initial sponge or even proofing of the yeast.  He specified "easy blend" yeast, which I took to mean standard dry yeast. (After the fact, I discovered that this means "rapid rise" or "instant" yeast, which is best for this rapid mix method.)

The challenge came in the shaping. Bogataj provided elaborate instructions for a dramatic nine-strand, three-tiered loaf, topped with little dough figures of birds, flowers, butterflies, balls, and mini-braids! Fortunately, he did offer another option: a simple, three-strand plait.

I hesitated to make a single loaf of bread that used seven cups of flour, so I decided to cut down his original recipe to two-thirds. I also corrected a couple of the metric conversions. Otherwise, I followed his original recipe. 

For the recipe and the result, read on.

Slovenian Braided Bread, or Bosman

Slovenian Braided Bread, or Bosman

(adapted from Janez Bogataj's "Bosman Plaited Bread" in The Food and Cooking of Slovenia.)

4-2/3 cups (about) white bread flour (530 g)
2/3 t. salt
1 envelope "easy blend" (rapid rise) dried yeast
2/3 cup + 1 T. warm water (200 ml)
2 T. honey
2 eggs, beaten
4 T butter, softened*

For glaze: 1 egg yolk beaten with 1 T. cold water

*Note: Oil is often preferred in traditional challah recipes, so that those who follow Jewish dietary laws can serve it with both meat and dairy meals. Feel free to substitute!



Sift flour and salt into a large mixing bowl and stir in the dry yeast. Make a well in the center and add the remaining ingredients. Mix together to make a soft dough, then knead on a floured board for about ten minutes until dough is smooth and elastic.

Place dough in a clean bowl and cover with plastic wrap. Let rise in a warm place until doubled in size. (The rising took me one hour, although the original recipe suggested two.)  Punch down and let rest for ten minutes before shaping.

The full ceremonial version of this bread involves multiple braided layers, one on top of the other, with little decorative bits on tip. Three braids is simplest. I decided to compromise. I made a slightly fancy four-strand braid, which results in a nice compact loaf.

To make a four-strand loaf similar to the one in the photos, divide the dough into four equal balls. (Use a scale, if you like.)  Roll each piece into a twelve inch rope or sausage shape. Press strands together at one end and then begin to braid, starting with the outside strand on the far right, then moving to the outside strand on the far left, and then back again. This alternating, side-to-side braiding pattern is "under two, back over one."

For a good illustration of the four-strand pattern, see this blog post about challah, the Jewish version of a similar bread. The web is full of guides to even more complex patterns.  And remember: there is nothing wrong with a simple three-strand braid!

four-strand bosman braid, before baking

Transfer the loaf to a baking sheet that is greased or lined with parchment paper.  Cover with oiled plastic wrap and let rise in a warm place until doubled, about 1 hour.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (180 C).  Before baking, glaze the loaf with the egg wash. Bake for about 45 minutes, until loaf is golden brown and sounds hollow when tapped on the bottom.

bosman, after baking

The result? This was was one of the easiest and most successful challah-type breads I have ever made. It was rich without being cloying and just slightly sweet. The texture was light but not too airy.

Even in these reduced quantities, I ended up with rather large loaf. But we made good use of it. The first couple of nights, it was the perfect dinner companion to my homemade cevapčiči. After that, it became breakfast fare. Bosman makes wonderful toast! On the weekend, my husband made French toast. He turned the last bits into croutons for salad. So nothing went to waste.

This bread is definitely a keeper!

breakfast toast

bosman with čevapčiči

French toast

Savory Buckwheat Cheesecake, Plain and Fancy

This unusual savory cheesecake was adapted from a dessert recipe called ajdova zlevanka, from Janez Bogataj's The Food and Cooking of Slovenia. 

I had made the original sweet version of buckwheat cheesecake last year, for our neighborhood Fourth of July pie-baking contest. (For the details, go here.) The sweet cheesecake was not the winner I had hoped for. The filling, with my favorite tangy Russian farmer cheese as the foundation, was tasty enough, once it firmed up the next day. But that crust was tough and a little dry, probably because I had used too much flour. I resolved to make it again, paying more attention to the metric conversions for the crust. Perhaps I would try the intriguing savory variation mentioned in the cookbook, with an unsweetened filling that was seasoned with nothing more than salt and pepper.

This year, I finally tackled the savory cheesecake. Twice. I couldn't resist adding a few vegetables to the bare-bones filling. The first time, I made a simpler and slightly healthier at-home dish, with an oil-based press-in crust and yogurt instead of sour cream in the filling.  This fall, I wanted to make a fancier dish to take to a party. So I stuck closely to the original rolled butter pastry, went back to sour cream in the filling, and added a few decorative cut-out shapes on top.

For the recipe and results, read on.

Savory Buckwheat Cheesecake (adapted from Janez Bogataj)

Crust:

100 g white flour (3/4 cup, scant)

100 g buckwheat flour (2/3 cup)

1/2 cup butter

1 egg yolk, beaten

1-2 T. cold water

Filling:

1-1/4 lb. farmer cheese or curd cheese (I used Russian-style farmer cheese)
3 eggs
1/2 cup sour cream or Greek yogurt, thinned with a little milk if necessary
1/2 onion, minced
1/2 red pepper, diced
2 small cloves garlic, minced
pepper to taste
salt or a salt-free substitute (I used a salt-free "herbes de provence"mixture)
2 T. flour
extra sour cream for top, if desired


For the crust:  Sift flours into a bowl. Cut in butter. Stir in egg yolk and enough water to bind the mixture. Blend lightly and form into a ball. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 20 minutes.

Roll out dough and line an 8-inch tart or quiche pan. Line pastry with parchment or foil and fill with rice, beans (or whole buckwheat!) to blind-bake. To make it extra-fancy, use the leftover pastry to cut into little leaf shapes. Bake the crust for 10 minutes at 375 degrees and let cool.  (Bake the little leaves separately, on a baking sheet, for 5-10 minutes.)

(For a quick crust: Use 1/3 cup of oil instead of butter, mix very lightly with a fork, and press into the pan. Skip the blind baking.)

For filling: Brown onions, red pepper, and garlic in a little olive oil. Set aside and let cool slightly. Mix farmer cheese and seasonings. Beat in eggs and sour cream or yogurt. Stir in browned vegetables. Sprinkle flour on top and fold in. Spread filling in pastry-lined pan. If desired, spread a thin layer of sour cream on top. If using the decorative pastry leaves, arrange on top. Bake at 375 degrees for about 40 minutes, until lightly set. Let cool to room temperature before slicing.

The result:  Both versions were delicious.  Savory buckwheat cheesecake works well as a vegetarian entree, a side dish or even as an appetizer. We found that it tasted even better the next day, served chilled. Ajvar, the popular Balkan red pepper relish, makes the perfect garnish.

Buckwheat Cheesecake for the Fourth of July Pie Contest

It was time for the annual neighborhood Fourth of July potluck.  For the second time, there would be a pie-baking contest.

Last year's entry, prekmurska gibanica, had been a success.  I came in third out of eight, a modest but respectable showing, especially since the fabled Slovenian dessert wasn't exactly a pie by American standards.  The elaborate layered "strudel pie" had aroused plenty of interest and it did taste wonderful.

For an encore, I had in mind another unusual dish that was not quite a pie.  Buckwheat cheesecake. I'd had my eye on the recipe for the past year and had been waiting for the right occasion.  It looked simple and it fit right in with my recent curd cheese/farmer cheese obsession.   And it was already salt-free.

The original recipe, called ajdova zlevanka, appears in The Food and Cooking of Slovenia (2008) by master chef Janez Bogataj.  (It is reprinted here, in a Milwaukee newspaper.)

I made just a few additions to the original recipe: sugar and ginger in the pastry crust and a grating of lemon rind in the filling.  The foundation of the dish was a Russian-style farmer cheese I can buy locally. Its wonderful tang probably comes from a "culturing" step that is omitted in  my simple homemade curd cheese.  In the spirit of the holiday, I devised a  red-white-and-blue fruit topping: blueberries and strawberries mixed with a simple glaze.

For the results (of the recipe and the competition) read on!

Buckwheat Cheesecake   (adapted from Janez Bogataj's Ajdova Zlevanka)

1 c. (scant) buckwheat flour
1 c. (scant) white flour
2 T. sugar
pinch of ginger
1/2 c. butter
1 egg yolk, beaten
cold water to bind, about 1-2 T.

1-1/4 lb. or 500 g. farmer cheese or curd cheese
2/3 c. superfine sugar
3 eggs, lightly beaten
1 t. grated lemon rind
2/3 c. sour cream, divided
2 T. plain flour

For topping:  Fresh fruit, plain or mixed with a simple glaze (see below)



Grease an 8 inch tart pan with a removable bottom or a springform pan.

For the crust:  Sift flours, sugar and ginger into bowl. Cut in butter.  Stir in egg yolk and enough water to bind the mixture. Blend lightly and form into a ball.  Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 20 minutes.

Roll out dough and line the pan.   Line pastry with parchment or foil and fill with rice or beans to blind-bake.  (I used whole buckwheat!)  Bake for 10 minutes at 375 degrees. Let cool.

For the filling: Mix cheese and sugar.  Add eggs, lemon rind, and two-thirds of the sour cream and beat together.  Sift flour over surface and fold in.

Pour filling into crust-lined pan.  Spread remaining sour cream over the top in a thin layer.

Bake for 40 minutes at 375 degrees until lightly set.  Let cool and top with fresh fruit or glaze before cutting.

I baked the cheesecake in the late morning and set it out to cool.  I hadn't been successful in spreading that thick sour cream, so the top was covered with little white dabs.  And the buckwheat crust looked more rustic than elegant.  Not a beautiful dish.

No matter.  I would cover it with a simple fruit topping I improvised.

Simple Fruit Topping

fresh strawberries and blueberries

strawberry preserves and orange marmalade, equal parts

splash of lemon juice

spash of kirsch or other liqueur

Wash and dry fresh strawberries and blueberries and set aside.  In a small saucepan, mix the preserves. Warm slowly over low heat until mixture melts.  Add lemon juice and kirsch to taste.  Gently mix fresh fruit with glaze and arrange on top of cheesecake.

Now my pie entry looked more than presentable.  On to the contest.

When I arrived at our neighbor's house,  I realized the competition would be stiff.  The field was a little larger this year.  And everyone else seemed to have gone creative with the toppings and decorations.  My red-white-and-blue brainstorm wasn't exactly unique.

But the proof would be in the eating.

When I cut into that buckwheat cheesecake, my heart sank.  The filling was soft, especially in the middle.  Those thin slices looked more like pudding!  And the crust was hard to cut.

I bit in and was disappointed.  The buckwheat crust was tough and dry.  The filling was pleasant but bland.

I came in second-to-the-last in the pie ranking.  No prize for me this year. Of course, I had refrained from voting for myself this time. Not out of modesty but simply as an honest assessment. This dish was not a winner.

But guess what?  The next day, after thorough chilling, the filling had firmed up perfectly. And it tasted delicious, with the tart Russian-style farmer cheese and the touch of lemon.

The crust wasn't great.  My mistake, I think, was that I didn't pay enough attention to the "scant" part of the directions. Because the dough had been too dry at first, I had added more water and probably overworked the pastry.

Next time, I will probably use just 3/4 cup of each flour for a more tender crust.  On top, I might use more sour cream and thin it with a little milk for ease of spreading.

The original recipe indicates that the cheesecake can be served warm.  But I still recommend thorough chilling, to bring out the flavor of the filling.

There is also a savory alternative, with salt and pepper rather than sugar in the filling. Interesting, but probably tough to do without the salt.   I'll probably concentrate on perfecting this unusual and promising dessert version.

Update from November 2014: The savory version, with a much-improved crust, was a success!

Curd Cheese with Onion, Paprika, and Pumpkin Seed Oil

This simple but unusual appetizer combines three Slovenian favorites: curd cheese, paprika, and pumpkin seed oil.

I adapted it from a recipe in Janez Bogataj's The Food and Cooking of Slovenia. He calls it Curd Cheese with Onion or Koroška skuta s čebulo.  It is a specialty of Koroška (or Carinthia), a region on the Austrian-Slovenian border that is well-known as a producer of pumpkin seed oil.

Since I wanted to make a salt-free version, I increased the paprika and pepper and added a sprinkle of pumpkin seeds on top.

Traditionally, this tasty-sounding combination is served as a spread on rye bread.  But I had another plan. I wanted to use salt-free curd cheese as a substitute for feta in salads. I worried that my unadorned homemade curd cheese might be a little bland.  I hoped this flavor combination might give it just the right boost.

I made a batch of homemade curd cheese and pressed it overnight to make a firm round. The next day, I cut it into cubes and followed the recipe below.

For the result, read on.


                                                               

Curd Cheese with Onion, Paprika, and Pumpkin Seed Oil (adapted from Janez Bogataj)

1 cup/ 8 oz curd cheese or farmer cheese, homemade or store-bought, salt-free
1 t. paprika
1/2 onion, finely chopped
freshly ground black pepper to taste
(salt, if desired, to taste)
1 T. pumpkin seed oil
pumpkin seeds, toasted (optional)

For a smooth spread, crumble the curd cheese in a bowl.  To use in a salad or other dish, cut cheese into cubes.

Sprinkle the cheese with onion, paprika, black pepper (and salt, if using.)  For a spread, mash and blend with a spoon.  Or, to retain the shape of the cubes (as I did), just toss the ingredients lightly. Drizzle with pumpkin seed oil.

The verdict?

This does makes a lovely spread on rye bread or whole grain crackers, especially with a sprinkle of pumpkin seeds on top.  But it also worked beautifully in my salt-free version of Kasha Mediterranean Salad.  For the recipe, see the next post.

Slovenian Dinner Week 46: Polenta Meatball Makeover

Menu
Meat Polenta II: Polenta Meatballs with Tomato Mushroom Sauce
Whole Wheat Spaghetti
Green Salad

The last Tuesday in November was shaping up to be a busy day.  An appointment in the morning, volunteer tutoring in the afternoon.  And I was in the final stretch of a month-long writing project.

So I needed to find a dinner entree that was easy and, if possible, make-ahead. Once again, I figured that the best solution was a makeover of a dish I had tried earlier in the year.

Meatballs seemed like the perfect choice.

I had three candidates.  The most successful were the caraway meatballs I had made back in June.  In July, I had tried an odd one, called uštipci, from The Yugoslav Cookbook, that I didn't feel like repeating.  Those solid, fatty squares of uncooked bacon mixed in with the ground beef never did cook properly.

Then there was an intriguing dish called meat polenta, from the Progressive Slovene Women, one of my most trustworthy sources.  They were made from a paprika-spiced mixture of beef and cornmeal.   Quite a lot of cornmeal: a full cup added to a pound of meat. The finished product turned out dry and granular, because the uncooked cornmeal didn't soften.

Only afterward did it occur to me: Maybe "cornmeal" meant cooked polenta. If I made this dish again, I resolved to try it that way.

So perhaps this was the time.

I did some Internet research to see if I could find any other meatballs made with cooked cornmeal.  Mostly, I found Mexican meatballs, with small quantities of dry cornmeal added.  So maybe this meat polenta recipe wasn't even Slovenian.

But then I found something: A Slovenian meatball called mavželj. It sounded like one of those traditional novelties that isn’t made much anymore.  For good reason, since it starts with a pig's head.

To make mavželj, you start out by boiling the pig’s head and scraping off the meat. A few other organ meats are added, like the brains and lungs.  Then the meat is chopped, seasoned, and mixed with polenta. Seasonings can include onion and garlic, salt and pepper, cinnamon and bay leaf, according to the modern Slovenian master chef Janez Bogataj.  (His recipe seems to be mostly polenta.)  The mixture is shaped into balls and wrapped in pig’s caul, then baked.

So this dish wasn’t the product of some Slovenian American cook’s imagination.   It was simplified and sanitized, perhaps, but the chopped meat-polenta combination, heavy on the polenta, seemed to be well grounded in Slovenian tradition.

Well, I wasn't about to go shopping for a pig's head, much less a pig's caul!

I decided to stick closely to my original meat polenta recipe, but with cooked cornmeal, rather than dry.  Much as I was tempted to do a meat makeover, this was not the time for more turkey leftovers.  I would stick with a beef-pork mix, with a little more onion. The simple tomato sauce had been good the first time, but since we had some fresh mushrooms I decided to add those.  And this time I would bake rather than simmer the meatballs.

For the result, read on.

Meat Polenta II: Polenta Meatballs

Meatballs:

1/2 lb. ground beef
1/2 lb. ground pork
1 cup cooked polenta
2 eggs
2 t. salt
1-2 t. pepper
1 t. paprika
4-5 T. minced onion, browned in olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced

Sauce:

26 oz. organic diced tomatoes
1 small onion, browned in olive oil
2 c. sliced fresh mushrooms, white and crimini mixed
1 clove garlic, minced
1 t. paprika
1 t. marjoram
salt and pepper
pinch of sugar
4 T. parsley, chopped
splash of wine or mosto


For sauce:  Brown diced onion well in olive oil. Add sliced mushrooms and garlic clove.  Add remaining ingredients and simmer for thirty minutes.

For the cooked polenta, prepare according to package directions.  I used the quick-cooking variety, which called for 4 tablespoons polenta stirred into 1 cup of boiling salted water, then cooked and stirred for about three minutes until thick. Let cool slightly.

To make the meatballs: Combine cooked, cooled polenta with remaining filling ingredients.  Knead until well combined. Form into 12 small balls. Mixture may be loose.

To bake: Put a little sauce in bottom of medium rectangular dish.  Place meatballs in dish.  Add more sauce.  Bake at 375 degrees for about 1 hour.

Serve over spaghetti or noodles.  Sprinkle with grated parmesan cheese.

My heart sank when I saw yellow polenta oozing out of the meatballs, after they had been in the oven for awhile. But I poured more sauce on top.

The verdict: Amazingly, it all worked out.  The meatballs were tasty, even if the fat and some of the polenta did leach into the sauce. And there were none of those hard cornmeal granules, this time around.

As we were eating, my husband and I got into a long discussion about caul.   I had seen photos of caul-wrapped foods in a couple of my  European cookbooks. It looks liked a spidery white net. But what was it, exactly?

I thought it was similar to a traditional sausage casing. Part of the intestine. My husband thought it was related to the placenta, a sort of film or veil than can cover a baby mammal at birth. He'd heard about this from watching Jacques Pépin on television.

Turns out out we were both right.  Not the most pleasant of dinner conversations!

Still, the dinner was a success.

“There is something about the flavor,” my husband said. “I could smell it when I was up on the roof, cleaning the gutters.”  (We'd had heavy rains that night.)

What is that elusive flavor?  No cabbage in the dish tonight.  Was it simply tomatoes and paprika? Tomatoes without oregano and basil?

Central European umami or Slovenian soul, I guess.  Whatever it is, the smell and flavor are unmistakable. I had found it once again.

Slovenian Dinner Week 35: Ljubljana Egg Dish, A Touch of Old World Elegance

Menu
Ljubljana Egg Dish (Ljubljanska Jajena Jed), or Mushroom-Asparagus Souffle
Green Salad with Asparagus, Tomatoes, and Radishes



I found this unusual mushroom-asparagus souffle in a contemporary source:  The Food and Cooking of Slovenia (2009), by Slovenian professor and cooking expert Janez Bogataj, Ph.D.

This beautifully produced book has received much attention, at least in Slovenian American circles. So I was excited to discover that I could browse through the online preview.  But I promised myself :  I wouldn't add it to my cookbook collection just yet.  For now, I wanted to retain my focus on vintage Slovenian American cooking.  I assumed this glossy book was a modern take on Slovenian food.  But I was wrong.

Take this egg dish.  It definitely qualifies as vintage.  It first appeared in 1868, in a book by Magdalena Pleiweis.  This was one of the earliest Slovenian cookbooks, and the first one to be copyrighted.  It was also the first dish to be named for a particular place: Ljubljana, Slovenia's largest city and now the small nation's capital.

I was intrigued by this dish, which sounded like a cross between a mushroom-asparagus omelet and a souffle, partly because it had such a contemporary feeling.  It was hard to believe that a delicate, elegant-sounding brunch dish was in vogue in 1860s Slovenia, even among city-dwellers.  I doubt that it had a place in the kitchens of my own peasant ancestors, and it doesn't seem to have become a part of the Slovenian American cooking repertoire.

Subsequently, I found a version of the recipe in a Milwaukee newspaper article about Slovenian cooking and Dr. Bogataj's book.  This recipe, presented with the American cook in mind, looked even easier to follow.  So I made a mental note to come back to it, when the time was right.

On Tuesday of Week 35,  the time felt right.  My husband and I were feeling drained after a weekend trip to Chicago, where we had attended another memorial service for our friend who had died in the summer. We came home to more sad news, the death of my husband's stepfather.

The thought of a light, meat-free souffle for dinner seemed appealing.  So I went back to that newspaper article and followed the recipe, making just a few small modifications.   I also expanded the directions.  To follow this recipe, which was more elaborate than I realized,  read on.

Ljubljana Egg Dish

½  “short loaf” (long roll) of French bread
1 c. milk
5 hard-cooked eggs
3 uncooked eggs, separated
2 T. butter, room temperature
1 T. chopped fresh marjoram
1 t. salt
1 lemon rind, grated
2 T. sour cream
½ to ¾ oz. dried morels or other wild mushrooms
2 T. fresh parsley, chopped
1 T. dry white wine
1 oz (or more!) fresh asparagus tips


First, prepare the mushrooms.  I found morels too pricey, so I used a small bag of mixed wild mushrooms. Rinse mushrooms and then either boil or soak in very hot water.  (Note: There are two schools of thought about this. Some argue that boiling creates a tasty broth, but is not a good idea if you want to use the mushrooms themselves in cooking.) Drain the softened mushrooms, saving the liquid for another use.  Slice mushrooms and set aside in a small bowl.

Crumble French bread or roll into a small bowl, add  milk, and set aside to soak.

Shell the hard-cooked eggs and separate whites from yolks.  Press the yolks through a strainer into a small bowl and set aside in a medium bowl.  Slice whites into thin strips and set aside in another medium bowl.

Squeeze milk from bread and discard.  Add half the bread to the sieved cooked egg yolks, along with 1 T. softened butter.  Mix, then add the raw egg yolks.  Mix well.

Beat the egg whites in a medium bowl until stiff, adding a pinch of salt if desired. Fold them into the egg yolk mixture.  Add marjoram,  the remaining salt, lemon rind, sour cream,  and the remaining half of bread.  Fold and mix until well combined.

In a skillet, saute the sliced mushrooms in 1 T. butter for two minutes.  Add parsley, white wine, and asparagus tips. (Note: the recipe considers the asparagus optional and calls for 1 ounce.  I consider it essential and used a good half cup, plus more asparagus in the salad!)

Now, assemble the dish:

Butter a souffle dish.  Spread one third of the egg mixture on the bottom.  Add half the mushroom-asparagus mixture and then half  the egg white slices.  Repeat, ending with a final layer of egg mixture.

Bake at 350 degrees for about 30 minutes, until the egg dish is browned and set.

I  garnished the egg dish with a few branches of fresh marjoram and served it with a green salad, along with a few olives and some ajvar.

How did it taste?  Scroll to the end of the photos to find out!

dried wild mushrooms, before soaking

mushrooms, after soaking

lemon rind, marjoram, and parsley

the mushroom-asparagus filling

sliced egg whites and sieved egg yolks

before baking

Ljubljana Egg Dish, after baking

Ljubljana Egg Dish, side view

The verdict:   The Ljubljana Egg dish is indeed an unusual concoction. It seems to exist in a culinary border region, somewhere between an airy omelet and a dense souffle.  The elaborate preparation process does seem hard to justify, given the end result.  It is definitely another one of those Slovenian dishes with simple ingredients combined in complex ways.  It tasted fine but the texture was odd. Sliced cooked egg white, baked for the second time, is definitely an acquired taste.  I have to confess that I am not in a rush to make this again.

Still, I am very glad I tackled this intriguing dish. It was like taking a step back into Slovenian history.  It gave me a glimpse into a refined nineteenth century urban culture that I, like many Slovenian Americans, know little about.  So that is a good thing.