Šarkelj (Slovenian Gugelhupf) for the Fourth of July!

A Fourth of July celebration might seem like an unlikely occasion to introduce a new Slovenian dish. But our annual neighborhood gathering is a perfect opportunity to do just that. For one thing, a potluck is always low-risk. And what are the chances that someone else of Slovenian heritage will show up and weigh in on the merits of my latest ethnic cooking experiment?

I have done this twice before, with mixed results.The first time, I made a successful debut with the multilayered phyllo delight known as Prekmurska gibanica. The next year's offering, an unusual Slovenian cheesecake, sounded good on paper, but it emerged as a soft pudding encased in a tough buckwheat crust.

This year, I didn't decide until the morning of the Fourth of July that I wanted to come up with a Slovenian dessert to bring to the gathering. So my choices were limited. This dessert had to be ready by afternoon. And, since the stores were closed, I had to make do with ingredients already at hand.

I also wanted to use my Kitchen Aid stand mixer, the Christmas gift I was still figuring out how to use.

I found the perfect choice: Šarkelj ("Shark-el"), the Slovenian version of gugelhupf. I had been curious about it ever since I discovered this strange outlier in the "potica" section of the vintage cookbook that launched my ethnic cooking project: Woman's Glory, The Kitchen. It was the first in a series of cookbooks published by the Slovenian Woman's Union of America (know today as the Slovenian Union of America.)

Gugelhupf (sometimes called "kugelhopf" or "bundt cake") is the familiar brioche-like sweet yeast bread with the cylindrical round shape. It is popular throughout Central Europe, as well as in France. The ingredients are simple but the preparation is not, because the rich yeast dough is too soft for be hand kneaded. Some of the recipes in my vintage cookbooks call for beating the batter-like dough with a wooden spoon for twenty to thirty minutes! So this is one of those dishes I might never have tried before I had a heavy duty stand mixer.

The recipe below closely follows two similar recipes: "Holiday Bread--Šarkelj" from the cookbook of the Progressive Slovene Women of America, and "Sharkel or Formcake" from Woman's Glory. Most of my changes were dictated by necessity. Low fat milk, since that is all we had in the fridge. A little oil to stretch the butter. Anisette and dried apricots, which provided an interesting taste alternative to the raisins and rum in the original recipe.

Thanks to my new stand mixer,  the entire process was fairly easy--especially compared to making potica! And my no-stick bundt cake pan worked like a charm! (I'd had bad luck in the past, when I tried to use it for baking potica.)

The result was a delicious, mildly sweet yeast cake, ideally suited for a special breakfast or brunch, or perhaps afternoon coffee or tea. It looks impressive, too, especially with a sprinkle of confectioners' sugar and some fresh berries on the side.

The šarkelj seemed to be well received at the July Fourth potluck.

And guess who showed up at the end? Some new neighbors, a nice young couple and their baby. The mother turned out to be a Northern Minnesota native with Slovenian-Finnish roots!

Šarkelj ("sharkel") or Slovenian Formcake or Gugelhupf

1 package dry yeast (original recipes call for cake yeast)
4 tablespoons lukewarm milk
3 tablespoons flour
1 tablespoon sugar

1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup sugar
4 egg yolks, beaten
grated rind of 1 lemon
3 cups flour
1 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup cream or milk
1 tablespoon rum, brandy or other spirits
optional: 1 cup raisins or other dried fruit

(I used used anisette and chopped dried apricots)



First, make a sponge: In a small bowl, dissolve yeast in milk. Mix in flour and sugar.. Set aside to rise while preparing the rest of the dough.

In a large bowl (or the bowl of your stand mixer) cream butter and sugar. Mix in the beaten egg yolks and lemon rind. Then add the yeast mixture and mix well. Combine flour and salt and add to bowl, alternating flour mixture with cream or milk and rum. Mix well. Beat dough, following one of the two methods below. Add dried fruit at the end.

The traditional mixing method: Beat the dough with a wooden spoon for 20-30 minutes until dough is smooth and mixture leave spoon.

The modern method:  Use a stand mixer, and follow the directions for speed and timing that come with your model. It will take less time, probably 5-10 minutes.

Pour dough into a well-oiled Bundt cake pan. Cover and let rise in a warm place until double. Bake at 350 degrees for about 50 minutes. Let cool before removing from pan. If desired, sprinkle with confectioners sugar.

Slovenian Angel Wings: Baked Flancati, A Healthier Update on a Traditional Treat

My grandma used to make us a sweet, beignet-like treat we called by their American name: Angel Wings.  Slovenians call them flancati (flan-tsa-tee) or sometimes pohanje.

She twisted strips of dough into fanciful knots and shapes and plunged them into a simmering pot of oil. (Back then, it might have been Crisco, perish the thought!) They emerged brown and crispy, ready to be mounded on a plate, buried in a snowstorm of powdered sugar, and inhaled by a tribe of hungry grandchildren.

I don't do deep-frying.  So I figured angel wings would remain a distant childhood memory.

Then I spotted a recipe for baked flancati.  I figured it couldn't possibly be legitimate.  But it turns out the recipe came from More Pots and Pans, another cookbook put out by the Slovenian Women's Union of America.  So I figured it was worth a try.

The recipe, I realized, was simply a variant of the rich pastry dough, made with either sour cream or cream cheese, that is used to make those little filled cookies that are beloved by Eastern Europeans.  They are known by various names: Kolachke. Kifles. Rugelach. Everyone has a version.  No, it's not exactly a health food.  But baking rather than  deep frying is still a more health-conscious choice.

I made a few changes in the recipe, drawing on flavor variations I found in some of the traditional fried versions.  Rum instead of vanilla.  A little freshly grated nutmeg.  And I have to confess: I had to use salted butter.  But do try to use unsalted!



2 c. flour
1/2 lb butter, unsalted
2 egg yolks
1/2 c. sour cream
1 t. rum (or vanilla)
freshly grated nutmeg

Cut butter into flour, using knives or (like me) your fingers.  Mix together eggs, sour cream, and rum, and add to the flour-butter mixture.  Mix lightly by hand until dough is firm.   Divide into four portions, wrap well, and refrigerate overnight.

The next day, remove dough from refrigerater and let warm up at room temperature for about a half hour.  Now, here is where these cookies become angel wings.

Roll each portion out on a floured surface, into an 8 or 9 inch square.  Cut into 16 squares, each about 2 x 2 inches.  Cut a slit in the center. At this point, directions differ. Some recipes suggest you can pull a single corner through the slit.  Others offer more elaborate directions: pull one corner forward, another back.  I finally figured out that the shapes look most like angels if you pull an entire side of the square through the slit.  See the before-and-after photos below:

I decided to turn one batch into the familiar kolachke. I just put a small dollop of good quality apricot jam in the middle of each square and pinched two opposite corners together.

Bake on an ungreased cookie sheet, or line with parchment paper, at 350 degrees for 10 to 15 minutes, until medium brown.

Here's a step I added:  I turned the angel wings over halfway through the baking time, to make the browning more even and add to the "deep-fried" effect.

Remove to racks and sprinkle with confectioner's sugar.

The verdict:  A sweet and delectable alternative to the deep-fried version.  More like a puff pastry than a doughnut, but with the beautiful shapes and all that sugar on top, who would notice?

Enjoy!  Or, as Slovenians say: Dober Tek!

Update: For the latest twist on baked flancati, see my new"rough puff" version!

Slovenian Dinner Week 23: Caraway Meatballs, A Simple Dinner for a Sad Day

Menu
Caraway Meatballs
Polenta
Coleslaw

The foundation for this dinner was a recipe called "Spaghetti and Meatballs" in Woman's Glory: The Kitchen, the classic cookbook published by the Slovenian Women's Union of America.  When I first saw the recipe, I figured it must be one of their standard American recipes, or perhaps Italian-American.

But then I took a closer look.  Caraway seeds, cheese and bacon? That was not a typical American take on spaghetti.  It might not be traditionally Slovenian, but those were the unmistakable flavors of Central Europe.

So I made a mental note: This dish would be a good choice on a week when I was short of time, or didn't feel up to the challenge of an unfamiliar Slovenian specialty.

Months later, the time arrived.

On Tuesday of Week 23, I didn't want a cooking challenge.  It was a sad time at our house.  My mother-in-law had just died on that June day.   My husband got the call from his stepfather early in the morning.  Even though she was in her eighties and in failing health, it was a painful shock to lose her so suddenly.

The day was filled with phone calls and travel arrangements.  We would be flying to the east coast on Friday.

In the midst of all that turmoil, I felt a surprising relief to have one simple, necessary task to perform. Making dinner.  It might bring a small degree of comfort to both of us.

So I went to Woman's Glory and followed that simple meatball-and-sauce recipe.  My only only real change was to add some matzo meal, when the meat mixture seemed too soft.

I served the meatballs with a stovetop cornmeal polenta, instead of spaghetti.  It seemed more Slovenian that way and also more soothing.

I've given the recipe a new name,  caraway meatballs, since that was the flavor that distinguished it from the standard American version of this dish.

It did turn out to be a good, comforting choice.  And not just because of the food itself.

It seemed right, somehow, to be sustaining my little family with the help an old-fashioned cookbook called Woman's Glory.   Looking back, I consider it a small gift from all those mothers and grandmothers of the past, now gone.

Dinner became a moment to stop and remember all the women in our families, especially the ones we have lost.  A time to give thanks to all those women of blessed memory.

                                                                  


Meatballs:

1 lb. ground meat (original recipe suggests a beef/pork mix)
1/4 c. grated sharp cheese
1 t. caraway seed
1 T. celery, minced (my substitute for green pepper)
1 T. fresh parsley
2 t. salt
pepper, black and cayenne
1 egg
4 T. matzo meal, as needed (my addition)

Sauce:

1/2 c. chopped onion
3 strips of bacon, diced (turkey bacon can be substituted)
24 oz. jar strained tomatoes
salt, pepper to taste
parsley to taste
1/4 t. sugar

Directions:  Mix all the ingredients for meatballs, adding matzo meal (or bread crumbs) to bind, if necessary.   Form into balls and set aside.  For sauce, brown bacon and onions, then add meatballs.  Add tomatoes and seasonings.  Simmer an hour, or longer if you like, adding water as needed.

Serve over polenta, as I did, or over spaghetti.  Sprinkle with grated parmesan cheese, if desired.

Slovenian Dinner Week 13 : Cevapcici Encore, Fit for Company

Menu
Cevapcici Encore (a spicy beef-lamb version)
Pita Bread
Ajvar
Cucumber, Zucchini and Yogurt Salad
Coleslaw

It was a busy Tuesday in early April.  I was finishing up the final edits on my Slovenian cooking article for Kosovo 2.0.   And this week I had a special cooking challenge. A few days earlier, we'd learned about a couple of out-of-town visitors, who were due to arrive sometime tonight.

In other words: Dinner guests, on my Slovenian cooking day.  For the first time.

So far, my ethnic cooking had been a private experiment.  I didn't want to miss a week, but  I wasn't sure I was ready to share it with outsiders.

I thought back to a little pep talk I'd read in my vintage copy of Woman's Glory: The Kitchen, at the beginning of the "potica" chapter.

"If  your potica is made correctly in every respect," the authors wrote, "you should not hesitate to offer it to your American friends."  In their own experience, they added, potica had "always been well received."

Last year, when I first read those words, I laughed.  I felt sorry for those insecure cookbook authors, afraid that their ethnic heritage might be dismissed by "real" Americans.  How sad that the leaders of the Slovenian Women's Union even sounded anxious about Slovenia's most delectable dish.

But now I wasn't laughing.

Three months into my cooking project, something had changed.  Now I felt an unexpected kinship to those 1950s homemakers.  Just like them, I felt protective (and a little insecure) when I thought about sharing our Slovenian food with outsiders.

I had developed a feeling of pride and ownership for this culture that I barely knew before.

What to make? The recipe had to be reliable, tasty, a bit unusual, but not too odd.  I wanted to make something that would please our guests, an old friend and his teenage daughter, who were considering a college admission offer she had just received from UC-Berkeley.

Yesterday, I  had figured it out: Cevapcici.  It had been a real success, when I made it the first time, a month ago.

My husband was surprised.  "Are you allowed to repeat the same dish?"

At first, I thought he was teasing me.  But he was serious.

I assured him that it would be all right.  I would just change the ingredients a little.  I had already planned on experimenting with the meat mixture and the seasonings.  And a Facebook friend from Slovenia, when he viewed the photo I had posted, suggested that the shape needed to be a little longer and skinnier.

So that's what I did.    I mixed lamb with beef instead of pork, this time around.  And I increased the spices.

For more background about cevapcici and my first version of the dish, go to my earlier post, here.


Here is the new "fit for company" encore version:

1 lb. ground beef
1 lb ground lamb
3 cloves garlic
1 T. parsley, chopped
2 T. paprika
2 t. salt
1 t. black pepper
1 t. baking soda, dissolved in 1/4 c. hot water

Mix all the ingredients together.  Let rest in refrigerator for 2-3 hours.  Shape into skinny fingers, like a digit.   Let sit in refrigerator, if you have time.

Once again, my husband did a beautiful job with the his Le Creuset stovetop griddle:

We served the cevapcici with the store-bought pita, ajvar, coleslaw, and a nice salad of cucumber, zucchini, sour cream, and yogurt.

This verdict? Delicious!  I liked the increased spices.  The cevapcici did seem a little drier this time, maybe because I used lean ground beef instead of pork.  Or perhaps they cooked faster, because of the thinner shape.   Overall, my second attempt at cevapcici seemed closer to the dish's Serbian-Bosnian origins.

Our guests didn't arrive until late at night.  They were very happy to have such tasty and exotic leftovers!