New Potica Horizons, A Retrospective for 2014

Christmas Walnut Potica, December 2014

As another year of Slovenian cooking comes to a close, I have been thinking about potica. 

As usual, I will be making our traditional family recipe for the holidays. My expanded, step-by-step guide seems to be getting a particularly large number of visits this year. It remains the cornerstone of my own approach to this challenging Slovenian delicacy. 

But my potica horizons have been expanding this year, for a few reasons:  My growing collection of cookbooks, both American and Slovenian. My trip to Slovenia in the summer. And the spirited food-related discussions on a wonderful Facebook Slovenian genealogy group I joined last year.

I have finally realized something important: My beloved family potica style is not an approach that everyone favors. It is certainly not the the standard in Slovenia, where potica is often closer to bread than pastry. Paper-thin spirals of dough, sometimes pulled like strudel rather than rolled, seem to be a peculiarly American evolution, fueled by a certain competitive baking spirit among the women. My family's version of potica also appears to be favored in the ethnic communities of Northern Minnesota's Iron Range, where my own great-grandparents first settled, and where my grandmother was born.  

(An aside: In the early days of this blog, I used to write mostly about genealogy. See the "Family History" heading at the top of the page, if you would like to read some non-food posts:-) And if you are on Facebook, do consider joining our Slovenian Genealogy group!)

I have included some photos below, where you can follow my evolving potica style. I have been striving to have thinner, more even layers, in order to come closer to the standard set by my mother and my grandma. But the photos from the Slovenian Hall in San Francisco and the Ljubljana Farmer's Market show a potica with thicker layers and fewer spirals.

The moral: There is no gold standard. Most of us favor the potica we grew up with. That is probably as it should be.

I have also been reminded of a few important baking tips, regardless of the style of potica you hope to make. Most important:  The yeast dough (at least in most recipes) is rich, soft, and sticky. Don't knead in too much flour!  And if you make a nut filling (which remains most popular, in Slovenia and America) the nuts need to be finely ground. A food processor is a poor substitute, I have learned, for the old-fashioned hand grinder I bought last year.

I have learned a few new tricks, thanks mostly to the discussions in that Facebook genealogy group. To clean out the nut grinder, you can follow up with a few graham crackers, which can then be added to the filling. (As you'll see from the photo below, I used leftover Halloween Bunny Grahams!) Another idea I tried this year: after rolling up the potica, I cut off the doughy ends and shaped them into individual rolls. Finally, if you want to imitate the more elaborate pattern of some of the commercial bakeries (as in the photo below) simply coil a thin potica roll once or twice around itself in the baking pan. 

Commercially prepared American potica 

I continue my cautious experiments with filling. The foundation is still my family's uncooked honey-nut filling. I most often stick with tradition and use walnuts, although I sometimes substitute pecans or almonds. I have often wondered why most nut fillings are pre-cooked and recently read a possible explanation from one of my online genealogy friends: Some cooks believe that the slightly bitter taste of walnuts (which evidently bothers some folks) can be reduced pre-cooking, or at least an initial soak in hot milk.

My family has never used raisins, but they seem to enjoy the sprinkle of dried cranberries I started to add a couple of years ago.  Everyone but my mother likes my experiments with poppy seed and chocolate fillings. In the coming year, I will continue to explore some of the more intriguing variations I have been learning about. I might even try a peanut butter crumb filling, a uniquely American twist that some people swear by.

I have also learned that potica can survive an oven malfunction and a charred bottom crust. Just slice it off before serving! (I don't recommend this, however. Watch your oven and don't overcrowd it!)

From my kitchen to yours: Happy Holidays! Vesel Božič!

Christmas Potica ca. 2010 (walnut filling)

Christmas Potica 2011 (walnut filling with cranberries)

Christmas Poticas 2012 (chocolate, tahini-honey, and poppy seed fillings)

Christmas Potica 2013 (walnut filling)

Christmas Potica 2014 (poppy seed filling with cranberries)

Christmas Potica 2014 (walnut filling)

Potica Varieties,  Ljubljana Farmers' Market, Summer 2014

Vegan Walnut Potica, Ljubljana, Summer 2014

Potica served at Slovenian Hall in San Francisco, 2014

Christmas Potica 2014 (poppy seed filling)

Christmas Potica (with extra "buns") and  Scottish Shortbread, 2014

Making walnut filling for Christmas Potica 2014, with a few graham crackers added

Christmas Potica, 2014

Oh-oh! Burned Bottom, Christmas Potica, 2014

Domači Prijatelj ("Domestic Friend"), the Slovenian Answer to Biscotti and Mandelbrot

"The eggs are divorced." "Cut the tonsils." "Murder the eggs." "Sexual cakes are rising." "Domestic friends are done."

Does this sound like mayhem in the kitchen? A surrealistic cartoon?  These are choice excerpts from the Google translation of recipes for domači prijatelj, the Slovenian version of biscotti or mandelbrot.  It is my latest addition to the Slovenian holiday kitchen.

Long before the American biscotti craze, I was introduced to mandelbrot, the Jewish version of the popular sweet. By any name, these are among my favorite cookies: crunchy, not-too-sweet, and open to many creative variations.

So I was excited to discover that Slovenians have their own take on the firm, sliced cookie.  Domači prijatelj is usually translated as "domestic friend" or sometimes as "house friend." To a Slovenian, this has a slightly risqué connotation.  My Slovenian professor friend suggests that "paramour" might be a good English equivalent.

Domači prijatelj do not show up in my 1950s Slovenian American cookbooks. But they seem to be quite popular in Slovenia today, judging by the many recipes available online. A search on the Slovenian cooking website Kulinarika turned up seventeen different recipes. (To see the full list, go here.)

At first, I thought domači prijatelj might be a recent import from Italy, but the sturdy sweet has has been around since at least the late 1800s. Several online sources make reference to a handwritten copy of a recipe from an 1877 Slovenian cookbook. Some Slovenian food bloggers follow another simple old formula, translated as:

For each egg:

70 g sugar 

50 g hazelnuts

90 g flour

lemon zest

These proportions are much like traditional Italian biscotti, heavy on the eggs but with no added fat.  Mandelbrot recipes, which usually include butter or oil, result in a  richer and more tender cookie. 

One major difference with domači prijatelj: they don't tend to receive a second baking in the oven. Most recipes direct the cook to slice the baked loaf and then let the individual pieces air-dry naturally, perhaps in a cool place. Biscotti, of course,  are always given a second baking (the name translates as "twice-cooked"). This is usually the case with mandelbrot, as well.  I did find a couple of  domači prijatelj recipes that specified a second baking, so I felt on solid ground when I opted to add that second step.

One thing biscotti, mandelbrot, and "domestic friends" have in common:  These once-simple sliced cookies have morphed into something far more complex, as contemporary cooks give free rein to their imaginations.  The Kulinarika site includes a few very simple nut-and-raisin combinations, using hazelnuts, walnuts, or almonds. But most recipes go beyond that. The dried fruits include apricots, coconut, prunes, and papaya.  Chocolate is a  popular addition. Flavorings included lemon and orange rind, rum, vanilla, and cinnamon.  The most unexpected twist: yogurt-covered raisins.

The recipe I chose as a guide from Kulinarika is particularly egg-rich and uses no other leavening agents, which is an advantage for those of us who are watching our sodium intake. Here is the Google translation of the recipe I took as a model.  The original metric measures are preserved in the translation.

6 eggs

300 g sugar

400 g flour

100 g papaya

100 g apricots

100 g walnuts or hazelnuts

100 g raisins


I cut this recipe in half and have made two different versions so far.  I wanted to experiment with different add-ins and baking methods.

In Version #1, I used chopped chocolate, almonds, dried cranberries, and dried apricots. To compensate for the absence of baking powder or soda I followed the example of another recipe and  beat the egg whites separately.  I followed the original recipe suggestion to bake the dough in a flat pan instead of individual rolls, before cutting into slices.   With part of the batch, I skipped the second baking, just as that recipe (and most of the others) directed.  The rest of the batch was twice-baked.

In Version #2, I omitted the dried fruit and increased the chocolate and nuts. This time, I did use a low-sodium leavening agent, plus some additional flavorings.  I shaped the dough in long rolls before slicing and twice-baked the entire batch.

For the recipes and the results, read on!

Domači Prijatelj (Domestic Friend), Version #1

3 eggs
3/4 c. sugar
1-2/3 c. flour (more if needed)
1/2 c. chopped chocolate (mixed bittersweet and milk)
1/2 c. sliced almonds
1/4 c. dried cranberries
1/4 c. dried apricots, diced
a little brandy for soaking the fruit (optional)
1 t. vanilla extract
lemon rind, grated



Domači Prijatelj (Domestic Friend), Version #2

3 eggs
3/4 c. sugar
1-2/3 c. flour (more if needed)
1 t. low sodium baking soda and 1 t. cream of tartar (or use 1 t. regular baking powder)
3/4 c. sliced almonds
3/4 c. chopped chocolate (mixed bittersweet and milk)
1 t. vanilla extract
1 t. almond extract
1 t. cinnamon


The simplest directions for both versions:  Measure the flour and combine with any leavening agents you may be using.  Set aside.  If you are using dried fruit, place it in a small bowl and add a little brandy to moisten. In a large bowl, beat the eggs, sugar, and any flavorings or extracts you are using until the mixture is thick and lemon-colored.  Stir in nuts, chocolate, dried fruit, and any other add-ins you wish.  Stir in the flour until you have a stiff but sticky dough.

There are a couple of variations you can try in mixing the dough.  You can separate the eggs, so that the yolks are beaten with the sugar and then the beaten whites are folded in.  You can add the flour before or after the nuts, fruits, and chocolate.

If you wish, you can chill the dough to make it easier to handle. (Note that low-sodium baking soda or low sodium baking powder lose their leavening power if not used immediately.)

The dough can be baked in a rectangular pan and then sliced and cut.  I prefer to form it into 2 long loaves, by spooning the dough onto a parchment-lined cookie sheet and then easing into shape with floured hands.

Bake at 350 degrees for 30-35 minutes until brown and firm.  Remove from oven and let cool for 10 mintutes.  Cut into 1/2 inch slices.  If you have baked the dough in a pan, you will want to halve the slices.  Now you have one more optional step to consider.

Most of these Slovenian recipes simply let the slices dry out naturally.  Air-dry in a cool place, some say.  But if you like a harder version, you can take the minority view and give the slices another turn in the oven.  Stand the slices up on the cookie sheet and bake them for about 20 more minutes, until brown and firm.  Let cool on a rack.

Enjoy!  Dober Tek!

The result:

Both batches turned out well.  The result is a plain, hard cookie that is closer to biscotti than the richer mandelbrot.

In the photo, the two slices on the right are from Version #1, where I separated the eggs. The two on the left are from Version #2, where I used low-sodium baking soda and cream of tarter. The textures are the same: slightly risen but dense.  It is possible that "regular" baking powder or soda would have resulted in a lighter product, but these were just fine. 

As for the merits of twice-baking: I tried it both ways, and prefer to give the slices a second stint in the oven.   It's a matter of individual taste, but in my house we like our "domestic friends" crunchy and hard :-)

Update: A month later, I gave it one more try and came up with the best version yet. For the lightest texture, do use baking soda or powder, and save the add-ins for last.  To see the full recipe, go here.

Christmas Day Dinner: A Preview

Christmas Poticas: Chocolate, Honey Nut, and Poppy Seed

Menu
Klobase with Red Pepper and Onion
Pecan-Crusted Salmon
Zeljanica (Spinach Cheese Pie)
Green Salad
Potica Three Ways
Shortbread Three Ways
. . . And Many Other Goodies!


It was a festive Christmas dinner, with family and a few friends gathered around the table.

My family's mixed heritage was well-represented. This year I think the Slovenian side may have won out!

I will be posting recipes early in the coming year.  Meanwhile, here is a photo preview:

Klobase with Red Pepper and Onion

Pecan-Crusted Salmon

Zeljanica (Spinach Cheese Pie)

Shortbread Three Ways: Plain, Ginger, & Caraway-Buckwheat

Potica Three Ways: Honey Nut, Chocolate, and Poppy Seed

Potica Pudding Muffins: A Festive Solution to Leftovers

How could someone end up with leftover potica?

Good question.

Potica, the famed Slovenian nut roll, is a delicacy.  In America, it is holiday food. So it goes fast.  It also keeps well, especially when it is enriched with sour cream and honey, like my family’s version. And you can always toast it, or give it a shot in the microwave, to revive it.

But sometimes the ends of a loaf really are dry. And sometimes, believe it or not, you can have a little too much potica on hand, when Christmas comes around.

Like when a helpful family member orders the commercial variety. It's good, but not like homemade.  So you freeze it.  But you don’t wrap it as well as you should.  So there you are, a year later, ready to make a new batch for Christmas.  And you discover half a loaf of potica, languishing in the freezer, suffering from freezer burn.  Your husband wants to throw it out.  Oh no.  A sacrilege.

That’s what happened at our house.

But I found the perfect solution to that leftover potica.  Bread pudding.

Why not? We were going to a holiday party-potluck and I needed to bring a dessert.

I love bread pudding. Some people consider it a homely dish and not suitable for entertaining. But I had discovered a number of recipes for individual bread puddings, sometimes called bread pudding muffins, that were festive enough for a party. Several of them were based on rich holiday breads, like coffee cake and Italian pannetone.

Potica would be a perfect subsitute, I thought.

After some adapting and combining, I created a new dish: potica pudding muffins.  Read on!

Potica Pudding Muffins

5-1/2 cups leftover potica, cut into small cubes
12 ounce can evaporated milk
1/3 cup brown sugar
2 T. rum
1-1/2 t. vanilla
1 t. cinnamon
2-3 T. dried cranberries
3 eggs, beaten

Slice potica and cut into small cubes.  Place in a large bowl. Combine the remaining ingredients, except for eggs. Beat well to combine, then add to potica and stir well.   Let sit for an hour.  Taste and adjust sugar and seasonings.  Add beaten eggs and stir.  Let mixture sit in refrigerator for several hours before baking, if desired.

When ready to bake, arrange 12-14 cupcake liners in muffin tins or on a cookie sheet.  (I did it both ways.) Stir batter well before filling.

Bake at 350 degrees for about 25 minutes, until just firm. Let cool and sprinkle with confectioner’s sugar.  Makes 12-14 individual servings.

The verdict?  Delicious!  Our visiting sons liked it, so I felt on solid ground when I took some to the party.

This recipe would work well with cinnamon bread or a fruit-filled holiday bread like pannetone.  It could be used with any leftover bread, for that matter.  With a plainer bread, you might want to increase the sugar and spices and use cream instead of milk. There are endless possibilities for making this dish more or less rich, for creating different flavors, and for adding nuts or dried fruits, or even chocolate. With a dish as rich as nut-filled potica, though, there is not much to add.

I just might make this for our New Year's Day party!

Apple Cranberry Strudel: My First Time

Strudel is one of a handful of classic Slovenian desserts.   Slovenians certainly can’t claim it as unique. If anything, the dish is more closely associated with two neighboring countries, Austria and Hungary.  Many food writers suggest the ultimate origins are in Turkey, where there is a long tradition of pastries made with paper-thin dough.

It is also one of the few ethnic dishes with a family connection. I used to watch my Slovenian American grandmother roll and stretch the dough for apple strudel on the wooden kitchen table in her bungalow in Cleveland. My own mother used to make strudel, she reminds me.  But I had never made it myself.

Growing up, I was never a fan.  As a child, I always preferred cakes to pies and pastries, especially if they contained fruit.  It’s a texture thing, I always explain, when I get funny looks about my still-lingering fruit aversion.

I began to appreciate strudel on our trip to Eastern Europe six years ago.  My husband and I sampled it all along the way: in Vienna, throughout the former Yugoslavia, and finally in Budapest.  It was as common as apple pie in America.  And it was all good.

Then, last Christmas, I made contact with a first cousin I hadn’t seen—or spoken to—in forty years. She turned out to have a part time job in her best friend’s family bakery in Cleveland, where the specialty is Hungarian strudel.  We reminisced about our grandmother’s baking.  My strudel-making cousin confessed that she had never made potica, the famed Slovenian nut roll that is a holiday tradition in my family.  I was touched when she sent me some strudel as a Christmas gift.  I sent her a potica in return.  

Once I embarked on my year of Slovenian cooking, it seemed clear: strudel was in my future.  Every time I made a savoury dish with store-bought phyllo, like burek or meat pita, I felt a twinge of guilt.   The homemade dough was a challenge that any self-respecting Slovenian cook should take on, at least once.

I just needed to find the right moment.  Like a big  potluck or party, where I could contribute one of the desserts. That way, if it didn’t work out, it wouldn’t have much impact.  And if it did, I would be sharing an elaborate dessert with a big enough audience to make it worthwhile.

The opportunity came in early September, at the neighborhood Labor Day picnic and potluck. Once again, we were hosting the event.  What better time to make a labor-intensive dessert?

My vintage cookbooks all had multiple recipes for strudel.  They offered minimal details, with the unspoken assumption that the reader already had a pretty good idea of how to make strudel.  I found more help in several of my Jewish cookbooks.  The best was In My Mother’s Kitchen, a memoir by noted food writer Mimi Sheraton.  She made the tricky part—the stretching, rolling and shaping—much clearer.

In the end, I struck closely to the apple strudel recipe in my first Slovenian cookbook, Woman’s Glory: The Kitchen.  My one creative touch was to add a sprinkle of cranberries, instead of the option of a handful of raisins or nuts they suggested.

The recipe seemed straightforward.  Or at least the ingredients themselves did.  The filling was simple and elemental, with each component layered separately, an approach that parallels my family potica recipe.  No cooking, or even much mixing, beforehand.  It sounded almost too simple.

The challenge, I assumed, would be in stretching the dough.  I hadn’t quite realized until I did some research that the kneading itself requires a special touch.

The key to kneading is this: strudel dough needs to be worked hard, in order to develop the gluten.  Otherwise, the dough won’t be strong and stretchy enough.  It’s the complete opposite of the usual advice for pastries.  Long kneading is essential.  At least 15 minutes, although Mimi Sheraton suggests a half hour.  She also uses bread flour, because of the higher gluten content.

Then there is a tradition I had never heard of before: Slamming the dough into the counter, sometimes from a height of a few feet. A number of sources allude to this.  Mimi Sheration is quite specific: Slam it 110 times.  Or, as Woman's Glory suggests: Don't be afraid to treat it rough.

I was surprised at the relative ease of stretching the dough.  Yes, there were a few small tears.  But I tried not to worry about them—or about the uneven shape of the finished product. I would be cutting off the edges anyway.

I checked the final dimensions of the rectangle against a detailed blog I found online, which started with a similar quantity of dough.  Oh-oh.  My final rectangle of dough was almost a third smaller (and therefore thicker) than the online version.

But for a first timer, I had done pretty well, I thought.  My strudel looked quite presentable. The proof would be in the eating, of course.

For the outcome, as well as the recipe and step-by-step photos, read on!

Apple Cranberry Strudel

Dough

1-1/2 c. bread flour
1/4 t. salt
1 T. oil
5-8 T. warm water

Sift flour and salt.  Make a well in the center and add oil and 5-6 T. water to start.  Mix with a fork and then with hands to make a soft, sticky dough, adding more water of necessary.   Knead on floured board for 15 to 30 minutes.  You might want to consider slamming it onto the kitchen table a few dozen times, in between bouts of kneading.  Or wait until the end, and do it all at once.  At the end of all that kneading and slamming, you should have a nice firm piece of dough.  Form it into a ball, coat with oil, cover and let sit for 30 minutes while you prepare the filling.

Filling

1/2 c. sugar
1 t. cinnamon
8 tart apples (I used Granny Smith)
1 T. lemon juice
5 T. bread crumbs
4 T. butter
1/3 c. dried cranberries (optional)

Peel and slice apples thinly. Mix with lemon juice.  Set aside.
Mix sugar and cinnamon in a small bowl.
Brown bread crumbs in butter in a small skillet.

For assembly:  5 additional T. melted butter, divided

Stretching the dough:

Cover table with a floured tablecloth or sheet.  Roll dough into a 9 x 9 inch rectangle, rolling from the center outward.  Spread with 1 T. melted butter.  Then begin to stretch the dough, using the backs of your hands, walking round and round the table.  If there are small tears or uneven edges, don’t worry too much.  Just do your best to stretch dough as thinly as possible, pulling from the center out to the edges.  Ideally, you should be able to read a newspaper through it.  (I never managed that!)  Aim for a 24 x 36 inch rectangle.  (Mine was more like 18 x 24.) Cut off thick or uneven edges.

To Assemble:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

You will be rolling up the strudel from the short end of the rectangle.
Cover half the dough with the filling ingredients, in the following order.  Leave a  2 inch border on the edges.
—Apples
—Browned bread crumbs
—Sugar-cinnamon mixture
—Cranberries

Fold the dough border at the short end over the bottom edge of the filling.  Carefully roll up the dough, using the floured cloth to nudge it along.  When the dough is rolled half way, so the the filling has been completely encased, spread remaining half of uncovered dough with 4 T. melted butter. Fold in the side edges, then roll up the remainder.
Place the strudel roll, seam side down, into a large rectangular pan that has been lined with parchment paper.  Curve into a horseshoe shape.  Bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour.  Brush with butter and let cool.

Sprinkle with powdered sugar before serving, if desired.


The verdict:  This turned me into a strudel lover!  It was delicious.  Far beyond what I expected. The apple filling was perfect. Not too sweet and full of flavor. The tangy red cranberries provided a lovely  counterpoint to the apples.  The crust, while not quite like store-bought phyllo, was still thin and crisp.

I can't wait to try this again.

Dough

Filling Ingredients

Rolled Out

Stretching the Dough; Ghost Hand

Dough, Stretched

Filling, Ready to Roll

Before Baking

After Baking

Ready to Eat

Caraway-Buckwheat Shortbread: Slovenian Scottish Fusion

In my family, we have two treasured Christmas baking traditions: Slovenian potica and Scottish shortbread.

These were both straight out of the "grandma-who-doesn't use-a-recipe" tradition.  But that is where the parallel ended.  My Slovenian American grandma was a wonderful cook and baker.  My Scottish-born grandma, my father's mother, was not.

As a result, my family shortbread tradition is both traditional and idiosyncratic.  The ingredients are classic : sugar, butter, and flour, with a touch of salt.  But the method is not.

My grandmother believed in long kneading.   My father staunchly upheld this tradition. The idea was to work in as much flour as possible.  The goal was not tenderness.  He wanted to produce a hard, dry cube of shortbread.   He dismissed anything tender or crumbly as Lorna Doones.   In other words, ersatz shortbread cookies for Americans.

Our family shortbread is mildly sweet, with a rich, buttery taste.  But it also includes a fair amount of flour.  I have been surprised to discover that so many American recipes are extremely buttery.

I have now discovered why.

I have just learned a fascinating bit of shortbread lore. The classic Scottish shortbread recipe has a 1:2:3 or 1:2:4 ratio of sugar, butter, and flour.  A touch of salt is optional.

But here is the catch. The ratio refers to British-style measures, which are all by weight, and not by volume.

So traditional Scottish shortbread does NOT mean a cup of butter to a cup-and-a-half or even two cups of flour.   Scots are frugal people, for heaven's sake!   This, on the other hand, would be a traditional recipe:

2 ounces (1/4 cup) sugar

4 ounces (1/2 cup) butter

8 ounces (2 cups) flour

Last year,  I wrote a long essay about my family's shortbread traditions.  The recipe is here, if you would care to take a look.  It turns out to be very close to the 1:2:3 or 1:2:4 proportion. 

Our family tradition is very strict when it comes to shortbread.  We stick with the basics. So my husband was shocked when I told him about my plans to attempt a Scottish-Slovenian fusion.

Here is how it happened: We were invited to a dinner party.  It was early December, and I hadn't yet done any holiday baking.  Normally, I would have made a batch of shortbread by now, since it stores so well.  So this seemed like the perfect opportunity.  Some shortbread for the party and some to keep for later.

But I also wanted to make a dish that would incorporate some Slovenian traditions, or at least Slovenian flavors.  I couldn't figure out a way to use paprika in shortbread.  But I immediately thought about caraway seeds and buckwheat flour, two staples in my ethnic kitchen.

Caraway seed, I knew, is used in some traditional Scottish shortbread recipes. I had never heard of buckwheat flour. But small quantities of oat, corn, or rice flour are often added, to provide crispness.

I did an Internet search and found a number of recipes for buckwheat shortbread.  Probably not traditionally Scottish, but it sounded like an option that might work.

I used the recipe in the link above as a foundation and came up with the recipe that follows.

before baking

after baking

Caraway Buckwheat Shortbread

1/2 c. baker’s sugar (superfine sugar)
1 cup (1/2 lb.) butter      
1/2 cup buckwheat flour (can substitute other flours: oat, rice, corn, or wheat)
3 cups unbleached white flour
1/4 t. salt (optional, and not needed if butter is salted)            
1/2 t. caraway seeds, plus more to sprinkle on top


Sift flours, caraway seeds and salt, if using. Set aside.

Cream butter by hand on a board or covered surface. Add sugar and knead till smooth and no grains remain.  Knead in flour mixture, slowly.  Knead for at least 15 minutes, adding more flour until no more can be absorbed and the dough is smooth.   (I had about 1/2 cup flour remaining.)

Pat into an ungreased pan, to a thickness of about 1/2 inch.  (I used a 10 inch round fluted Le Creuset pan.)

Sprinkle with 1/2 t. more caraway seeds.  Prick the dough with a  fork.  Dough can be chilled before baking.

I used a slightly different baking method this time. A number of recipes suggest longer cooking at a lower temperature, after an initial start at a higher temperature.  This worked out well. 

Bake at 350 degrees for 15 minutes, then lower to 250 degrees.  Bake for 1 hour in all.   The dough should brown only minimally.  If shortbread seems too soft, lower heat and put back into oven.

An important note about the color: Some brands of buckwheat flour, including the one I used, are very dark when uncooked.  So don't be surprised if the shortbread becomes lighter with baking.  (See the before and after pictures above.)

Cut into squares before cooling.

If you like a hard shortbread, as we do, you can bake for even longer, at 200 degrees. Or, to be safe, you can put the shortbread into the 200 degree oven briefly,  then turn off the heat and leave the oven door propped open. The shortbread can be left to dry out in this way for many hours.

shortbread dough, shaped like a heart!

The verdict:  Tasty, with an elusive, earthy flavor.  Nice and crisp. 

The shortbread was well-received at the dinner party.  Of course, someone did ask: So why is it green?

It’s not exactly green.  More like a grey-brown, instead of the pale gold of traditional shortbread. But that's the price of innovation.

I haven't quite decided whether to share this one with the rest of my family at Christmas.  But it is a unusual and flavorful variation.

Cranberry Walnut Potica

Cranberry Walnut Potica, with Scottish Shortbread
(photo by Blair Kilpatrick)

Potica (puh-teet’-za) is Slovenia’s most famous dish. For American families with roots in that small, beautiful Alpine country, the rich yeast pastry is a beloved Christmas tradition. It is also a traditional Easter dish.

In my family, potica served as the bread of memory, because it was the only Slovenian tradition my mother maintained.  So we took it very seriously and didn't allow for much experimentation.  At most, we might substitute pecans for walnuts.  In recent years, we began to grind the nuts in a food processor and melt the butter in the microwave.  But that was the extent of our innovations.  We wanted our potica to taste just like my grandmother's.

Last year, I took a bold step. I added a sprinkle of dried cranberries to the family recipe. It seemed to fit with the Christmas spirit.  Besides, many traditional recipes call for adding raisins.

My family actually liked the cranberry version.  If I try it again this way, I'll use a lighter hand with the honey.

A word about this treasured family recipe:  It came from my mother, who learned to make potica from her mother.  But my grandmother wasn't the source of the written instructions.

My grandmother, like so many traditional ethnic cooks, didn't use recipes herself, and she never offered written directions.  So my mother turned to an old high school friend, who got a recipe from her mother.  Here's an odd twist: her friend's family came from Serbia, another country in the former Yugoslavia.  But my mother insists that this was the method her Slovenian American mother followed.

And we all agree:  It tastes just like our memory of Grandma's potica.

The recipe that follows is copied from the battered notecard my mother wrote out for me, with a few added comments of my own.  Clearly, it is one of those minimalist recipes that is intended for someone who is already familiar with a dish, knows how to prepare it, and just needs guidelines about quantities.

In a future post, I will offer step-by-step instructions, along with photos.  But for now, here is my family's traditional recipe for potica.  Good luck!

About the photo: Are you wondering why that Slovenian potica is sharing space with Scottish shortbread? Take a look at one of my early blog posts, Holiday Baking: A Bittersweet Taste of My Ethnic Roots.


Potica (Slovenian Nut Roll)

Dough

2 ¾ sticks butter, melted and cooled
1 c. sugar
6 egg yolks
1 ½ c. sour cream
2 packages yeast
¾ c. warm milk
1 t. sugar
6 c. flour
1 t. salt

Mix first four ingredients together in a large bowl. In a small bowl, proof yeast in warm milk and sugar. Add yeast to the first mixture and mix well.

Mix flour and salt. Add to the above and mix to make a soft, sticky dough.

Knead dough. Divide in 4 parts. Wrap in waxed paper. Refrigerate overnight.


Filling

Combine:

2 lb. ground walnuts or pecans (6 1/2 c.)
1 c. sugar
2 t. cinnamon
dash of salt

Melted butter, about ½ c
Honey to taste
(Optional: dried cranberries)


Roll and stretch each portion of dough into a rectangle, a little thicker than pie crust. (Important note:  This should be: "a little thinner than pie crust," at least in my family.  The dough should be thinner than pie crust, but thicker than strudel or phyllo.)

Spread each portion with about 2 T. melted butter and ¼ of the nut/sugar mixture. Drizzle with honey. Sprinkle with dried cranberries, if desired. Roll up (from the long end) pinch seam and ends closed. Place seam side down on baking sheet, greased or lined with parchment paper. Let rise 1 ¼ hours.  (Note: Loaves don't rise much.) Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes, if necessary for 10 minutes more at 325 degrees.  Let cool before slicing.  Makes 4 loaves.