Slovenian Dinner Week 25: A Grilled Meatball from The Yugoslav Cookbook of 1985

Menu
Meatballs with Cheese (Uštipci)
Ajvar
Pita
Coleslaw
Crispy Kale

It was the first Tuesday in July, the halfway point in my year of cooking ethnically.  The following day was July 4th, Independence Day in the United States.

I hoped to figure out a dish for tonight's dinner that would also work at the neighborhood Fourth of July cookout.  As usual, each family would bring its own meat to grill, along with another dish for the communal potluck.

Cevapcici would have been an ideal choice, but I wanted to branch out.  So I turned to a new source I had just added to my cooking library:  The Yugoslav Cookbook by Olga Novak-Markovic, issued in 1985 by a publisher in Ljubljana, now the capital of Slovenia.

This once-glossy cookbook wasn't quite as “vintage” as my trio of Slovenian American cookbooks from the 1950s.  But it was an historical document in another way: it was an artifact from the final  years of Yugoslavia's existence.  That multi-ethnic country began to unravel just a few years later.  The first of the constituent republics to break away was Slovenia, during a ten day war for independence in June and July of 1991.

Months earlier, I had borrowed the book from the library of the Slovenian Hall in San Francisco.  A few weeks ago, I had located a copy of the hard-to-find volume for sale through an online bookseller, so I snapped it up.

The English language edition was a joint venture of the original Slovenian publishing house and a British company.  The author was a Slovenian woman.  Although the dishes were chosen to reflect the diversity of food from all the republics of Yugoslavia, the book did appear to have something of a Slovenian focus.

Sometimes the origins of a recipe were noted, and sometimes not. So for me, picking out the Slovenian dishes was a guessing game.  But I had already decided that I would not be a purist in that regard.

Besides, there was a whole section devoted to grilled and barbecued dishes.

I found the recipe for meatballs with cheese, or uštipci, right under čevapčiči. The two dishes looked very similar.  I suspected that they must share the same “oriental influence,” as the cookbook author quaintly put it in the preface, in describing the dishes from Macedonia, Serbia, Bosnia, and Kosovo.

Ustipči seemed to be cevapcici with a few twists: a meatball shape, a little bacon, and kačkavalj, described as “a hard, fatty sheep's cheese.”  I assumed it must be the same as  kashkaval, which I could probably find at our local cheese market.

Assuming I did the metric conversions right, the ingredients below follow the original.

1 lb ground beef
2 cloves garlic, minced
3 oz bacon, diced
½  t. salt
½  t. black pepper
½  t. cayenne pepper
2 oz. kashkaval cheese, grated

Mix all the ingredients well. Shape into walnut-sized balls.  Refrigerate, as I did, or grill immediately.

The verdict:  Mixed.  The sides were just fine.  But the meatballs didn't work.  They didn't hold together the first time my husband grilled them.  The second time, he reshaped them into patties, which did work a little better.  But the flavor and texture continued to be odd.

The ingredients just didn't fit together.

I thought the problem might be the bacon.

I had used a thick, uncured bacon from the butcher shop on the corner, diced into squares that were about 1 cm in size.  Those squares looked pretty prominent when I mixed up the meatballs.  I wondered how the fattier bits would crisp up.  Well, they didn't. They didn't cook well at all, especially the ones on the inside.  It was disconcerting to bite into prominent, firm pieces of bacon fat.

The solution might be to use ordinary thin bacon and mince it.  A less fatty cut would also help.

We froze some of the uncooked meatballs.  A month later, I defrosted them, crumbled them up, and used the meat mixture to make a tomato sauce for polenta.  Once liberated, the bacon pieces cooked much better.  (I did pick out some of the tougher fatty bits and discard them.)  The result was was a pleasant tomato-meat sauce with an interesting tang.

Some ingredients are more harmonious when they aren't bound too closely together.

I think this lesson had to do with more than just cooking.

Slovenian Dinner Week 24: Goulash for a Bittersweet Birthday

Menu
Beef Goulash II with Sauerkraut
Polenta
Green Salad
Brussels Sprouts
Strawberry Shortcake


It was a Monday in late June, on what would have been Week 24 of my Slovenian cooking project. For the second time in three months, we were in Florida, staying at the home of my husband's father and stepmother. But this was a bittersweet time, because our unplanned trip had been triggered by the death of my husband's mother.

My father-in-law's birthday had been the previous day.  There hadn't been a celebration. But today, my husband and I wanted to do something to observe his special day.  We offered to make a belated birthday dinner.

"I could make a Slovenian dinner," I said hesitantly.

I was more than willing to cook.  As I had learned the previous week, during sad times it can be a relief to perform a concrete, useful task--like feeding other people.

But I wasn't sure how my offer would be received.  My father-in-law is a fine cook who didn't start to slow down until he passed eighty.  During our spring visit, he had shared his special recipe for kreplach, a traditional Jewish dumpling with a strong resemblance to Slovenian žlikrofi.

He is a man of strong opinions about food (and most other things).  So it wasn't a surprise when he didn't immediately embrace the idea of a Slovenian dinner.

He asked what I had in mind.

Goulash, I suggested.  Slovenian-style, made with sauerkraut.

My father-in-law seemed puzzled but intrigued.  He had never tasted anything like that, he admitted.

My husband thought it was a fine idea.  His stepmother agreed.   She took us shopping.

When we got back, my husband and I took over the kitchen.

I followed the same goulash recipe I had used for my Week 4 Dinner, with a few small changes. I used skirt steak, a better cut of meat,  because it was already on hand.  This time, I used green pepper, as the original recipe suggested, instead of red pepper.  To enrich the flavor, we added some white wine toward the end of the cooking period.

We served the goulash on soft polenta, along with a green salad and some nicely cooked brussels sprouts, courtesy of my husband.

Instead of birthday cake, I put together strawberry shortcake with freshly whipped cream.

The goulash worked out well.  If anything, the changes made it even better, this time around.

My father-in-law liked it, too.  And he's not one to mince words, in or out of the kitchen.

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 22: Mineštra, Not Just for Italians!

Menu
Mineštra (Slovenian Minestrone)
Coleslaw
French bread

I hadn't paid much attention to  the recipe for mineštra in Treasured Slovenian and International Recipes, my never-fail vintage cookbook from the  Progressive Slovene Women of America.

The recipe seemed too familiar.  Too Italian, maybe.

When  I woke up Tuesday morning, I didn't feel like getting out of bed, much less cooking. I could feel a cold coming on.   And Sauce Piquante, my Cajun band, was supposed to practice at our house that night.

Suddenly that Slovenian minestrone seemed like a perfect choice.   Easy comfort food.  And I had almost everything on hand.  So why not?

I made a few changes in the recipe from that 1950s cookbook.   As usual,  I used olive oil instead of lard or drippings. I was a little more generous with the vegetables.  As a short cut, I used canned beans instead of cooking them from scratch.  At least they were those genuine, hard-to-find Roman beans.  Instead of canned peas, I used frozen.

The recipe called for smoked sausages or chopped ham.  I used smoked chicken apple sausages from the butcher shop around the corner.


1 medium onion, chopped
1 large clove garlic, minced
2 T. olive oil
½ head cabbage (part green, part red) sliced
2 smoked chicken apple sausages, sliced
1 can Roman beans (borlotti beans)
1 c. baby carrots
1 medium potato
¼ c. fresh parsley
cherry tomatoes, equal to 2 regular
2 stalks celery
2 quarts water
1 c. frozen peas
¼ c. rice
salt and pepper to taste


Brown onion and garlic in oil.  Add cabbage and sausage and let brown.  Add remaining ingredients except for peas and rice.  Cover and simmer.  Adjust seasonings.  When vegetables are almost tender, add rice, cover,  and simmer for 15 minutes more.  Add peas and simmer for 5 more minutes.

It was comforting to see that nice pot of soup bubbling away on the stove!

When it was time to eat, we sprinkled the soup with freshly grated parmesan cheese and had some coleslaw and bread alongside.

The verdict?  Delicious and comforting.  I even felt revived enough to play the Cajun accordion!

The one change I would make next time:  A spicier sausage.   The chicken-apple was a healthy choice, but a little mild for our taste.  Next time, I'll use Italian or Polish sausage. Unless, of course, I have some authentic Slovenian klobase handy!

Slovenian Dinner Week 21: Rižota with Mlinci and Coleslaw

Menu
Rižota (Risotto)
Mlinci (Baked Noodles)
Coleslaw

It was early June, almost half way into my year of Slovenian cooking.  I had started to worry that I might be running out of new recipes to try, at least if I confined myself to my three vintage cookbooks.

At first, I overlooked the recipes for Slovenian-style risotto, or rižota.  Each one of the cookbooks had a version.  Sometimes the meat mixture varied, but otherwise they were all fairly similar.  Not too exciting, I thought.  They seemed like simplified, less rich versions of the classic Italian dish.  None of that slow stirring so that the rice gradually absorbed the liquid.

But I decided to give rižota a try.  I stuck pretty closely to the version offered by the Progressive Slovene Women of America.  I substituted beef for veal and used a little less pork.  I upped the tomatoes slightly and, as usual, substituted olive oil for fat or lard. Naturally, I used frozen peas instead of canned.  (Maybe I'll try fresh next time.)  When it came to the rice, I used the long grain variety we had on hand.  Short grain, like arborio, is usually recommended for risotto.


1 lb. beef stew meat
1/2 lb. pork stew meat
2 large onions, diced (1 red, 1 white)
olive oil, about 2 T.
1 c. canned diced tomatoes and juice
8 oz fresh mushrooms, white and crimini, sliced
salt and pepper to taste
water as needed
3/4 c. raw rice
1 c. green peas, frozen
parmesan cheese, grated, if desired

In large skillet, brown onions in oil. Add meats, brown about 20 minutes.  Add seasonings and tomatoes, simmer 20 minutes, adding water as needed.  Add sliced mushrooms and simmer until meat is  tender, 20-40 minutes, stirring.  When meat is tender, sprinkle with rice and add 1 c. water.  Cover and from this point on do not stir.  Check periodically, adding water as needed, and shaking pan to prevent sticking.  Top with frozen peas for the last 10 minutes of cooking.  Rice will take 15-20 minutes in all to cook.  Sprinkle with parmesan cheese, if desired.

We topped the rižota with freshly grated parmesan cheese and served it with coleslaw and some crunchy mlinci saved from last week's dinner.

The verdict:  A winner.  This dish was rich and flavorful.  Nothing I would have guessed from reading the simple, mildly seasoned recipe.  My inclusion of brown crimini mushrooms probably offered a flavor boost.

Overall, this was one more reminder that there is more than meets the eye, where Slovenian cooking is concerned.

Roast Duck: A Fine Partner for Mlinci

Roast duck was the entree for my Week 20 dinner.   But to my mind, it was mostly a vehicle for the mlinci, those intriguing baked noodles that turned out so much better than I imagined.

I decided on duck rather than chicken because it seemed more exotic.  I had never actually roasted a duck before.  In case you are in the same boat, here is how I did it.

There is nothing especially Slovenian about this way of roasting a duck.  I consulted a few standard American cookbooks to come up with this.  The main issue, as I understand it, is getting rid of some of the fat without letting the meat dry out.



A 5 lb duckling, fresh and organic
salt and pepper
other seasoning of choice

To prepare: Remove giblets.  Rinse, dry, and cut off excess fat.  Cut slits in the skin, at regular intervals, all over the duck.  Use a small sharp knife blade held just under the surface of the skin, and parallel to it. Coat the duck inside and out with a mixture of salt, pepper, and any other seasoning you desire.  (I used a Mediterranean seasoning mix prepared by our local spice shop.)

Put the duck, breast side down, on a rack in a rectangular roasting pan. Pour 1 inch of hot water in the bottom of the pan.  Bake at 400 degrees for 30 minutes. Lower the heat to 350 degrees, turn over, and bake for another 30 minutes or until done.   During baking, watch the water level and add more liquid if needed by pouring over the top of the duck.  If skin gets too brown, cover with foil.  Internal temperature should reach 175 degrees.

Remove to a cutting board and let cool before carving.

Save the drippings to coat your lovely homemade mlinci.

The verdict:  This turned out pretty well.  My husband pointed out that the breast and legs require different baking times, so roasting a whole bird isn't the most practical approach.

But my feeling is that a whole roast duck is much more festive.  And it's a better partner to the mlinci.

Slovenian Dinner Week 20: Roast Duck and Mlinci

Menu
Mlinci (Baked Noodles)
Roast Duck
Red Cabbage with Apples
Red Pepper and Tomato Salad

This was another dinner where the side dish became the main event.

Mlinci (m'LEEN-tsee), also known as baked noodles, seemed like an intriguing but improbable dish.  I had to give it a try.

I first heard about mlinci when The Professor, a Facebook friend who lives in Slovenia, posted a photo of a festive St. Martin's Day dinner he'd just prepared: A roast duck, accompanied by a strange sort of dumpling or noodle called mlinci.

Months later, I came across a recipe for mlinci/baked noodles in the Progressive Slovene Women's cookbook.  I found a few other recipes through an Internet search.  It's a simple dish.  A noodle dough, rolled into thin rounds and baked, then cooled and broken into bits.

To serve, the bits are moistened with boiling water or dropped into soup. Presto! Instant noodles.  Or dumplings.  Or something.  Often mixed or fried with the drippings from roast poultry or meat.  I couldn't quite picture it.  An unleavened flatbread or cracker, soaked in liquid.  What was the point?

Suddenly, I realized this wasn't so odd.  It reminded me of the way they serve matzo for breakfast in my husband's family.  Moistened and salted, then wrapped in a napkin, to make it a little more bread-like. Or like matzo farfel, nothing more than bits of broken matzo, another staple in Jewish cooking, especially for Passover.  Or, for that matter, those little oyster crackers we used to drop into soup when I was a child.

Some recipes, like the Progressive Slovene Women's, use yeast.  But most don't.  So I followed the unleavened approach:

Mlinci

2 eggs
1/2 t. salt
1 c. flour
Milk, if needed (but I didn't need any)


Mix the above ingredients, as though making standard egg noodles.  (With my finger still in a splint, I used a food processor.)   Since the eggs were extra large, I didn't need any milk.  In fact, I had to add some extra flour.

Let dough rest 30 minutes, covered.  Divide into four pieces.  Roll each one into a thin disk. (Note: thinner than what photos here suggest!  See update at the end of this post.) Prick.  Bake on ungreased baking sheet at 350 degrees.  Turn over when dough begins to brown.  The finished product should look brown and blistered, like a giant cracker.  It will be much firmer that matzo. Remove from oven and cool on rack.

Meanwhile, I had roasted a nice duck.  Nothing fancy, but I've posted the recipe here.

To prepare the mlinci:

Break rounds into pieces.  (I used two rounds.)   Put in glass or ceramic bowl.  Cover with boiling salted water.  Let sit until soft, 5-15 minutes, depending on thickness of mlinci. Drain. Add to drippings left in pan from the roast duck and stir to mix. Put back in bowl. You can put bowl back in oven to keep warm, while someone carves the duck.

The verdict?  This unlikely dish was luscious!  Sinfully rich, of course, with the duck fat and crackly bits mixed in.  Something like stuffing, something like Yorkshire pudding.  But better.  A perfect special occasion accompaniment to roast fowl or meat.

Oh, and those unused rounds of mlinci kept well.  They made a nice replacement for croutons in salad and served as a crunchy bread substitute in next week's dinner.


Update:  In July of 2014, I purchased ready-made mlinci at the source: a vendor in the Ljubljana Farmers' Market!  Having seen (and cooked with) the real thing, I now know that mlinci should be much thinner than my photos here suggest.  I have also developed a delicious sweet mlinci dish for breakfast or brunch.  To read about it, go here.