Yesterday my mama & I made holubchi with my uncle, out at the acreage. We never made any cabbage rolls for Christmas last year, the last time we made any my baba was still alive. She couldn't make them, then, but she could direct us, observe us -- just as she'd sit in a chair in the garden and watch us pick the cucumbers and dig the potatoes, we'd hand them to her & she'd brush the dirt off, admire them.
It was so good to talk about her yesterday, standing in the kitchen at the acreage, sun on snow, listening to my mama and uncle tell stories. About her, her cooking, their youth. We knew we had made the cabbage rolls properly because soon the house smelled just right, just as if we had recreated her kitchen... warm rice & onion, & buttery bacon for the rolls that won't be eaten on Christmas Eve... & from peeling the sour cabbage my hands still smell a bit like vinegar & spices. Baba hands, folding up the wet papery leaves into fat little nestly pigeons, holubchi.
This is what I mean by living memory. How this kind of active reminiscence -- the conscious remembering of a person's tradition -- is a sort of continuous resurrection. I feel so grateful for for this nourishment, physical & spiritual.
* * *
Holubchi (Cabbage Rolls)
This is a recipe that has never been written down before, but I shall try to explain how my baba made these tasty morsels. If you believe that you don't enjoy cabbage rolls, it's likely because you have happened upon either a commercially made variety or a homemade but sadly misguided little holubchi that was made boiled limp without sour cabbage or love. Those are not my baba's cabbage rolls. You will like these, because they are tangy & comforting & decidedly un-soggy winter food of goodness.
I will describe how to make enough to feed a small army, but you can easily half this recipe.
For the filling, you will need about 4 cups of rice to about 7 cups of water, in a very large pot. You should do about half water, & half chicken/vegetable stock for the best flavour... You can cook the rice the way you normally do it, but for a little less time -- it should be slightly undercooked, a bit crunchy, so as not to get too soggy when the rolls themselves are heated.
While the rice cooks, mince two onions and sauté in butter until nice & translucent. Once the rice is (under)cooked, mix it with the onions in a very large bowl.
When made without meat, holubchi are one of the 12 dishes of Sviata Vechera, the Ukrainian Christmas Eve Holy Supper. If you like to eat meat &/or these rolls won't be eaten for Sviata Vechera (which is meatless to honour the sacrifices of farm animals), feel free to add bacon. You can get what my mama says are 'bacon ends' or you can get 'normal' bacon and cook it up in butter until it's not too crispy, then crumble it up & add lots of fresh ground pepper to the mix.
You should also have procured two nice-sized heads of sour cabbage. Apparently some people are afraid of sour cabbage, & like to steam a normal cabbage til it is just soft enough to peel -- you can do this, but I highly recommend the sour one, which you can find in grocery stores fairly readily. Around here you can get a brand called Kissel which is suitably tangy. Usually the core is removed too, but if not, you should do that first. Then, start peeling off the leaves, rinsing them in cold water to remove excess vinegar. If the leaves tear, don't worry. You can 'patch' them up as you're rolling. Put any tiny pieces aside for 'scrap', and then cut the larger leaves in two so they are palm-sized, & trim the hard stem-part off. Let the leaves sit in a colander til you're ready to roll. (That's a bad pun, yes, but my family loves bad puns, so I'm keeping it there).
Rolling holubchi is a fine art. If you do it well, your skills will be celebrated far & wide, you know. (People still rave about my great-aunt Nancy's tiny, elegant holubchi). However, even larger, more unwieldy cabbage rolls still taste delicious. Take a cabbage leaf in the palm of your hand (most leaves curve a little, let the curve fit with your hand). Place a heaping spoonful of filling in the middle & roll the leaf tightly around it, folding & tucking in the sides. (You can also spread the mix thinly over the whole leaf & then roll it). Place the roll in an oven-safe dish with the ends of the leaf tucked down. Repeat until all your cabbage is gone. If your cabbage leaf has holes or tears in it, just place a small thin piece (from your scrap pile) on the inside of the role to cover it up. (Save any other cabbage scraps -- you can chop them up, fry them in butter with any leftover filling & fresh chopped tomato...)
Now, you can take your holubchi & immediately freeze them to oven-bake later, or you can cook them right away. You'll need to make some sauce -- my baba used tomato soup from a can, slightly thinned with some tomato juice. You can use stewed tomatos, too. Season your sauce with more ground pepper & some Hungarian paprika, & pour it over your cabbage rolls. Preheat the oven to ~350 degrees fahrenheit & cook covered for about 1 & 1/2 to 2 hours til the cabbage is nice & tender. I todi, ïzh, ïzh! Na zdorovia!
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Monday, December 11, 2006
Saturday, March 15, 2008
rambling about borshch, etc.
This article just recently brought to my attention -- it is a lovely piece of food-writing with the history as well as the politics & contemporary social context of one of my favourite things to both eat & cook: borshch! It's really interesting to me how the politics, the tensions between Russia and Ukraine permeate even discussions of the edibles of the countries. Debates over borshch ingredients easily fall into the West Ukraine - East Ukraine camps, with the former claiming its true Ukrainian authenticity, and the latter being 'too Russian' to know what real borshch would be, anyway.
& so I am sitting here (feeling rather hungry) & mulling over the myriad intersections between between food & identity -- how what we eat (& what we don't eat!) can define us socially whether it's something we consciously choose or something that is thrust upon us by those who watch us eat... I remember the attention (not always positive) received from having 'different foods' in elementary and junior high school lunches, friends with spicy lentil dals and curries or the chunk of pungent garlic sausage my mother would give to me...
And then of course the whole vegetarian issue and all that goes along with that, perhaps the most polarizing food-identity question here & perhaps the one that obviously inspires people to be the most vocal about their choices... the explanations (I remember my baba in disbelief the first time I told her that no, I wouldn't like any kovbasa...) & the defenses of the morals and ethics by vegetarians (and vegans, even more so) because of my own personal experiences with vegetable-eating, and how people reacted whenever my patterns of consumption changed.
The non-carnivore issue is perhaps the most conscious for most people in terms of food identity, but there are also the regional identities often based around what an area produces, & the pride in consuming this food (Alberta beef, etc, exemplified by the infamous bumper stickers)
And food becoming instantly recognized, nearly synonymous with a culture (haggis in Scotland, the massive kovbasa sausage in Mundare, Alberta, etc) and thus becoming a prominent marker of ethnic identity... there are many many examples of this... Food seems to also be the prominent way people attempt to experience other cultures (à la Heritage Days -- the food seems to be the definite draw there for many festival-goers) or their own cultures... A friend once remarked to me that 'we are Ukrainian, I guess, but we don't really do anything Ukrainian except eat a lot of pyrohy...')
& then in Yukon, I was taught about the necessity of having 'traditional foods' in one's diet -- people talking about how white-person grocery-store food might keep them physically alive, but it's not 'real food', they needed the food from the land, be it salmon or moose or soapberries, to really be full, sated, nourished living beings. I heard similar things from urban Inuit in Montreal, about the inherent health of their own foods, and have been told about the food networks of how when someone gets some 'country food' from a relative in the north, most of the community gets together to partake of it. Going berry-picking this past autumn in Yukon, and being given moosemeat by people in the community was very profound for me -- & I think I understood a little bit about how eating of the land reinforces a certain connection to that place.
I suppose in some ways for myself food is often very ethnically-linked, because I was taught to cook by my mother who is a fantastically brilliant, creative cook raised in the Ukrainian tradition by my baba, who ended up restaurant cook upon coming to Canada... The preparation and sharing of food is incredibly important to that side of my family -- whereas cooking and nourishing is not very important to my (Scottish) father and his relatives... & for me, cooking what my baba always made is comforting, both in the preparation as well as the sharing and the consumption. Very simply, I like to make things & feed people. It makes me happy.
As for culture and identity, I do believe that we each create our selves through the actions we choose to perform -- it is through those actions that ‘culture’ itself is reproduced & transmitted, and though it is small, and mundane, culture includes the act of making food. (I've been thinking about this even more since theory seminar on Friday -- it fits nicely with what Michael Jackson (no, not that one) talks about in 'Knowledge of the Body' in regards to the embodiment of culture, being-in-the-world through collective and common actions.
Anyway, lately I've been trying to transcribe some of the family recipes I know, as I want to make a Ukrainian-vegetarian zine... I have rambled about borshch many times in my blog, because I love it so -- one version of my recipe is here (see June 6th, 2006) & I have written about my soup-love many other times I'm sure... as well as in my beet-poem, which contains similar food-identity musings... A recipe for cabbage rolls, holubchi, is here too.
& before I cease my writing-which-is-falling-quite-short-of-lucid, here is my beet-poem, which has gotten around a lot in the past few years but apparently not into the blog...
making borshch
sawing away at the jewel-red woodgrain
of fresh rosebud beets
the juice stains my fingernails,
skin dry & papyrine from scrubbing,
earthy & pungent
from carrots & onions, scented like
the mysterious water & sacred sleep
of the soil –
& i think of my baba
& how her soup-stained fingers would be
like wrinkled pink parchments, speaking softly &
stirring, smoothing my hair –
& now my own hands, chopping
the vegetables for borshch, they become
hers, creating sustenance;
pulling up taproots, coaxing out
their subterranean blood
for nourishment, sweetness of the earth –
burjaky, chasnyk, krip i morkvy
bili pidpenky, selera i tsybulky
barabolja i zh kapusta
sing my ancestors, sending their breath
through the voice of the grasses, they
grow for us sweet dill
now shredded & stirred –
i will not reduce my culture
to its victuals, there will be no
monument to beets
like that giant forked pyrohy
nor stawnichy’s speared sausage
nor stawnichy’s speared sausage
but i am grateful
to this garden of my foremothers, &
i cannot help celebrating these
vegetables
for these, they are my
roots –
vegetables
for these, they are my
roots –
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