Another wee blog absence has gone by...the last few weeks have been filled to the brim with 'important things to do' and weekends that disappear in a flash.
One such weekend was spent back in Brno eating platefuls of dumplings
and meat with my favourite 'granat' pivo to wash it all down.
I hadn't noticed how much I'd missed Czech food (despite years of
moderately good-natured kvetching) until I arrived, and my hosts asked
if I was hungry. I replied, nope, I had řízek (schnitzel) for lunch before the flight. In Italy? Up
went the eyebrows...Ummm, yes, I confess, I made řízek for lunch in Italy. At
least I didn't smash it between bread slices and bring it on the plane
with me à la traditional-Czech-travel-snack.
And what should happen when I'm back in Rome,
in my kitchen, staring at some choice pieces of beef stew meat I'd just
picked up? Yes, goulash.
Yet this is not just any goulash. This is a trans-national goulash. Using a smoked Spanish paprika, marjoram in the Czech style, but served on polenta like in northern Italy. (Note: the American tradition of tossing in elbow macaroni will never taint a goulash from my kitchen - but anything else goes!)
Just like any goulash with strict country origins, it's quickly prepared, with a long simmer, and the flavour improves on the second day. Last year I fiddled with getting a traditional Czech recipe right and came up with this one. It was complete with homemade bread dumplings, which I must say that while polenta is a nice twist, nothing pairs with goulash like dumplings.
Some weekend, when I am truly Czech nostalgic, I will figure out a way to make one of the best street sweets on the planet - trdelník - a crispy yet soft tube of dough cooked on a hot iron and rolled in sugar, cinnamon, or nuts. When warm and fresh, it can't be beaten.
Merry Christmas from the Czech Republic! Or rather, Veselé Vánoce!
We celebrate it all on the 24th over here, so my 25th is reserved for my 'American' Christmas...mainly a skype date with my family in Wisconsin for their Christmas morning, and then an evening spent with another expat.
Yesterday, however, I witnessed one of my finest Czech Christmas days yet with a Canadian-Czech couple and their family. Of course, my friend and I had to toss in our heritage a bit. For this spirited Canadian, that means eggnog. I remember her 'nog well from years ago, my first holiday season in Brno. This year, I finally got to catch some of the action (and the recipe!)
Fresh eggs are a must. As is the cream. The booze gets a bit of wiggle room. Rum, whisky, or a bit of both. And freshly grated nutmeg on top..mmmm...
Careful on the mixing. It is a drink, i.e. liquid. And it can, and will, fly everywhere if not careful! Use a combination of electric mixer for the eggs, and hand whisk for the rest.
Czech Christmas usually starts with decorating the tree in the morning, and preparing the food for later. A light meat-free soup (often lentils for luck and prosperity) can be had for lunch, that is, IF you don't want to see the golden pig. There are many, many Czech Christmas traditions associated with one's future. A widespread one is to fast all Christmas day until dinner so that one sees a golden pig. I think this hallucination should bring money next year.
After the soup, we warmed up with the eggnog before heading out for an afternoon walk through a gorgeous woods that had the exact amount of snow sprinkled about to make it wet enough for the dogs to get good and muddy.
Permission to roll in the mud turns out to be exactly what my Saffi wanted for Christmas!
After the walk, we arrived back home for some mulled wine and Christmas dinner of salmon and potato salad. It did take me awhile to get used to the Czech holiday dish of fish (traditional is fried carp, but most families seem to be substituting salmon these days), but I now find myself looking forward to it.
The potato salad is one which I adore. Not at all cloying and sweet like some American ones I've had, but light and tangy with the addition of pickles. With the fish, sensational!
As soon as everyone had savoured the last bite, a bell is rung to signify the arrival of Ježíšek (baby Jesus) who has just brought the presents under the tree. Gift opening, laughing, and more eating closes out the rest of a very special evening.
The Set-up:
Looking forward to asparagus season every year is something I look forward to. Is that circular reasoning to say I look forward to the looking forward? It's true, though. When it finally hits whatever locality I'm in that year, there is no greater release than that first bundle of asparagus, proudly being carried home, and lightly sauteed in olive oil for it's first performance.
In the Czech Republic green asparagus is hard to come by. I have rarely, if ever, seen green Czech asparagus, rather it comes from Slovakia. Being ex-country-mates, Slovakian products don't even need the slightest justification to be considered local. But even Slovakian green stalks only make a limited appearance.
I have therefor acquiesced to eating white asparagus. Yet, something always tugs at me, thinking it's inferior. It's too big, too woody, too muted, too...whatever. I am just not as satisfied eating the white as I am it's green better half. So I decided on a taste test. Some Slovakian greens finally showed up at the market this week, giving me the chance to compare it to our Czech whites.
Let the Battle of the Asparagus begin!
The Preparation:
The bottom bits were snapped off at their natural breaking point. The whites, because they are naturally wider and and therefor a bit woodier, snapped further up on the stalk, giving a little less bang for the buck. I then peeled the whites with a vegetable peeler. I know that they tend to be rather stringy, so this is my usual tactic. Together they were tossed together in a pan, drizzled with a generous amount of olive oil, salt/peppered, and roasted for about 10 minutes.
The Verdict:
While the white variety definitely struggles with its much thicker nature, it still retains that delicate asparagus taste - especially at the tips. The biggest surprise though, and it wasn't until I was almost finished that I finally identified this, was that the white asparagus has a more buttery flavour. Really. Even though I used only olive oil, I could of sworn there was a few knobs of butter snuck in there. Not found with the green though.
The hefty girth of the white variety really plays with its texture. I've seen some at the farmers market this year which are so thick that only about ten of them are needed to make up a 500g bundle - peeling before cooking helps considerably. However, as it is said that white asparagus is more tender than its green counterpart, I found this to be true. At the middle of it's slightly stringy outside, it is meltingly soft and tender. At least, it is on the top half of the stalk. The bottom is definitely crispy. If you're not afraid (or too cheap) to break off a big part of the ends before cooking, you shouldn't have a problem with overt woodiness.
All in all, the taste test has buoyed my outlook a bit. As I normally buy the white variety due to it's Czech home-grown nature, I tend to still yearn for the green. I am by nature a person who is rarely satisfied with what's on her plate right in front of her. I struggle with this greatly. So the next time I am picking at my side of white asparagus and tempted to think "it's just not asparagus-y enough. I with I had the green..." I'll remember this experience and know that both white and green are truly even matched in their asparagusness, and truth be told, I really do prefer the texture of the white (so long as they are not bigger than my thumb.)
I wish everything were as simple as setting up a Battle of... test to realize the value of what one has.
Living in the Czech Republic continuously influences my food choices - even when I'm not looking to eat typical Czech cuisine. In the past, when a big beautiful bulb of fennel was spotted at the market, I would think about an equally big, beautiful fennel and orange salad. Maybe with walnuts. Or with grapefruit segments. But definitely I thought in terms of salads.
Now, I see fennel and it screams: PORK! Fennel and pork, fennel and pork, oh boy, oh boy.
I gasped. I composed myself. 'How about a compromise?' said one little part of the mind to the other little part of the mind.
It didn't turn into a terribly innovative dinner, rather classic really, but it does fit the eating styles of one healthy-leaning lady and one full-on Czech bloke.
The reigning popularity of Czech cuisine in the Czech Republic continues to amaze me. Young and old alike seek the classics developed decades upon decades ago. One of these is řizek (wiener schnitzel.) Think chicken fried steak, or a giant chicken nugget if you like, but instead of chicken stick in the middle a piece a beaten, flattened pork. You can eat it alone with mashed potatoes, or between two slices of dark semi-rye bread as a sandie (it's the most popular snack to bring in the car for long-distance travel. Maybe I'll tell you about that Czech bus trip to Italy some time. Here's a hint: nearly 100 řízek sandwiches in a bus for 15 hours. Awesome.)
I mention řízek to explain why I tell the hubs this dish is a Spanish řízek. Basically, it's your average breaded and fried piece of pork found in Central Europe, except with a good dose of smoked paprika (pimentón) and baked, not fried. The pork fennel relationship is satisfied by the addition of the salad, which really balances out the meal on it's own. This duo is satisfies multiple locales on the tongue extremely well.
I've been stalling. I wanted to write all about the pig-sticking days weeks ago. And I had started by going through the pictures. And then I stopped.
Days after the event they just seemed, well, a touch graphic. During the actual pig affair, when I was learning all about the different steps, and behind my lens happily snapping away, the resulting images spoke to me in an aesthetic way - as normal images of landscapes or food would typically do. I judged the lighting, composition, and so on. Then I got busy with life for a few days. After which I looked again. Away from the sunny Saturday afternoon surrounded by a family all pitching in together to ensure they eat quite well over the coming months, the images just seemed shocking. I needed some distance.
Hopefully the time has helped my judgement and the pictures in the album reflect the choice to show the zabijačka in it's full light, guts and all. I think it more useful to describe the day on this post and leave the gamut of visuals on a separate page (with a warning that some may appear graphic, but it is for the sole purpose of being illustrative of the home butchering process). Note that three of the pictures are from a previous year, as this year I was in the kitchen when they sliced pig open, but I really wanted to show how that stage looks.
Okay, done with the warnings. On to the day.
The entire event took place in the backyard using an open shed next to a wine cellar as the home base. The wine cellar conveniently has two rooms, one outer room for processing the offal and the forthcoming products, and an inner cellar, which is cool enough to house the meat cuts during the day. A large metal vat over a flame is also in non-stop usage. The tools are otherwise pretty basic - assorted knives and hatchets and barrels of different sizes. The specialty tools come in for making the head cheese and puddings.
We started at 5:45 (and cold! -8°C/ 17°F.) We met my father-in-law at the pig farm to purchase a 160 kilo (350 lb) pig. There were two other families buying a pig that morning. One family killed it there at the farm, which is not common. We brought it back to the house using a cage borrowed from the village, which specifically offers it's residents use of such cages for zabijačka.
7:00 Pig was home and being put down. There is a strange and unique moment right before the actual death of the animal. The method used is simple and extremely humane. It was over very quickly using a type of gun which shoots a large metal spike into the brain. Despite this fairly mild process, many women typically still stay in the house for this (and during the hair removal) and prepare food for the day.
9:00 The body hair has been removed by covering the pig in a powdered resin and pouring hot water over it, which makes the hair stick together and ball up. Various scraping tools are then used to remove it from the root.
The head has been removed and organs are being taken out and brought to the cellar. The blood was kept and is placed on the seat of the tractor, which was frozen overnight and seems like the best place to keep it cool for later use.
{2 rounds of slivovice (plum brandy), 1 of grog and a plate of sweets so far}
10:00 Liver has finished boiling, and brains have been scrambled with eggs. Time for brekkie. The eggs/brains are spread on toast and eaten with coffee and more slivovice (there were also muffins there for those not feeling up to pig products so early in the day.)
The stomach was brought into the kitchen to be repeatedly boiled/emptied for cleaning, and the diaphragm was being divided up between my mother-in-law and her sister. It's good for making meatloaf (sekaná), used as a netting to wrap around the meatloaf and hold everything in place.
It's 3°C / 37°F and the guys are in the cellar working on sorting, cleaning and other processing of the offal, preparing things for various meat delicacies. The meat is also being portioned up into various cuts.
11:00 I'd been spending time in the kitchen chatting with an auntie to avoid the fresh offal smell in the cellar. She is rendering some fat in the oven to bring forth some cracklings/pork rind.
12:00 Various offal have finished boiling in the big metal vat, and they're jumbled on the cellar table while we pick through the best of them for a light lunch. Liver, kidney, neck meat, snout, and tongue are all sliced up and eaten with bread, horseradish, apples, and mustard. Barley is soaking in preparation for the puddings. Soup and broth are being prepared with a few vegetables.
14:30 The meat has been cut up and laid out in the wine cellar. The head cheese (tlačenka, pictured on the left)has been made with the best organs and skin. The lesser pieces are for the black and white puddings (pictured below to the right.) The guts have been cleaned and are waiting for the filling to be ground up to make puddings. The fat is being melted down over a fire to make lard.
For more details on the making of these famed pork products - head cheese and black and white pudding - check out the last post here.
15:30 The puddings have both been made. White got a selection of offal, and black got a similar offal selection, as well as barley, blood, and a glass of red wine. The cracklings/pork rinds are just about finished. Time to clean up.
It was an early day. The hubs recalls zabijačkas where there were even more people helping out, and still they were finishing well past dusk. However, he also recalls that a lot more slivovice was had during these days. I smell a slight correlation...
I hope this information might be as interesting to some as it is to me. I sincerely think it's amazing that this traditional pig-sticking is still able to go on as a small-scale family event. In times of (over) regulation due to food safety scares, it is refreshing that we are still able to go from pig to plate in our own backyards.
More info:
For the first half of the pig-sticking affair,see this post.
For more on the village, Němčičky, where it was held,see this post.
And for the pictures of the pig-sticking, check out the online album.
To see Anthony Bourdain's zabijačka experience, watch his No Reservations Prague episode:
I made it through the long day required to completely butcher one pig. As I wrote here last week, I was really looking forward to learning about the process - start to finish. Not to spoil the story, but I think I'll start with the ending and give you the best of the finished products.
Zabijačka Product #1: Head Cheese {Tlačenka}
It is so very unfortunate that we have this word "head cheese" in English. It sounds terrible. And does anyone even know what it actually is? I never did. Maybe it was chopped up pig head mixed with cheese. Who knows. When I moved here, the hubs introduced me to one of his favourite foods - tlačenka. Little did I know this was head cheese. And I tried it. And I liked it. Until I found out what it was. Head cheese.
In order to get over this little glitch in my relationship with Czech beer food, I thought learning exactly how it's made would help. I greatly appreciate the concept of using the entire pig. Nothing goes to waste save for the feet. Head cheese is one of the better-quality products to come out of a pig-sticking (as compared to the lard and cracklings/pork rind, which I didn't find appealing enough to photograph.)
Tlačenka is made by combining the best pieces of the organs (pre-cooked during a long boil) and the skin so that it gels together nicely. It's stuffed into a long plastic tubular bag and kept cold. It's ready to slice and eat almost immediately. Best enjoyed on rye bread with mustard, onion and a wee splash of vinegar. And with beer, of course.
Zabijačka Product #2: Blood Pudding {Jelito and Jitrnice}
The puddings are another zabijačka specialty. Many Americans eventually learn that pudding is not just something sweet in a little plastic cup, but something to be wary of when travelling in the UK. Travel books urge us not to make the mistake of ordering white or black pudding and expecting whipped cream on the side. I'd had this while in Ireland, and on various English breakfast platters, so I was fairly prepared to encounter it here.
The difference between the puddings and the head cheese is the quality of the fillings. I was told that the puddings are made with lesser quality organ pieces. This doesn't necessarily mean it's considered a lesser quality product. Actually, it seems more enjoyed than the tlačenka. But because the puddings are made with pre-cooked meat and then afterwords baked, fried, or roasted, the flavour is so enhanced that the highest quality organ pieces are not absolutely necessary. Whereas they are necessary in tlačenka, which is not cooked after it's made. It's like the difference between sushi-grade fish and some other really fantastically cooked fish. Different strokes for different folks.
White pudding primarily contains a selection of organs, and garlic (really though, all these products contain heaps of garlic.) Black pudding contains less organs, but also the blood, barley, and - the family secret - a glass of red wine. To eat, it's cooked, sliced, and topped on rye bread with onion and possibly vinegar. And, or course, beer.
After seeing every step of the zabijačka (details here!) was I more inclined to rekindle my physical taste for such things? To be honest, not really.
It's interesting, fascinating even, and honorably practical to still be making such products at home. But I just don't like the taste. Childish? Girly? Maybe. I wish I did like it, and maybe in the future I will. At the moment, I am content to promote such endeavors by allowing a good part of my refrigerator to house packages upon packages of zabijačka products for my hubs to slowly savour over the coming weeks. Yes, I am content with that.
Spending the weekend in the village has resulted in a slew of photos to sort through. Pig-sticking images and stories will be up in the next few days! In the meantime, I'd like to share with you a treat my mother-in-law made the following morning.
We, or at least I, woke up late after enjoying a masquerade ball the previous evening. On the table lay a stack of fresh pastries. I asked the name of these delights which I've never seen in any bakery, and my brother-in-law giggled and replied 'God's Amnesties.' They'd never really thought about the unusual name until I asked for the translation. After some googling, I've also seen them called 'God's Grace', but in Czech, it's Boží Milosti.
They are not found in bakeries because they are a special treat only during Masopust, the time of year before Lent. The term Masopust literally translates to 'Meat Fasting', which seems a bit odd to me. I mean, why not call it Předmasopust (Before Meat Fasting) since it more accurately describes the prevalence of pig-sticking (zabijačka), and therefor pork-eating, events found during these few pre-Lenten weeks. More on the Czech carnival season here at the Czechmate Diary blog.
Both Boží Milosti and Koblihy (doughnuts) are typical treats during this pre-Lenten season. Another recipe was posted on a Czech blog (although, only in Czech language) and she's got the doughnuts up as well.
Unlike many other fried dough treats, these are so light that I couldn't believe they had ever been swimming in oil. That was the first thought that flew out of my mouth post-swallow. My mother-in-law chalked this up to the absence of fat within the dough. The dough just absorbed the oil it was fried in and so none stuck on the outside. I like the logic.
They look like they'd be crispy little critters, but in fact they are more like soft and pie-crustesque pillows with a muted sweetness to them. I easily gobbled them up over my late morning tea like nothing, which always pleases a Czech (or really any other) mother-in-law.
It's been a typically busy week with work, add in the usual pile of end-of-the-month administration, an unexpected visit to the doctor, and an unpleasant altercation with someone near and dear, and it could have been one crappy week. The first rescue, however, was my dad's Christmas fudge brought out from the freezer. That came out a few days ago, and has been thoroughly polished off by now.
The second rescue comes with my weekend plans, which I'm really looking forward to. The hubs and I are heading off to participate in one heck of a relic from the past - the zabijačka, a good ol' DIY pig sticking. To get you in the mood for what awaits me at my in-laws this Saturday, check out this video I found. It neutralizes the gory stuff with some seriously peppy music.
Saturday morning we'll be getting up bright and early to catch the beginnings of the pig affair (I don't know why, but I've never really taken to that 'sticking' phrase, so affair it is.) One of the joys of living in the Czech Republic is getting to know the culture of village life. There are so many great stories from hubs' childhood in Němčičky, as well as stories we've created together during weekend visits.
Like the time one of the main streets collapsed in the middle of the night and made a big hole which beckoned a good part of the 600-odd residents to gather round it for most of the daylight hours. Or the early morning wake-up calls, when the loudspeakers on the street corners crackle to life with a nice polka and details the village news, including whether the truck selling chicken will be by today, and if so, how much korun you might need to part with to get some of it's fresh offerings. Or just the myriad of village celebrations which compel most of the girls, and a surprising number of the men-folk, to put on their finest traditional garb and ceremoniously dance the afternoon away.
The village is actually quite well-known. It has one of the few ski hills in the south of the country - traditionally a hilly winemaking region. As well as boasting one of the finest swimming pools and sporting areas around, it recently set up a bobsled run (which basically is used as a roller coaster.) Not bad at all for a place so small some maps don't even recognize it. So I'm not sure how the van-fulls of Germans (and/or Austrians) found it one summer to attend an international qualifying match for a downhill inline skating race. The village ended up hosting it due to it's one really long and steep road, along which the entire village is built.
To give you a small slice of village life, and the last zabijačka I attended, I put up a few more photos in the online web album here (caution, there are a few pictures of the butchering process.)
Last but certainly not least, the final rescue this week came this morning in the form of a bit of a blog-ego boost. I found out a photo from my chili post won the Originality category for last month's DMBLGIT photography event. I was pretty shocked, and am quite honoured, since I've been trying my hand at this for only a couple of months. Check out some of the photos from this event, some of them absolutely ooze eatability!
Sweet and Salty. I never gave it much consideration past the occasional, 'Hmmm, cute granola bar marketing phrase'. I never thought myself, or 'my people' to have a predilection towards this combo. But, seeing that it seems to have not permeated the Czech boarders, I reckon that I, or we, must have such a distinct fondness.
I mean, really: peanut butter (equally at home with chocolate or atop a saltine), breakfast sausage tinged with maple syrup, or kettlecorn? I don't think one can stroll the American supermarket aisles without being bludgeoned with at least one irresistible 'Sweet n Salty' slogan.
It all changed when I met my Czech mate. It was literally a kitchen checkmate. My French toast has been forever referred to as 'French eggs' and taunted for being 'sweet eggs, when everyone knows eggs like salt.' Czech food likes to have salt on their salties, and sweet on their sweets. No mixing please. I can't win here. I'm simply outnumbered.
Being that it's Valentine's day, I'm trying to be extra considerate of my valentine today, by not unwittingly serving up nibbles that'll be politely declined for it's sweet/salty ratio. This includes all my favourite ways to snack on smoked or other meaty leftovers. Turkey and cranberries, chicken and mango chutney, sweet n spicy beef jerky, or dry cured ham with fig preserves. You name it, prosciutto, jamón serrano, or even German black forest ham. Whichever is available, paired with good bread, a fig (or quince) spread, and firm aged cheese makes for a fantastic no-cook spread.
And being Valentine's day, no-cook night nibbles can come in handy.
Everyone has their own view of what defines the Czech foodscape. After nearly four years of living and eating in this country, I feel I deserve to weigh in on the matter. Thus, I present to you the humble rohlík - a bullet-shaped bread roll.
Now, this bread roll is no ordinary bread roll. First of all, it's simply too skinny to slice in half, stuff with meat and veg, and call it a sub sandwich. So it looses most of its practical value from this American's perspective. Its oblong shape presented a challenge to me at first. The top is not flat enough to spread jam on it. It kinda slides off. Peanut butter has the staying power necessary, but you just won't find Skippy, Jif, or the rest of the gang in the Czech supermarkets.
Since I never found a suitable purpose for them, I pretty much stopped eating rohlík altogether (save for a three-day stay in the local hospital, where my upset tummy was given nothing but stale rohlík). Once I stopped looking for rohlík, I noticed rohlík started looking for me. Really. They started popping up everywhere. The first spotting was when a friend gave me a ride to the train station. She popped open the trunk for my bags and, lo and behold, there he was. A single rohlík staring at us from the trunk. No groceries, no bag it fell out of, it was just rolling there. She shrugged it off, but I knew this was the beginning of something strange.
The second sighting was kayaking on the Vltava. Amid peaceful canoers and rowdy party-rafters, there he was again. A rohlík slightly bobbing in the water, letting the current show him a good time. After these, and numerous other sightings, I decided proof was needed. I saw him while walking down the street, casually resting on the ledge of a building
A little while later, I saw a half-rohlík reserving one of the washing machines in the laundry café.
Nothing beats, however, the rohlík I spied one sunny afternoon. Someone had lodged the poor guy into the tram-stop sign! (Note: I was not that someone, promise!)
And then, passersby had the gall to look at me as if I'm the strange duck for taking a picture of it! That's when I knew that the rohlík is truly the quintessential Czech food item. They are everywhere! They originate in big bins in the supermarkets and bakeries, where people buy them up by the dozens. In the mornings, you can see students and working chaps carrying around clear baggies with 5 or 6 of them. I imagine their favourite spread is somewhere in their backpacks. It seems many here use the rohlík as a dipping rod, scooping up a radish/mayo/cheese spread or something similar. One expat site has posted a lengthy discussion among foreigners regarding what they put on their rohlík. Solutions spanned the basics (butter, honey, vegemite, nutella) to the more gourmet (salmon and goat cheese, or haggis). The main debate centered around to cut, or not to cut? I empathize. I too want to treat it like a sub, or baguette, and slice that sucker open. But I've learned my lesson. There's simply not enough room or surface area to make stuffing it full worth it.
If you've got pictures of 'rohlíks on the run', I'd be glad to post them...just send me an email!
The only question that remains: What do you put on your rohlík?
I've got a hunch that this fledgling lil' blog has already lost most it's Czech readership. I mean, really, posting about the Vietnamese food in Czech Rep before posting any actual Czech food?! (In my defense - I rarely get to the Vietnamese market, so such events are soooo exciting for me I'm compelled to share asap! And the topic of Czech food seemed so heavy, excuse the pun, I just didn't know where to begin.)
What It Is
It seems the biggest impression of Czech food to the outside world is meat and dumplings, with sauce, like guláš (goulash). But everyone has their own impressions. Czech men are most proud of their country's beer (after its women). Czech women seem most likely to tout their baking skills of various sweet biscuits, cukrový. Beyond the boarders, I've heard that the Polish regard Czech fried cheese (smažený sýr) in high regard. And those from further away are simply in awe at the mass amounts of meat consumed. (See Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations: Prague episode).
Czech food fills me up. It is hearty - to the max. On cold winter days, previous expats who had a stay in the Czech Republic report serious Czech food-envy upon returning home. There is nothing better than a piping bowl of garlic soup and a perfect roast duck followed by apple strudel or, the restaurant favourite, ice cream with hot raspberries. Oh, and don't forget that glass of Czech wine, often overshadowed internationally by the height of the Czech Pilsner. The whites in this country rival the best Moselle valley vintages.
What It Is Not
Um, I know that in many respects Czech food doesn't seem healthy, but I don't get it...despite the dumplings and cream sauces, people don't look unhealthy. In fact, true to the stereotype, most women here are quite fit. Aha, you think gyms are the key. Nope. They are still a novelty rather than the norm. It's like the French paradox we Americans all wonder about, except even more severe, what with all the sausages and economical (read: fatty) cuts of meat being consumed. And they ain't got the focus on veg like the French, save for a few slices of cucumbers or pickles with every meal. And the heart-healthy red wine is absent too.
Another omission is a bit of heat. The primary spice is caraway seeds and sweet paprika. The Czech palette seems so incapable of handling any serious chillies, that in 'exotic' restaurants the 4 little chili peppers representing fire level of the dishes usually tastes pretty mild to me. And by exotic restaurants, I refer to the Chinese places, which are mostly owned by Vietnamese. In fact, during my search for Pho, I had wandered into one sushi joint, and saw the Vietnamese owners in the kitchen slurping bowls of the stuff (the aroma clearly gave it away), yet of course it wasn't on the menu, only dried salmon strips on stiff rice beds. The Czech Republic is a great place to eat, well, Czech food, but not much else (except in Prague of course).
********************************************************************************
********************************************************************************
What others see Czech food as is all good and fine. Myself, I've found certain dishes that I absolutely adore. And for these dishes, I'll be hammering out definitive recipes in the coming posts to share with you.
