Święconka, or the blessing of the food

Święconka (rough pronounciation: shi'ven-tson-kah) is a Polish Easter tradition first recorded in writing in the 13th century, but which is definitely several hundred years older.

On Good Saturday, Catholic Poles will take a basket of food to church for a blessing. The most common traditional basket contains eggs, meat, cake, bread, salt and pepper, horseradish and beetrot sauce, and a  small lamb, made of cake, bread, butter, or sugar.

They represent all the food which will be eaten on Easter Morning, after the Resurrection, as well as all the food that will be put on the table that year. It's like saying grace before a meal, but with a long-term warranty.

The foodstuffs have their own particular symbolism. The eggs represent new life (adopted as they were from Slavic Pagan rituals). The bread, strongly symbolic in the Christian faith, stands for the body of Christ and the community which comes together like so many grains of wheat.

Children in particular like Święconka as they are usually the ones to carry a little basket. :) It's also a lot of fun to decorate- with boxwood leaves, lace, ribbons, little toy chicks...

After the short blessing, families will go pray at the grave in the church. Easter is also the usual time to refill the household holy water supply; churches sell bottles of it, or allow you to fill your own from a special vessel.

With this, I wish a peaceful and meaningful Easter to my Christian friends, a lovely Passover to my Jewish friends (the dates coincide this year!) and to everyone else, a sunny spring weekend :)

How to make a Mazurek Easter Pie

Mazurek- a traditional Polish Easter pie


The mazurek cake  is said to be a variation on a Turkish recipe, and has been a firm element of Polish Easter tradition since the 17th century. 'Mazurek' is also the name of a traditional dance, and Mazury (Mazuria in English) is a region in the North-East of Poland, green with forests and blue with lakes.

As usual, the pluralisation gets tricky when translated. Mazurek is one cake, mazurki are many.

Here is how to make some mazurki:


500 grams of flour
250 grams of butter
150 grams of powder sugar
3 egg yolks

Mix the flour and butter until it has the consistency of breadcrumbs.
Mix in the sugar and egg yolks until you have a dough. If it is too dry, add a little cream.
You can use an electric blender.
Wrap up in cellophane, refrigerate for about an hour.

This is your pie and cookie dough. Roll it out thin, tuck it into a pie pan, and be careful that it doesn't burn in the oven. And let the crusts cool before you take them out of the pans and pour in the filling.

The filling can be jam, caramel, kaymak... our family standard is chocolate, and you're on your own there- it's a matter of preference. The general rule is to sit a pot inside a saucepan of simmering water, and melt down a combination of dark and milk chocolate. You can add nutella, you can add fudge spread- just be careful that it doesn't get too hot and start clumping.

Pour it into the pie crusts, shake them gently to spread it evenly. And then start decorating.

Done? Congratulations! But you can't eat any of it until after the Resurrection!

Since the mazurek was supposed to be the crown of the feast which the family would wait for all through Lent, the idea is to make it as pretty as possible. As a child I used to play with cookies and that horrific coloured icing which comes in little tubes and requires samsonic force to be squeezed out...until somewhere around 2007 I discovered seeds.

Seeds look classy. They look sophisticated. They look rustic, quaint, traditional.

They taste better than the icing...though they are a mite less colourful!

So, for your appreciation and inspiration, here are all the Easter treats baked at my house in the last few years:

2008

2009

2010

2011

2012

Fat Thursday

I'll have a dozen of those, and a dozen of these.

The photo above shows a confectioner's stall at the market near my place. Normally the shelves are filled with different kinds of cakes- chocolate eclairs, honey gingerbread, puff pastries, jam buns...

But today, it is all pączki. Because today, my friends, is Fat Thursday, and custom declares that on Fat Thursday a person should eat as many pączki as they can. And then they should eat some more.

Last year, Poles are said to have eaten 95 million pączki. That's about two and a half per citizen.  You see, no one counts calories on this day(a pączek will set you back about 400 empty ones, if you really must know). If you don't eat, you'll be miserable for the rest of the year, superstition says.

But pączki are available year-round. Why are they so immensely popular on this one day in the year?

Afternoon delivery to the bakeries. All of those crates are filled with pączki.

Fat Thursday a.k.a. Tłusty Czwartek (pronounced twoosty tschvartek) is a mobile feast, falling on the thursday before Ash Wednesday. One week of Carnival remains; one week before sweets, fatty foods and festivities must be set aside for Lent. In Catholic custom, Lent is fourty days of fasting and religious reflection meant to cleanse and prepare the faithful for Easter.

The practical purpose of Fat Thursday is for bakers to use up all excess of fat and sugar before the fasting begins and business on sweet treats slows down. On this day, you might have a hard time finding anything BUT pączki in the bakeries.

Rose jam, marmalade, toffee, chocolate? So many different fillings...

The traditional pączek is a yeasty ball with a rose jam centre, fried in lard (vegetarians beware). But, according to the most famous Polish confectioners, the Blikle family, in the 17th century, pączki were stuffed with bacon.

Now, there is a common misconception in America, I have noticed, about this traditional Polish dessert called 'pączki'.  I'd like to clear that up.

First of all, we do not eat them on Mardi Gras. Mardi Gras is the Tuesday followed immediately by Ash Wednesday, effectively the last day of the Carnival before Lent, but it is not a feast celebrated in Poland.

We do not celebrate 'Pączki Day', either. That is a Polish-American tradition.

Second of all, they are not doughnuts. Doughnuts have holes in them and they are a completely different dough besides. And what you might think are doughnut holes are mini pączki, or pączusie.

Now, about the name itself. I have heard the word explained as 'packages'. Not so- the word actually means 'buds'. See the little tail underneath the 'a'? That makes an 'aw' sound, and the word is pronounced 'pawnchkee'. The confusion comes from replacing the letter with a regular 'a':

'paczki' 

are, indeed, packages, preferably wrapped up in brown paper and tied up with string.

 'pączki'

however, are buds, such as you would see on a tree in springtime, and though the cakes named after them do often come wrapped in paper, its colour is waxed off-white, and the string is ribbon rather than jute.

These are also pączki.

Note also that the word is plural, the singular form being 'pączek' (pronounced 'pawncheck'). One pączek, two pączki. Of course it is only natural that the English language would add an extra s and adapt the word as pączkis. :) (the aforementioned 'pączusie' is a diminutive, and indicates the 'pączek' has been shrunk to cuteness.)

If all this etymology has made you hungry, you should feel justified in running out to the nearest confectionery shop and bringing home as many sweet pastries as you can carry. It is, after all, Tłusty Czwartek.




Meta Info:


Wikipedia entry on Fat Thursday:


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fat_Thursday


Blikle on pączki:


http://www.tvp.pl/styl-zycia/aktualnosci/lukasz-blikle-w-tlusty-czwartek-badzmy-lakomczuchami/4080794

How to make a real Christmas borscht: part 2

You thought I'd left you hanging with that borscht, huh? All those beets, getting pretty smelly in their jars...

Click here to see Part One of the recipe, which should have left you with jars full of beets.

Remember, the longer the wait, the more acidic the soup. These jars have been sitting here since December 7th.

And the truth is, when you open these jars, you will get a nasty surprise.

Aaaaaaargh!

Mold! Nasty, horrible, green mold! Oh god and skies alive, what went wrong?

Nothing. This is exactly what was supposed to happen. Fermented beet juice. Trust me, I've eaten borscht acidified with sourdough bread all my life and I'm fine. 38 million people living in Poland are fine. And awesome. Beet borscht makes you awesome.

But, of course, we don't want to be eating the mold. Blech. Scoop it out. Yuck yuck yuck. That's your bread, and what's left of the garlic. Into the bin it goes. Forget you ever saw it.

Yuck.

Next, to make perfectly sure no nasty stuff remains in our soup, place a sheet of gauze over a thick sieve and pour the beet-water through.

Clean gauze, of course.

Wear an apron. Beet splashes are hard to wash out.

The gauze and the sieve will catch all the bad bits, leaving you with a pot full of gorgeous, red liquid.

Clean, gorgeous, magical.

This is not yet borscht.

A step I have permitted myself to skip, because I assume everyone knows the basics, is making a large pot of broth. For Christmas Eve, it should be vegetable (no meat allowed) but on any other day you can use chicken, beef, or whatever your pleasure is.

Just in case you forgot how to do it, here's a quick reminder: chop up some vegetables (absolute standard are carrots, leek, parsnip, celery root, onion) and dump them in a pot of water. You can add some butter, too.

Simmer until vegetables are soft and soup is tasty.

Take vegetables out. You have broth.

Now, take that amazing red beet water and pour it into the broth.

You can throw away the beets that were in the jars, by the way, they're useless to us now. However, you should take two or three fresh, raw beets, peel, and chop them.

Add them to the broth, too. They won't do much for the taste at this point, but they will continue bringing out the colour.

Now, this is important- let the lot simmer, but never boil. If it boils, it will lose that gorgeous colour. Keep an eye on it and let it cook slowly on a small flame until the fresh beets sink down to the bottom of the pot.

Taste it. It should be strong, acidic, strangely exciting. If for some reason it fails to arouse your tastebuds, season it to your liking. And voila. Your borscht is ready.

Remember to serve it with boiled mushroom uszka!

Polish Christmas Necessities

Is a Polish Christmas really all that different from an American or British one?

Well, yes. Yes it is. Mainly, Poles celebrate Christmas Eve more festively than Christmas Day.

Here are a few things worth knowing about Christmas in Poland.


The first star


Christmas Eve is a day of fasting. You're not supposed to eat anything until the big evening meal, which begins once the sun has set and the first star has appeared in the sky. This is a good way to keep kids busy as lookouts...

Especially in the city, one must look out for the star.  An illustration of mine for "The Star of Betlehem"

Christmas is also often referred to as 'Gwiazdka', or 'the little star'. This is a pretty name which everyone has adopted in good spirit, but its origins actually lie in the ploys of our socialist government of 1952-1989 to secularise the seasonal celebrations. The Polish term for 'Christmas' is 'Boże Narodzenie', quite literally, The Birth of God.


Opłatek

 Before the meal, the family gathers around to share opłatek. Opłatek (pronounced op-wah-tekk) named from the latin word 'oblatum' meaning 'offering'. It is just like communion wafer, except rectangular, embossed with Nativity imagery, has not been consecrated and thus is not sacramentally the body of Christ. It is typically made by nuns, and always blessed by a priest. Charities and churches distribute it in exchange for a donation.

It works like this: you take a piece of opłatek, then go around the room, hugging and kissing each guest in turn. He or she will take a small piece from your opłatek, and you must take a piece from theirs. Then, you exchange best wishes for this Christmas and the upcoming New Year.

Opłatek

Opłatek is an extremely important tradition in Polish culture, extending even beyond Christian households as a way of acknowledging each of our close ones individually, if only that for that one brief moment every year. If you don't have any handy, break some bread together, for as the saying goes, enemies will not sit down to a meal together. Therefore, anyone you share bread with is your friend.



The Christmas Eve table

There is a very particular set of rules regarding the setting of a Christmas table. Hay must be placed under or on the tablecloth, as a reminder of the manger that Jesus was born in.

Hay on the table, a baby Jesus figurine dating back to my childhood, and, of course, one extra place setting.

There must also be one extra place setting, no matter how crowded the dining room. This place setting is meant for the Weary Traveler, whomever he may be- whether a lost soul, a loved one who could not make it home that year, or Jesus himself. In theory, anyone who seeks shelter and company on that night should be invited to share the Christmas meal with the family. In practice...well, some people are more welcoming than others.



The animals

Twelve dishes take a long time to consume, so once the meal is over, there is a small window of time in which people usually sing carols and exchange gifts. Children have another reason to be excited- legend says that at midnight on Christmas Eve, animals speak in human languages. One should be cautious, though. Many is the story of the landlord who crept into the barn to listen to his horses and cattle speak, and overheard them talking about his own death. Though they are not mentioned in the Bible, common faith has it that the ox and the donkey were the first and last at Jesus's birth- they often know more than we do.

My parents' dog, Guinness, probably has a lot to say.

The Shepherd's Mass

But alas, few people hear the beasts speak, for midnight is the hour when Shepherds' Mass begins. Bellies full and mouths yawning, people flock to the churches to witness Christmas Eve turning to Christmas Day. It is during that mass that they will first see the nativity scenes unveiled, with the baby Jesus in place.

Each church must have a nativity scene, and while some parishes are content with the traditional figures...

 ...many go out of their way to create an original and sometimes philosophical setting for the baby Jesus' arrival.

The Word became Body, and lived among us- the baby Jesus lies cradled in an open book at the Artists' Church.

An unforgettable icon in Polish history, and symbol of the Church's involvment in the defeat of communism was a nativity scene where the baby Jesus was placed inside the trunk of a car. This was a reaction to the brutal murder of a Solidarity activist priest, Jerzy Popiełuszko. The Secret Service beat him to death, stuffed the body into a trunk and then dumped it in the Vistula river in October 1984. The film 'To Kill a Priest', starring Christopher Lambert, tells a fictionalised version of this story.

Photo used with kind permission of the author, Mark Carrot . The car used for the nativity was of the same make
and colour as the car in which Father Popiełuszko's body was transported.

I was only one year old when this happened, but for many years after that, crowds would gather at Popiełuszko's old church to light candles on the anniversary. My parents would take me with them, and I remember people crying.

After Midnight Mass, the family comes home. They may sleep in the next day, but Christmas Day, or as Poles like to call it, The First Day of Christmas, is usually celebrated by visiting relatives to sample leftovers from the previous night's feast. It is also the first time meat products may be eaten during the holiday, which many people look forward to. Those who did not attend Midnight Mass may spend Christmas Day strolling from church to church, taking part in Mass and visiting the nativities.



Caroling

Carols, in Polish tradition, are not sung before Christmas, but instead all through the month of January. Think about it- carolers are not the ones who announce that Jesus will be born, but those who are passing on the joyous news that he has arrived!

We differentiate, as in English, between Carol and Christmas Song. The first is 'Kolęda', pronounced koh-len-da, from the latin calendae which signifies the first day of the month- January, in this case, when carols were sung. The second is 'Pastorałka', pronounced pass-toh-rahw-kah, from the Polish word 'pasterz' meaning shepherd. So, shepherd's song.

A kolęda will strictly tell the religious story; a pastorałka contains secular elements, and will never be sung at church during service.

Here is one of the most beautiful Polish Carols, set to a polonaise tune and written in 1792. Its text is based on a juxtaposition of opposites, and often called the Great Oxymoron. The song's title is often translated as 'God is born', but the actual tense of the verb implies that God is being born. The miracle of the birth is supposedly occurring during the song.

God is born, the might trembles

The Lord of the Heavens lies naked

The fire stills, the light darkens

The infinite one has limits.

Disdained, covered in glory

Mortal everlasting King

And the Word became the Body

and lived among us.

Bolding mine to emphasise the paradoxical contrasts, which I included in this literal translation but which are often omitted from the lyrical English version. The performance is by the world famous folk dance and song ensemble, Mazowsze.

In many regions, carolers will dress up as an array of characters symbolising various aspects of daily life and the Christmas story- traditionally the group might contain shepherds, kings, King Herod, an Orthodox Jew, angels, Death, various animals, a goat-like monster called the Turoń, and of course, the Star of Betlehem, carried propped up on a stick and often spinning like a pinwheel. Nowadays, especially in cities, it's rare to see such carolers.

A group of carolers. Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons contributor Fiberek.

So, it's the day before Christmas Eve.
I had planned to make a detailed tutorial on celebrating a Polish-style Christmas for you this year. Unfortunately I fell a little bit short! As it turned out, preparing such a celebration and documenting it at the same time is practically impossible.

We didn't cover all the recipes. We didn't talk about so many things that should have been mentioned!

That's okay. Christmas does come around every year, and I hope you'll join me for the next one. And don't forget, there are twelve days of holiday ahead of us.

Besides, today, I still need to write about how to finish your barszcz... you're probably really worried about it by now!




Meta Information


Photograph of the Popiełuszko nativity used with kind permission of the author, mr Mark Carrot. Thank you!
http://homepage.mac.com/zbigniew/
It can be seen here among other photographs of the mourning of father Jerzy Popiełuszko:
http://homepage.mac.com/zbigniew/past_present/popieluszko/farewell_jerzy.html
Photo of Carolers from Wikimedia Commons
http://pl.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Plik:Kol%C4%99dnicy_2008.JPG&filetimestamp=20100112185645
Wikipedia entry on 'God is Born' carol
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/B%C3%B3g_si%C4%99_rodzi
Wikipedia entry on opłatek
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas_wafer

How to make Christmas Pierogis part 2

Yesterday, I showed you how to make the filling. Now that it's had its time to chill in the fridge, let me tell you about the dough.

But first, some more linguistics. As I mentioned earlier, pierogi is a plural noun, so while 'pierogis' is acceptable amongst foreigners, don't be surprised if you never see the term in Poland. The singular form is pieróg, pronounced pyeah-roog. Uszka, meaning 'little ears', is the plural for uszko, pronounced, respectively: oo-shkah and oo-shkoh.

Pierogi and uszka use the same dough. It's not too terribly difficult to make, but it does dry out very quickly, so don't even think about storing it. However, once you've filled and rolled the pierogis, you can freeze them. They will keep for months.

Darth Vader mug optional, but it seems to help. Click to enlarge.

Dough for Pierogis and Uszka


about 500 g of flour
1 egg (optional)
1 flat teaspoon of salt
1 teaspoon of oil (canola or sunflower is good)
about 250 ml of boiled water, or milk

Sift the flour into a little mountain on your work surface. Make a crater for the oil (and egg, if you choose to add it). Fold and knead, carefully adding water or milk as needed. You will have to try and keep the dough springy and stretchy, but not sticky.

(psst...we just tried doing it in the blender...that works too!)


Roll it out as flat as possible, and don't dawdle- it dries out fast. Keep any dough that you are not working with in a covered container.

If, by accident, the dough is just too dry for pierogis, don't worry. You can cut it into strips, then lay it out on a cloth to dry... and you have delicious homemade pasta!

Nothing gets wasted.

But, assuming your dough came out just right, cut circles into it with a glass. Bigger ones for pierogis, smaller ones for uszka.

Here is a helpful diagram showing the four stages of making an uszko. The third stage is pretty much where you stop to have a pieróg.

Still confused? Check out the video:

And that's it! Make many, lay them out on sheets, freeze immediately. When they're cold enough not to be sticky anymore, put them in plastic bags. They'll keep in the freezer for a long time- when you want to eat them, just drop them into boiling water and wait until they bob up to the surface.

Storing your pierogis. Top shelf: waiting to harden. Bottom shelf: bagged and ready.

Pierogis are usually eaten by themselves, while uszka belong in your bowl of barszcz.  The picture below has it all wrong- but it was leftovers at that point and I couldn't be picky!

Pierogis in the barscz? Blasphemy! Those should be uszka. But they're the same thing, just shaped differently.

Meta information:


Music in video: Dance of the Sugarplum Fairies (Tchaikovsky),  Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons "Attribution 3.0" http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/"

How to make Christmas Pierogis, part 1

Technically, one should not pluralise 'pierogi', since it's already plural. But pierogis rolls off the tongue so much better. Mind, you will not want these to roll off anywhere except into your belly, because they're absolutely delicious, and in combination with that traditional barszcz which we will soon set boiling, they're the quintessential Polish Christmas Eve meal.

But how do you make them?

To avoid confusion, a small visual guide:

Pierogi comes from an old slavic word meaning stuffed dough. Uszka is literally 'little ears'. Well, just look at them!

The difference is in shape, and in the unbreakable rule which states that while pierogis may be stuffed with anything from potatoes to strawberries, uszka may only ever contain mushrooms as a filling. Anything else? Tortellini. And that's Italian, so none of our business.

The filling should be made at least one day before the dough. It tastes much better if it's left to sit for a while.

Today, we will be making two staple fillings: mushroom, and mushroom-and-sauerkraut.

Pierogi filling:


350 g of dried forest mushrooms (porcino are an excellent choice. Oh, all right, if you must, you can use frozen ones. )
2-3 onions 
2 generous tablespoons of butter
two eggs
2-3 tablespoons of breadcrumbs

All you need to make mushroom filling.

Wash the mushrooms, then heat them up in a small amount of water until they soften. Let them cool, then chop them up. Also chop up the onions. It's okay if the chunks are big, we'll stick the lot into the blender later.

Melt the butter in a pan. Add the onion and braise it. Then, add the mushrooms.

Once the lot has turned a pretty golden-brown, add the eggs. Stir well, season with salt and pepper, and lastly, add the breadcrumbs to thicken.

Let it cool a little bit, then stick it in the blender. Leave some chunks in- it tastes better that way.

Put it in a bowl, smooth it down with a spoon, and when it's cool, stick it in the fridge for the night.

Mushroom filling. Chunky! Crunchy! Yummy!

For the sauerkraut-and-mushroom filling, you pretty much take your mushrooms, and heat them up in a pan with some cooked sauerkraut before blending. Easy peasy!

Sauerkraut and mushroom filling. Notice the sauerkraut-to-mushroom ratio. This is why it is much smoother.

Tune in tomorrow for instructions on how to make the dough and the finished pierogis.

How to make a real Christmas borscht: part 1

Borscht! Beet soup, in other words, but the true Polish spelling is barszcz. Borscht is the name that traveled with Jewish immigrants, and sometimes refers to a completely different kind of soup. There's cold borscht, and Ukrainian borscht...

None of that. Today we will be making proper Polish Christmas barszcz. Now, you may be reading this and thinking, it's only December 7th. Why on earth would you make the soup nearly three weeks before the dinner?

Because that's what makes it taste so good.

Sure, you can get away with beet concentrate, or pour vinegar into the pot a day or two before Christmas, but that's just not very impressive or traditional, is it?

So. Let's start. Here is the step-by-step recipe for:

Traditional Polish Christmas Barszcz / Borscht

3 kg of raw, red beets

two regular or one extra large head of garlic

a couple slices of brown sourdough bread
a pot of lukewarm water (tap will do, if it's potable)

big glass jars (big enough to hold the sliced beets)

clean linen or cotton cloth

ribbon, string, or rubber band

Everything you need to make a killer barszcz.

Now, we're giving you a bit of a buffer here, but you will need to do this at least five days before Christmas Eve. The earlier you prepare the beets, the stronger (more acidic) the soup will be.

1. Peel the beets. Your hands will be red, but you can rub lemon juice on them later to wash the worst of it off.

Beets: peeled on the left, unpeeled on the right.

2. Slice the beets into the jars.

Of course, you could use less beets and smaller jars, but then someone wouldn't get seconds.

3. Add the peeled and cut cloves of garlic (don't worry if you don't like garlic, the taste dissipates)

No need to chop.

4. Fill the jars up with water, covering the vegetables.

Tap water is fine, you'll be boiling the end result anyway.

5. Slice the bread and put some at the top of each jar.

6. Cover the jar with a clean cloth and secure with a ribbon or rubber band

7. Stab some holes in the fabric to let it breathe, and leave the lot in a warm place until Christmas Eve.

Festive!

That's it for now. We'll get back to these jars in three weeks to make the actual soup, but the trickiest part is over. Meanwhile, you can watch as the beets turn the water a deep, wine red...

(to skip ahead a couple of weeks and find out what happens next, click here for part two)