Blueberries Bring Love

This past week has been busy keeping up with the explosion of blueberries from our seven bushes.  Our first home came complete with a blueberry patch off the deck.  That was an added bonus.  I look forward to this time each year when my first duty of the day is picking the largest, juiciest berries at sunrise before the birds get the best.  Since there are plenty to go around, I leave the smaller berries for our feathered friends to enjoy.

I feel so decadent with all the blueberries.  I'm eating them all the time: in yogurt, cereal, oatmeal, salads, pancakes, and just by the bowlful like popcorn.  It's also a great reason to invite family and friends over for berry picking.

Looking forward to my mom, aunt and uncle's visit on Sunday.  We plan on a cookout with ribeye steaks, corn on the cob, my aunt's highly demanded and delicious French onion chip dip (my husband's favorite ever, so he says) and Mom's heavenly creation of baked apples on puffed pastry.  I plan on adding a scoop of vanilla ice cream with a handful of blueberries and calling it a great day.  We will also be doing a traditional Hungarian appetizer on the grill that I can't wait to share.  Hint: it has bacon in it.

I also can't wait for two beloved friends who will both be bringing their adorable toddler daughters over here this week to pick berries and make jam.

What a wonderful season!

Hungarian Club Feast

What a food-coma afternoon.  My family went to our Hungarian club's annual lunch at Sterle's Country House, the oldest and one of the last remaining restaurants in the area to serve Hungarian and Slovenian food.  Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is probably the last place in the area of this size where large families and groups of friends can gather at large tables, clank thick beer mugs together and dance the polka.  Our dues help pay for the dinner, so, we got all this for $10.

We had (from bottom, then clockwise) chicken paprikash, roasted pork with gravy, green beans and Weinerschnitzel (vee'-ner-shnit-zell), breaded and fried veal. 

We started with noodle soup.  Since their new ownership, it looks and tastes different.  My brother didn't like it at all, but, my husband (a new member) had four bowls.  It used to look and taste like chicken noodle soup.  This looked and tasted like it was a combination of chicken and beef broth.  I had half a bowl; partly because I was saving room for the heavy-hitters, partly because it was not like I remembered it.  Some things change.

At least it's all still served 'family style,' with kettles of soup and large platters are set in the middle of the table to serve yourself, just like at home.

The club hosts a dinner in October as well at the same place in the private party room.

It wasn't always held here, and there used to be more events.  Actually, before there were 'events,' it was a lifestyle.  The club used to be an integral part of a tight community.

Our group, our heritage is specifically Sathmar.  In short, uncomplicated terms (hopefully), we are displaced Germans (due to Catholic beliefs) from the Black Forest region in the 16th century and settled in the Sathmar Schwab region of Hungary, (until it became part of Romania, near Transylvania after WW2).  And, I guess we weren't too popular with the resident Hungarians.  We were immigrants invading and buying their land, and working for cheap.  Some of the Sathmar Schwabs were too poor to even buy the cheap land that was available; they traveled, took odd jobs, or performed for food.  They became what can be considered gypsies.  My great-grandpa's family were farmers.  The Industrial Age lured many from that region to the US, most to Cleveland, Ohio to work for ACME.  My great-grandfather was one of them.  He was 13, and working in the field.  His parents approached him with a suitcase and a man from the village.  He was told that he was going with the man to the New Country and they had to go at that instant.

My great-grandfather was one of the founding members of the club in 1925.  He helped build the club's own large building close to their neighborhood church.  Sadly, the club sold that building in the '60s, so my brother and I have never been there.  The tight neighborhood scattered to varied suburbs.  Generations have been lost and some didn't carry on the tradition.  Membership has shrunk.  Even today, my mom and uncle savored telling us delightful stories of their time at the club.  I love hearing about it.  My uncle loved helping the ladies in the kitchen and watching the guys play pool, but, he got lots of extra bakery when he helped in the kitchen.  I have photos of he, my mom and their late cousin in traditional costume, waiting to dance on one of the club's two dance floors.  As soon as I find them they will be included in this post.

Back then in the 50s and 60s, they tell us they didn't go to restaurants.  They didn't go 'out' as we now know it.  They can remember the few times they went to McDonald's for 'special' occasions.   If they went 'out,' it was the whole family, and it was just a few blocks away at the club.  Ladies cooked and played cards.  Men played cards and shot pool.  Kids had much space and time to invent their own games and imaginary worlds if they weren't practicing traditional dance.  Some things change.

Now, less than a hundred of us meet twice a year for a meal.  It's sad to see a tradition fade, yet inspiring to be one of the few that are keeping it alive.

Yet, some things don't change.  We listened to fellow member Joe Jeromos play some Hungarian music along with polka and some tunes one would probably hear at a wedding.  Grandma and Grandpa had all of his vinyl records.  You can listen to him HERE.

There's Joe

Here's a few more photos:

Upon entrance

Lobby

Old-school babooshka

Hungarian Onion Soup

This soup has been known in my family as " 'Bray'-zlee' Soup."  Unfortunately, my mother, uncle, brother and I were not taught Hungarian.   With the elder generations of our heritage gone, I do not know the proper spelling of this soup.  All I know is that it's a delicious peppery, creamy soup loved by my family for generations.

What makes this soup so distinctive are the grated noodles.

The delightful little nuggets boast a slightly chewy texture and they do a wonderful job of absorbing the soup's flavors.  Grandma and Great Grandma would make a large ball of egg pasta dough and, instead of taking the extra steps to roll and cut it, they simply took the ball to the box grater and produced tiny-sized dumplings or spaetzels.  This must have been a time-saver back in the day before ready-made pasta and import stores.  Today, it's considered extra work.  Thank goodness for import stores and online ordering.  However, it's a goal of mine to someday make the noodles on my own.

Locally, Clevelanders can find these at the import store in the corner of the West Side Market.

If the grated noodles aren't available, try the small squares or the Csiga (Chee'-gah) noodles, which are also distinctively Hungarian.

Someday soon I plan on writing a separate post on Ciga noodles, showcasing my great-grandmother's Ciga maker, and possibly making my own.

If you are a seasoned pro at making your own egg pasta dough, the extra steps shouldn't be too difficult.

This soup had been done with plain water with my grandparents and great grandparents.  They were defined by the peasant recipes of their old country as well as the Depression.  Plus, this was a family tradition on meatless Lenten Fridays.

While it was always good, Mom has updated the recipe to give it a bit more flavor and depth.

I'll never forget the time Mom came over to our new house to help me make my first version of the soup.  She and I have both discovered that my husband loves almost any kind of soup.  This is now one of his favorites.

There is great pleasure in sharing something from your family history and having it accepted by the one you love.   It's as if in one bite you have the opportunity to share an entire childhood book of memories.
I have felt this in my husband's family as well when they share their favorites.

This is a simple soup with few ingredients.  Paprika is the key, and, you need to add a lot to give it the distinctive flavor; therefore, sweet Hungarian paprika is recommended, so you can add a lot without it getting too hot and spicy.  When I made this with my husband's 98 year old grandmother, she swore that in all of her years, she has never seen so much paprika go into one recipe.  Do yourself a favor and invest in some GOOD and FRESH paprika.  Our favorite paprikas are from Penzey's.  I remember Mom and Grandma filling out their mail-order catalog forms in the 80s and calling in the orders during the 90s.

Listen to some Hungarian music to put you in the mood!

***

This is the recipe that my Mom and I created

Makes 2-4 servings

5 min prep
30 minutes cook time

1/4 stick butter
1/8 cup extra virgin olive oil
2 cups diced onions
1 small clove minced garlic
3 tablespoons sweet Hungarian paprika (4 tablespoons if you're daring)
4 cups chicken or vegetable broth
1 cup sour cream
1/2 bag (4.4 oz) of small Hungarian egg noodles, preferably grated  (If none can be found, orzo pasta can be used)

Cook the diced onions and garlic in the butter and oil on medium heat until translucent and tender, about 5-7 minutes.  Don't cook at a higher temp to save time.  You don't want the onions to overcook, plus you don't want to cook away the fats as they will add flavor and body to the soup.

Add the paprika, stir.

Add the broth, stir, bring to a boil.

Turn down to low and simmer for 10 minutes.

Temper the sour cream.  You need to do this carefully with small doses of the hot soup into the cool sour cream, or else it will curdle.

Place the sour cream in a large mixing bowl and slowly pour one large spoonful or small ladle of soup into the sour cream.  Stir until blended.  Repeat several times (4-5) until you get a thick liquid.

Pour back into the pot and turn on high to boil.  Add half a bag of noodles.  Boil for 2 minutes.  Cover, turn down to low and simmer for 7-10 minutes, until the noodles are tender but slightly chewy.

These little nugget noodles will soak up a lot of broth.  Serve immediately as it will thicken while it cools.

Introduction and Intention

I am a lucky soul for having found two passions in my so-called 'later life,'  cooking and true love.

I've always loved good food (who doesn't) and hosted occasional dinner parties in my 20s with a few easy, one-hit wonders I picked up from waiting tables fresh out of college.  I was far too busy in my career and social life to stay home to cook, or to settle down in a serious relationship.

It wasn't until my 30's when passions began to change.  I became my grandmother's live-in caretaker, where I had the opportunity to observe and help her make my childhood favorites - her Hungarian recipes and her version of classic favorites to the tunes of Big Band music on the oldies radio station.  Mom lived down the street from her, so I had the opportunity to appreciate and learn from her more than I did when I was a child, when I thought it was a simple, inherited trait to make food magically tasty by just waving a wand or 'mom' credentials.  Plus, the memories of the three of us rolling stuffed cabbage or making Christmas cookies are some of my most cherished experiences.  Learning the art of creating good food for those you love, with the ones you love had a profound impact on me.  It made me care more about what I was making, and more about those I was making it for.

Soon after Grandma had to go to a nursing facility, I happened to meet the love of my life.  Actually, we had already been friends for three years, and he has given accounts on remembering me in the 80's as a teen sipping a coffee on Coventry, the area in Cleveland Heights where many gather for coffee, music, art and great food.  I did feel like I knew this soul for years.  I felt the warm, connected feeling I did as I was cooking for others I loved.

I became so excited about cooking dinner for my new love.  We made it more fun by shopping together.  Then, I'd cook while he played music or read passages from his favorite books.   It was (and is) a beautiful way to share our love.

In our late 30s, we married.  It's been a fun and tasty journey that I am proud to share.

I look forward to sharing creations I've tried from my treasured cookbooks, ethnic traditions and classic favorites from my family, as well as my husband's.

Thanks for visiting!