The Eighth Tribe, 1978 (5. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)

1978-04-01 / 4. szám

April, 1978 THE EIGHTH TRIBE Page 5 As late as the eighteenth century travelers to Hungary returned home with tales of legendary hospitality as well as of the eccentricities and im­plausible escapades of the unbridled Magyars. There were accounts of great feasts that lasted for many days, and the stories of drinking, dancing, and merrymaking were unparalleled in the civilized world. By the middle of the nineteenth century praise of Hungarian culinary achievements began to be heard throughout Europe. Dumas pere, who was a passionate amateur chef, was a great exponent of the culinary art of the Magyars, and the well-known Ger­man traveler and writer J. G. Kohl enthusiastically extolled the virtues of Budapest restaurants and inns. He was in ecstasy over the fare served at the Queen of England Restaurant. Edward VII evidently found it to his liking also, for after a stay at the hostelry he lured the chef away and took him back to England. Many of the more substantial ele­ments of Hungarian cookery owe their presence not so much to settlers and invaders as to the bounty of the land itself. Venison and game birds have long been devoured in great quan­tities by the Magyars, and their prepara­tion was brought long ago to an exalted rank of culinary artistry. A nineteenth­­century feuilletonist and essayist named Gyula Krúdy stipulated: “Come No­vember game should be eaten by all decent Hungarians. Hare tastes best in November because by then the hares have grown fat like a poor curate who has been appointed a parish priest. The deer are also fat from long summer grazing, the wild hog can barely walk and rolls down the hillside, while the grouse becomes more bold in the dense November fog.” No animal, however, is more beloved by Hungarian epicures than the fattened goose. All summer long young girls and crones ply the greedy white birds with com. After a few months the birds can barely waddle, and their meat becomes tender and sweet. The geese are roasted or braised, and the cracklings made from the layers of fat and skin are eaten with bread or used to flavor other dishes. But it is the liver, the magnificent foie gras, that is the most precious morsel. Large and incredibly delicious, it can be sautéed, poached, smoked, wrapped in fat and baked, or made into paté— and it is the epitome, the crowning glory, of Hungarian cuisine. The prominence of pork in the Hun­garian diet is the result of the short­legged, small, fat hogs that the Magyars brought with them from Asia. Every­where in Hungary, from November through February, the predawn darkness of the farmyards is illuminated by straw bonfires beside which hogs are butchered. Children gather around the fires cook­ing pieces of fresh bacon speared on sticks and soaking up the drippings with wedges of crusty bread while the won­derful aroma of homemade sausages wafts through the chilly air. By evening the chops and roasts have been cut and stored in the ice cellar, the bacon and hams have been hung in the smoke­house, and the back, head bones, feet, jaws, and ears are simmering in a kettle in preparation for orja, the pungent thick soup of Hungarian peasants. At suppertime the orja kettle is set on the table along with a platter of pork cutlets and fresh sausages, a huge pan of stuffed cabbage, a bowl of galuska (dumplings) or tarhonya (egg pasta), and dishes of horseradish sauce. Pastas and dumplings are vital com­ponents of Hungarian cookery, and among the pastas tarhonya is probably the most characteristic. A firm egg dough is pressed through a sieve or grated and allowed to dry. The tiny pieces of dough are then roasted or sautéed in lard, sprinkled with paprika, and boiled in salted water. Tarhonya is served with numerous familiar Hun­garian stews, and it is given to children in boiled milk; mixed with peas or mushrooms; and used for poultry stuffing as well. Kocka, csusza, and metélt are all pastas, each of which is made in a different shape and served with various toppings. The most common pasta dish consists of small squares of dough that are boiled, drained, and topped with cottage cheese and hot lard with crack­lings. Other toppings include walnuts, poppy seeds, sautéed cabbage or sauer­kraut, and chopped meats. Galuska, csipetke, and nockeddli are perhaps the favorite small dumplings; though also cherished is the gombóc, a dumpling of Slavic origin that is made from raised dough or potatoes and usually stuffed with apricots or plums. Many Hungarian dishes originated on the Puszta, the wide expanse of plain that extends east of the Danube toward the foothills of the Carpathian Mountains. Here cowboys cook their gulyás in iron kettles suspended over log fires, and at night they sit huddled in great fur capes, assuaging their hunger with the slightly smoky gulyás, thick slices of bread, and wine poured from leather-encased decanters. True gulyás is really a stew made from beef, onions, potatoes, and green peppers; it is accompanied by csipetke and is served, even in the best restau­rants, from an iron or copper kettle. Pörkölt is a similar though somewhat thicker stew made with lamb, beef, or pork and it is served with nockeddli. Paprikás, prepared with pork, veal, chicken, or fish, belongs to the same family, but it usually has more sauce than pörkölt, and the sauce contains sour cream. Stews and soups are the mainstays of Hungarian cuisine. The soups are thick and pungent, made from vege­tables, fruits, meats, poultry, and game. There are purées and so-called sour soups that incorporate sour cream and vinegar and fruit soups made from cherries, raspberries, plums, apples, and apricots, which are served cold with generous dollops of sour cream. One of the favorites among the hearty variety is halászlé, a fisherman’s soup in which any of the many fish caught in the Tisza and the Danube are cooked with onions and paprika. Originally the fishermen would layer their ingredients in a kettle hung over a log fire, but today most Hungarian chefs have evolved other methods and individual versions. The soup is still traditionally served in a pewter, copper, or iron kettle, how­ever. Hungarian lakes and rivers abound with fish, and the fogas of Lake Balaton is one of the best tasting. Customarily served whole, it is generally baked or poached and presented with great flair. Other freshwater fish go into paprikás in addition to being baked, grilled, sautéed, or simmered with vegetables. Among the prominent seasonings found in Hungarian cookery are cara­way seed, marjoram, dill, and thyme. Tarragon, which made the arduous journey with the Mongol tribes from Siberia, is widely used in Transylvania and the eastern provinces, and sour cream is used lavishly throughout the country. Sauces, soups, and vegetables are frequently thickened with a well­­browned roux known as rántás. Hungarian housewives usually have an extensive repertoire of stuffed vege­tables, of which töltött káposzta, the in­imitable stuffed cabbage, is undoubtedly the best known. It is made differently in almost every village. Stuffed kohlrabi, squash, onions, tomatoes, and peppers are also great favorites. Some are pre­

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