Koldūnai were a delicacy during my childhood. Making Koldūnai was culinary theatre. My paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, labored over the hand-shaped wonders for the better part of an afternoon. Flour flew. Every surface had sticky dough on it. When Tatjana boiled the dumplings, the faint perfume of marjoram scented the kitchen.
This morning, that craving led me to a Russian market. I bought a two-pound bag of Pelmeni (made in Buffalo, New York). We boiled the Pelmeni, and Mom fried up minced bacon to serve—in its fat, of course—with the Pelmeni.
We sat down to dinner. I said, "Grandma has risen from the dead."
Suburban Chicago, 1962. My paternal Grandmother, Tatjana—whom we all called "Baba"—looks like a Baba as she teaches me the art of making Koldūnai.
1 comment:
Such a great picture, Irene. It certainly makes me think of my childhood.
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