We like them crispy.

One of our cherished memories of Mr. Irene's Dad was his skill at cooking potato pancakes.  He sometimes made potato pancakes when Mr. Irene, my Mom, and I visited with Mr. Irene's Parents on Sunday afternoons. Potato pancakes therefore spark happy memories.

Lithuanian* potato pancakes ("bulviniai blynai") are unlike latkes: the texture of the potatoes used in the batter must resemble a dense pulp, not shreds of potato. Most people prepare the potatoes for bulviniai blynai by processing them in a potato-grating machine (see also here and here) or, less favorably, in a juicer. A food processor does not achieve the correct texture. Mr. Irene's Dad did not have a potato-grating machine, so he laboriously processed the potatoes by hand on the small holes of a hand grater.

We have a potato-grating machine, and we most often use it to make Kugelis. I've been tweaking a recipe for potato pancakes for over ten years, but I never quite achieved the result we wanted. Last night, we were successful. 

Here is my recipe:

 Potato Pancakes ("Bulviniai Blynai")

3 pounds Idaho or Yukon Gold potatoes (if you don't own a kitchen scale, then get one)

2 egg whites

1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar

2 egg yolks

2 tablespoons sour cream

1/4 teaspoon baking powder

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons salt

1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper

about 1 teaspoon "Fruit Fresh" or citric acid (optional; prevents potatoes from oxidizing)

1 medium yellow onion

1 cup peanut oil (for frying)

Sour Cream (for serving)

Fill a large bowl with cold water. Add part of the "Fruit Fresh" and allow to dissolve. Peel potatoes and cut into quarters. Drop potato quarters into the cold water; set aside.

In a medium mixing bowl using a hand mixer, beat the egg whites and cream of tartar on medium speed until frothy. Gradually increase the speed to high and mix until the egg whites are stiff. Set aside.

In another mixing bowl, using the same hand mixer, beat the egg yolks, sour cream, baking powder, flour, salt, and pepper until the egg yolks are pale in color and the mixture is thick. Set aside.

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Adjust the oven rack to the center positions. Line two cookies sheets with foil. Lightly spray the foil with vegetable spray. Place a brown grocery bag near the stove top. Cover the bag with a thick layer of paper towels.

Set a fine mesh colander into a large mixing bowl and place the colander/bowl assembly under the spout of a potato-grating machine. Process the potatoes and onions together in the potato-grating machine (people suggest processing the onions with the potato keeps the potatoes from oxidizing). Occasionally sprinkle the grated potatoes with "Fruit Fresh" to prevent oxidizing.

Using a spatula, press the potato pulp against the side of the colander to squeeze out as much liquid as possible (do not drain the liquid yet). Let the liquid stand for about 5 minutes, and save the starch that accumulates at the bottom. Stir the potato pulp into the egg yolk mixture; then add the accumulated potato starch. Fold in the egg whites: incorporate the  whites, but don't deflate them. 

Heat 1/4- to 1/2-inch depth of peanut oil in a large, nonstick, sauté pan over medium-high heat until shimmering but not smoking. Ladle 1/4 cup of the batter into the oil for each blynas. Lightly press down on the batter so the blynai are round and the tops are flat, position the blynai so they are not touching. Make about four blynai at a time. Fry until the bottom is golden brown, about 3-1/2 to 4 minutes. Fry the other side until golden; about 2 to 3 minutes. 

Remove the blynai from the oil and set on the paper-towel lined grocery bag. Allow both sides to exude some of the oil. Transfer the cooked blynai to the prepared cookie sheet(s) and place in the 425 degree oven, uncovered, while you finish frying the rest of the blynai.

Serve immediately with sour cream.

Makes 12 pancakes, serves 3 to 4.

*Yes, Poles, Russians, and Ukrainians follow a similar method for making potato pancakes.

Let's make a Kugelis.

Mr. Irene and I decided to make a traditional Lithuanian dish, Kugelis, last night. It wasn't a special occasion; we just had a taste for it, and our potatoes were on the "old" side. (Lithuanian cooks insist old potatoes makes a better Kugelis because old potatoes have less liquid.)

We don't make Kugelis very often because it's something of a—to use an Italian phrase—"bomba calorica." A dish that serves six to eight people features five pounds of potatoes, two sticks of butter, one cup of cream, 12 ounces of bacon, five eggs, and an onion. And one eats Kugelis with a generous side of sour cream.
 

 Verona, Wisconsin, March 2014. Mr. Irene peeled and quartered the potatoes. We kept the potatoes in ice water until I was ready to grate them. 

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Verona, Wisconsin, March 2014. The potatoes must be grated using a fine blade; the correct texture is a pulp, not shreds. We use a Lithuanian potato-grating machine. 

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Verona, Wisconsin, March 2014. Quick grating keeps the potatoes from oxidizing. Lithuanians frown upon a "grey" Kugelis.

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Verona, Wisconsin, March 2014. The Kugelis is ready about three hours after we started making it.

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Verona, Wisconsin, March 2014. Rex says, "Hey! Bacon!!" 

"Melt the butter down. Once the butter is melted, I'm gonna combine this with the bacon—and the grease of the bacon."

The key to a tasty Kugelis is a good amount of fat.

Here's a recipe;* it's very similar to the one I use:

*Why must the makers of this video highlight the recipe as a "Gluten Free" one?! Ridiculous. Kugelis has always been "Gluten Free."

Lithuanian Food (Again)

RimaRama! writes about dining in Lithuania.

Related by Marriage: Party Table

Marquette Park, Chicago, Illinois, 1960. Wally—the husband of Mr. Irene's maternal Aunt Martha—enjoys the Sunday table. First-generation Lithuanians will recognize the items on the table: Kugelis, sauerkraut, sausage, cucumber Jell-O mold, trimmed radishes, tomatoes, and … Seagram's V.O. and ashtrays.

"See what you missed?"

That's what my friend, V, wrote when she sent along this image from yesterday's "Kaziuko Mugė:"



Lithuanian World Center, Lemont, Illinois, March 3, 2013. The sign on the left that reads "Valgykla" directs visitors to the cafeteria. Kugelis! Cepelinai!

Thanks to my friend V for making this photo available to us.

Grating potatoes.

Now that the holidays are over, do you yearn for a nice meal built around the humble potato? Do you have a taste for Kugelis? Perhaps you'd rather have Cepelinai or maybe a lot of Cepelinai?

An electric potato grating machine will make the preparation easier. Here's a slick model (see the recipe—for a double batch of—Kugelis there, too). This is the appliance that we use.

Catwalk

The annual fashion show, the "Madų Paroda," was a celebrated event in the Lithuanian community. My Mom and her best friend, Donna, attended the show every year. The show was a stylish event, and it took place at the Lietuvių Jaunimo Centras, or "Lithuanian Youth Center,"on a Saturday night. Women sat at long tables, and, during the intermission, they ate a family-style meal of Lithuanian foods, namely sausages and sauerkraut, boiled potatoes, kugelis, a lingonberry crumble cake, and Napoleonas. The room smelled like hairspray and cigarette smoke.

All garments featured at the Madų Paroda were handmade. Women submitted their items to a committee that juried the selections for the show. We were thrilled when a few suits that my Mom had knitted made it onto the runway.

The catwalk models were Lithuanian women; most were former Displaced Persons. They were among the most elegant in the community: they had perfect figures, and most had "Baltic blonde" hair and frosted nails. When not fashioned for the show, the stylish women usually wore a lot of black clothing, accented by bulky amber jewelry. If you grew up in the Lithuanian community, then I'm sure you can picture this 1960s standard of ethnic beauty.


Gage Park, Chicago, about 1963. A woman, serving coffee, stands between my Mom and Donna. Mom and Donna have secured a great table, right next to the catwalk. (Photo by V. Noreika.)

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Gage Park, Chicago, about 1963. There's a lot going on here! (Photo by V. Noreika.)

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Suburban Chicago, 1972. It's my first Madų Paroda, and Mom and I have sewed matching dresses.

Union Pier

Union Pier, Michigan is a short drive from Chicago. Its sandy dunes attracted Chicagoans for many summers. The area underwent a slump in the late 1950s. Beginning in the 1960s, Lithuanian DPs played an important role in the area's revival.

Lithuanians living in Chicago found the Union Pier beaches resembled the white sands of Palanga. The dunes reminded the DPs of better times back in the homeland. Union Pier was to Lithuanian immigrants what the Catskills were to Jewish immigrants.

My Parents had friends who owned cottages—or multiple complexes of cottages—in Union Pier. These were small, unpretentious places; some did not have indoor plumbing. Nonetheless, it was a thrill to visit a cottage, change into a swimsuit, and be in the waters of Lake Michigan. Mr. Irene remembers staying at a Lithuanian resort at Union Pier. Guests at the resort ate family-style meals of Koldūnai, Cabbage Rolls, Kugelis, Cepelinai, and Zrazai. There was a bakery to which visitors could walk on weekend mornings to buy hot, fresh bacon buns. Mr. Irene also recalls that on Sundays, his Dad took him to a corner shop to buy a comic book.

My Parents favored Wisconsin over Union Pier. A couple of factors played into that preference. First, Dad did not like driving through Gary, Indiana. The pollution generated by the steel mills in northeastern Indiana was horrific, and in the pre-air-conditioned car days, the trip could be miserable. Dad wanted the drive to be as pleasant as the destination. Second, I suspect Dad rejected Union Pier for the same reasons he vetoed living in Marquette Park. He found Union Pier heavy with "DP camp culture." Dad was something of a loner, and he shunned situations in which group think prevailed.

Today, Union Pier, like many Lake Michigan shore towns, has been gentrified. It nonetheless retains strong Lithuanian ties. One of the best Midwestern Lithuanian food market is in Union Pier, and Lithuanian artists often exhibit their work in Union Pier. The town still has a number of lovely Lithuanian resorts.

I remember good times in Union Pier.

Union Pier, Michigan, August 1962. I am in the foreground, on the far left, with a friend. You get a sense from this shot of how close the cottages were to the dunes.

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Union Pier, Michigan, August 1962. I enjoyed Lake Michigan because it seemed like an ocean.

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Union Pier, Michigan, August 1962. My friend and I collect beach treasures.

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Union Pier, Michigan, August 1962. I've had enough of the water.

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Union Pier, Michigan, August 1964. It's time to enjoy the sand.

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Union Pier, Michigan, August 1962. My Mom keeps a close eye on everyone.

Related by Marriage: A Sunday Ritual

Mr. Irene spent nearly every Sunday afternoon of his grade school years at the Marquette Park home of his Grandparents, Anna and Stanley. Anna and Stanley hosted him and his Parents for dinners of hearty Lithuanian fare: homemade sausages and sauerkraut, potato kugel ("Kugelis"), roasts, and dumplings (" Koldūnai " or "Pelmeni"). Mr. Irene's maternal Aunt Martha, her husband Wally, and Anna's spinster sister, Petra, all shared the small Marquette Park bungalow with Anna and Stanley. They, too, joined in the weekly ritual.

Everyone stayed together through the end of the meal. Afterward, the family divided itself into different quarters. Stanley and Anna retired to the living room (the "front room" in Chicago parlance), usually with Mr. Irene's Mother. Martha and Petra stayed in the kitchen to wash dishes. Mr. Irene's Dad went upstairs to join Wally for Winston cigarettes and political talk. Mr. Irene migrated across the different areas, ending up with his Mom, Anna and Stanley, and Martha.

In good weather, Mr. Irene's Dad and Wally might invite Mr. Irene to join them for a walk to Marquette Park. The Sunday soccer league usually was in play near the main intersection of 69th Street and California Avenue. Young and old men strolled up 69th Street towards the Park, and Mr. Irene's Dad and Wally frequently stopped on the sidewalk to greet friends and co-workers.

During one Sunday walk, Mr. Irene, his Dad, and Wally even saw President Reagan campaigning in Marquette Park.

Although Mr. Irene now craves the Lithuanian Sunday menu of his youth, as a child, he picked his way gingerly through most of those dinners. Occasionally (ha ha), he convinced his Parents to stop for decent Sunday fare—namely, a hamburger and fries—on the way home. White Castle was one good alternative. A special treat was stopping at an A&W Root Beer restaurant in McCook, an industrial area between Marquette Park and Mr. Irene's suburban home.

McCook was home to some huge factories, which were silent and empty on Sundays. An A&W graced the edge of some undeveloped prairie at the edge of the town. There was absolutely nothing around it, except a swing set on a patch of grass. Best of all, A&W had car-hop service.

Marquette Park, Chicago, Illinois, Spring 1960. There's a plate of Kugelis at the front of the table. From left to right are Anna (with Mr. Irene in front of her), Stanley, Mr. Irene's Dad, Mr. Irene's Mom, and Wally (in profile).

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Marquette Park, Chicago, Spring 1961. From left to right stand "Uncle D" (the brother of Mr. Irene's paternal Grandmother Veronica), Stanley, Anna (holding Mr. Irene), Mr. Irene's Mom, and Mr. Irene's Dad.

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Marquette Park, Chicago, Spring 1961. "White Castle, here I come."