"22 Delicious Russian Foods for Your Sochi Olympics Party"

BuzzFeed makes another list.

 

There are many family favorites on the menu, including Salat Olivyeh; Borscht (see our cold version here); Cucumber and Radish Salad (a summer staple); Poppy Seed Strudel (I don't eat that; the poppy-seed filling has the texture of dirt); Golubtsy (Cabbage Rolls); Pelmeni (similar to our Koldūnai); and Apple Sharlotka.

Hey! Those rolls sitting next to the Rassolnik look like our Cabbage (or Bacon) Buns.

I've never eaten "fried bread."

That's one item mentioned in "A Culinary Voyage to Lithuania."

Lithuanian Food (Again)

RimaRama! writes about dining in Lithuania.

"How to make koldūnai."

Koldūnai are Lithuanian meat dumplings. I used to make them with my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana. Tatjana cut the dough using a floured juice glass. They were the perfect size.

We recently bought this mold. It arrived directly from the Ukraine.

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.

On the Menu

My paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, did most of the cooking when I was growing up because my Mom worked a full-time job. Mom liked to bake, and she usually pitched in with holiday party preparations. But Tatjana was in charge of the everyday meals.

Tatjana also loved to entertain, and little satisfied her more than a Sunday party. Her food was the center of attention at these gatherings, and she stepped up her cooking game whenever guests arrived. We started out with zakuski: Russian appetizers. A homemade soup, often a chicken broth accompanied by meat of cabbage rolls, followed the zakuski. Although the main course usually consisted of a simple beef roast (well done, of course!!), Tatjana occasionally made Scalloped Potatoes and "Russian Cauliflower"—a cooked cauliflower covered with a sautéed mixture of breadcrumbs, onions, and parsley. Dessert often consisted of a Pavlova shell filled with vanilla ice cream and topped with defrosted, frozen strawberries in syrup. For holidays, Baba baked Babkas, a walnut torte, and—my least favorite food—poppy seed yeast roll.

All of this hard work rightly gave guests the impression that Tatjana was an amazing cook. On a day-to-day basis, however, her cooking was mediocre. Tatjana often made soup for dinner using a beef chuck roast. Once the soup was ready, she made a "brown sauce" for the meat and served that sauced, boiled beef as the main course—with a side of boiled potatoes. I hated that meal, but I loved it when she covered a boiled chicken from a chicken stock preparation with béchamel sauce and served that over rice. The meatloaf was dry. The cube steak was dusted in Lipton's French Onion Soup mix. Dessert was usually Jell-O. It seemed like a celebration when we had instant pudding instead of Jell-O.

Tatjana prepared spectacular Koldūnai, but she made them rarely. She never cooked the two Lithuanian signature dishes, Kugelis and Cepelinai.

The one "traditional" dish that Tatjana made was one I disliked intensely: Cabbage Rolls.* Tatjana mixed ground beef with rice, stuffed the leaves, and poured canned tomato soup over the rolls.

This week, I decided to overcome my dislike of Cabbage Rolls. Over the last few days, I created a hybrid Cabbage Roll recipe. Mom and I set it up this morning. We'll see if I like the Cabbage Rolls any more than when I was a little girl.

Suburban Chicago, Spring 1960. Tatjana looks tired after cooking. My high chair is behind her.

*Lithuanians call Cabbage Rolls "balandeliai," or "little doves." But Tatjana was Russian, and she did the cooking. So we called Cabbage Rolls by their Russian name, "Golubsti." We added the Lithuanian declination to the noun, of course, so the word became "Golubstai."

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."

Our Kūčios Table

This year, the table features herring four ways, "Christmas Fish," rye and country breads, and three vegetable salads—beet and bean, potato and mixed vegetable, and seasoned mushroom. There's one dish that breaks with custom: an Italian seafood salad. That's a nod to the one Christmas Eve I spent in Venice.

Wait?! This photo shows only ten, not twelve, dishes on the table.  The other two dishes—another herring preparation and hot, mushroom koldūnai—still were in preparation when I took this photo.

Merry Christmas.

Verona, Wisconsin, December 24, 2011. Each dish has a piece of plotkelė on it.

Koldūnai

Yesterday's "Bacon, Please" post led me to crave "Koldūnai." Koldūnai are Lithuania's version of the Russian "Pelmeni" (пельмени), or Siberian Meat Dumplings. Every culture has a variety of savory dumplings: Pierogi, Pot Stickers, Pasties, and Ravoli.

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.

Bacon, Please

Only a Russian—or a Lithuanian—would continue calling a dish "vegetarian," even though she garnishes it with bacon.

I write this with the greatest affection.

Sour cream, anyone?