I don't discriminate when it comes to dumplings. Give me a generous plate of pretty much anything wrapped in a starchy, doughy casing and I will dive in with pleasure. But one star in the dumpling universe shines brighter than the others: the humble pierogi.
I still miss my gramma. I can see her at the farm, in her apron, babushka and support stockings. My Slovak gramma spoiled us with pig in the blankets, kalachi, pop, chips and a drawer full of lollipops. It was heaven.
I eat tall, chinny, Eastern European heavyweights for breakfast.
The knish is a classic example of peasant food evolving into comfort food and even sophisticated fare.
My mom, she's a great cook. You know, pirogue, borscht. I love borscht, and I love Pilemeni, meat dumplings.
Of course I love cooking Eastern European food because I'm a Jew, but I also love making roast chicken. I love making Hungarian goulash. There are a lot of egg noodles in my cooking.
A Jewish deli should specialize in, first and foremost, Yiddish foods, the foods of the Eastern European Ashkenazi Jews. So, if it's a place that specializes in pizza or chicken wings or diner food and then does a corned beef sandwich on the side, it's not a Jewish delicatessen.
I grew up in a typical Ashkenazi household. My bubbe actually lived with us. She'd make us the traditional colorless, beige, heavy foods: chicken soup, kreplach, gefilte fish, tzimmes.
The perfect borscht is what life should be but never is.
Everything I do, I do on the principle of Russian borscht. You can throw everything into it beets, carrots, cabbage, onions, everything you want. What's important is the result, the taste of the borscht.
My favorite Polish foods are the soups, and particularly the sour soups, which I don't think I've ever had anywhere else. Zurek, sour bread soup, as well as chlodnik, a cold soup made with beetroot and yogurt, are really unique to Polish cuisine.
