Recipe: Paczki

Most people know paczki (singular: Pączek) as a Polish doughnut, jelly doughnut, or as Berliners (pretty much the same thing.)  They are a soft, yeast-dough doughnut, traditionally filled with rose hip jam.
Paczki are imbedded in Polish cuisine like wódka, piernik, and pierogi.  On Fat Thursday (Tłusty Czwartek, the Thursday before Lent.  The French have Mardi Gras and the Poles have Tlusty Czwartek), Poles traditionally eat paczki.  Businesses order them by the bushel for their employees (I alone at five at work and brought another three home.)  The only downside is that Paczki don't keep very well and are best eaten fresh.  You can revive them by sticking them in an oven or microwave, but nothing beats that sinfully soft and chewy dough, mere moments from being pulled from the boiling vat of oil (get it all in before Lent.)

Without much further ado, here's a traditional recipe:

1 kg flour
100 grams yeast
1/2 liter milk (warm)
7 yolks
1 whole egg
3/4 cup sugar
100 grams butter (melted, cooled)
1 jigger (shot) of rum or spirytus (grain alcohol)
Juice of 1 lemon
Pinch of salt

1.5 liters of cooking oil plus 2 spoonfuls of lard
Rose hip confiture (or any other fruit preserve) for the filling
Powdered sugar for dusting (or a mixture of lemon juice and powdered sugar for a glaze.) (Optional)
Candied orange peels (cubed into small pieces) (Optional)

Mix the yeast and 2 teaspoons of sugar and 2-3 teaspoons of flour with a little bit of milk and warm water until it starts foaming.  In a large bowl, beat together the egg and yolks and sugar.  Add in the milk, butter, yeast mixture and then flour.  Mix together and add in lemon juice and alcohol.  Knead for 20 minutes, cover in a bowl and let rise for 30 minutes to an hour.
Punch down the dough.  Place the dough on a floured cutting board and roll it into a thick rope.  Cut the dough into 1.5 cm lengths and roll out into fat pancakes.  Add a spoonful the fruit preserves to the center of every-other pancake. Seal the paczki well using the other 'pancake', making sure they are round.  Place the paczki on a floured surface, cover them, and let them rise for 30 minutes to an hour.
In a wide, shallow pot or wok, gently boil the oil and lard.  Add the paczki to the oil, flipping them occasionally so they cook equally on either side—a nice brown.  Set the fried paczki on a grate to drip dry or on paper towels.  Place on a plate and dust with powered sugar, or sprinkle with candied orange pieces and drizzle with glaze.

Smacznego!

In The Meantime

Well, I haven't posted in a long time.  The main reason being that I started a new job in Warsaw and it's eaten up pretty much all the free time I've had.  I still teach English and try to get out (I saw a pretty insane chicken show.  Yes, a chicken show.  They had so many awesome chicken, you'd be amazed.  Those fighting cocks looked like they could take down a doberman, plus there were some exotic chickens that looked more like birds of paradise than anything else.  It may sound hickish and lame, but it was actually pretty interesting.)

Spring has come to Warsaw.  It came at the end of February, and March has been one long balmy holiday. It did snow last night, so it looks like winter might still be grasping.  Basically, winter disappeared right before Christmas, which sucked.  The end of November and December were fairy-tale white with snow.  The rest of winter was slushy, muddy, but had a surprising amount of sunny days.

I also think that The Social Network was robbed blind at the Oscars.  I mean, The King's Speech was an OK movie, (I'm not going to shit on it), but let's get real here: The Social Network had far better directing and was a far better movie.  Stupid period pieces.

Work has started on the new subway line in Warsaw!  We only have to wait another twenty years for this one to finish.

More to come.

A New Year

(NOTE:  This post was in the works for some time.  I've only got around to posting it now, so enjoy.)

Well, it's 2011.

Last night was Noc Sylwesterowa (or just Sylwester), New Year's Eve.  Warsaw—specifically Plac Konstytucji— was treated to a concert by Roxette (anyone remember them?) and a fireworks show.  From Centrum to Politechnika, a raucous cheap-wine-swilling crowd formed and danced to '80s pop music.  The slush on the street was trodden many times over, plus the broken wine bottles made it pretty edgy.  There was a small town of portapotties that could have serviced Woodstock.  It was a pretty good time; I had fun.

Andrzejki and Advent

With the onset of December, we have (semi-officially) entered the Christmas Season (OK, technically November 28th this year.)  Now, some may call false and say that the Christmas Season officially starts when Santa goes by in the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade. I shake a stiff finger at them and remind them that Christmastide actually begins on Christmas Eve if you strictly want to follow the liturgical calendar.  Advent still rings in Christmastide.
Anyway, right before Advent (November 30th, which actually was right after the start of Advent this year), the Poles celebrate Andrzejki (Darling Little Andrews), which is the feast of St. Andrew and also the nameday (imieniny) for Andrew.  It happens to be the last real party time before Advent (kind of like a Mardi Gras, but in winter), so people usually throw parties in and around that day, usually the preceding weekend (conveniently right before the start of Advent.)  During Advent, they observe a strict no-party rule where dancing is apparently forbidden (I found this out last night, much to my chagrin.)  Now, this doesn't stop everyone, but it does cut down on the wild office parties that have so plagued other nations.  Banging the secretary on top of the photocopier is generally avoided during this time.

We may be three weeks away from the start of winter, but I have to say that right now it's colder than a witch's titty outside.  The last few days have brought a decent amount of snow and the wind has been howling something fierce.  I actually enjoy this type of weather, and I loathe when it warms, allowing the snow to melt and then form treacherous ice.

Season Change and First Snow

I'm used to the season slowly fading into each other.  The four seasons are each distinct, but they shift rather gradually.  Here, they shift immediately.  In September, I woke up one day and the air temperature had dropped fifteen degrees and the trees were shedding yellow leaves.  Then, these past few weeks there was an abrupt change from 55-60º days to days in and below freezing.  Last night was the first real snowfall.  Wednesday night, it snowed a little, bit it only stuck around on people's cars.  It's like someone flipped a switch; the changes were so sudden and swift.  There was no melding of the seasons, just one morning it was summer and the next it was fall.

The final harvest of the year.

After many weeks (months really) of procrastination, I finally cleaned up on the balcony.  My glorious jungle, my main achievement of the year, my proudest monument, had wilted and died.  I was harped on constantly because I didn't want to clear away the scraggly tomato vines the covered the place.  I finally buckled down and cut out the vines, clearing away what fruit still clung to them.  The tomatoes are placed in the kitchen, and probably will be made into a sauce (most likely for gnocchi.)

But the snow is here (about an inch or two) and I can say I am pleased.  I hope it sticks around for Christmas, because I do love a white Christmas.  I, and many other Varsovians, went for a Sunday afternoon walk in the woods.  The trails had mostly turned to mud, but if you walked on the virgin snow it gave that satisfying scrunch.

People trudging across the fields in Kabaty.

For the season, I thought I would share a nice little tune called Shchedryk, better known (in Anglo Countries) as Carol of the Bells.  It's actually a Ukrainian New Years Carol that was given new lyrics (the original lyrics are about a sparrow flying in and wishing the master of the household a lucky year.)  Eastern Slavs don't really celebrate Christmas at the same time as the Western (due to a different liturgical calendar).  But Christmas isn't the main holiday of the season, New Years is.  It's as if the roles were switched: Russians and company are visited by some Santa (Father Snow or whatever) on New Years; they get presents then and the main celebration takes place of Christmas, which is a scaled down affair.  It's not just that they have Christmas in January, it's also that the Soviets tried to stamp out religious holidays and promote more secular ones instead.  Regardless, below is a very nice carol.

The Eleventh and Travels

I was particularly excited for this November, mostly because I thought I would be able to spend the 11th in Poland, which happens to be its Independence Day.  First off, you might ask why a nation that claims to be 1000-years old and whose inception started with the baptism of a king would need an independence day.  Well, it celebrates its independence from Germany, Austria, and Russia, which was secured on November 11th, 1918 (yes, the end of World War I), ending a partitioned rule of 123 years.  Next, you might ask why I would care at all since the Poles don't really have any super-fun holiday extravaganzas.  From what I've heard, Independence Day is just a day everyone stays at home and the military holds some token parades.  Meanwhile, the people in the States hold raucous parades for just about every holiday they can (Memorial Day, Thanksgiving Day, the Fourth of July, Veterans Day, St. Patrick's Day, Easter.)  Well, I've just never seen it, and I really wanted to see it.  Unfortunately, I was recalled to the US (on tragic circumstances) and spent the day (Veterans Day) hearing from veterans describing the free meal they got from Applebee's.  On the flipside, I did get to spend the Fourth of July in the States, instead of Poland as I have or the past couple of years (mostly by drinking a few beers and watching Gettysburg.  There's nothing more satisfyingly patriotic than watching the Confederates' dreams and hopes crushed on the battlefield.)

My journey to the States was surprisingly uneventful; everything went as smoothly as could be.  I flew Air France, and every flight was on time.  The layover in Paris was short enough and on both flights I didn't have to sit next to any horrible miscreants.  Even my passage through Customs was swift.  (Not that I'm plugging for Air France.  It was almost two years ago when they cancelled my flight from Paris to Warsaw on Christmas Eve and couldn't get me out until Christmas Day.  Then, they left my baggage in Paris.)
The trip from Boston to Rome (I flew Alitalia on the way back) was a different story.  The lass at the ticket counter  squeezed me up to seat 11A on account of the flight being full, which I immediately fantasized that I was bumped up to Business Class or the mythical First Class.  Unfortunately, I was relegated to the first seat of economy.  It wasn't all bad: there was no seat in front of me that would recline backwards and I got to exit rather quickly, plus I could stick my feet up on the partition.  The bad thing was the family across the aisle (and whose fat grandfather sat next to me) with the noisy toddlers.
I've never had a problem with kids on an air plane; if anything they're usually better than the horrible adults that usually ruin my flight.  The babies cry during takeoff and landing, but then quiet down after ten minutes and sleep the whole time.  These little brats didn't sleep at all and did nothing but talk really loudly and cry.  I mean, they. would. NOT. shut up.  Meanwhile, their loving parents proceeded to ignore them and continue to watch their movies.  The mother saw fit to change one of their diapers in the cabin instead of the bathroom, where there are perfectly good accommodations for changing a shit-filled sack from little child.  Also, they turned on a DVD player sans headphones so the rest of us could enjoy the crappy kids movie.  And another thing: when I first arrived at my seat, I was greeted by the grandmother playing with the two kids in my seat.  She then went, "Oh, you're the one sitting here." and spent ten minutes picking up toys and uncooperative kids to clear out and let me sit down (meanwhile backing up the line for people waiting to get on the plane.)  Did she just think that someone wasn't going to sit in that seat on an over-booked flight?
The flight from Rome to Warsaw was fine, but I was picked out by Customs for inspection, who scanned my bag.  The guard then spent a few minutes writing something down and said I could go.  Why the need to write down something when nothing happened?  They feel the need to note anything of importance and whatnot.  It's like when a few years ago I got off a late train and headed for the benches under the walkways in Centralna to wait for a friend.  Two policemen followed me and took down all my information in a little book then let me go.  Doesn't really make sense.

Hallowmas

Yesterday was All Saints Day (or All Hallows Day/Hallowmas.  Yes, Hallowe'en gets its name from All Hallows Eve, which is the day before All Hallows Day.  You are that much smarter.)  In many countries, including Poland, it's a large festive holiday.  Everyone visits the cemeteries to place flowers and candles upon their loved ones' graves.
In Poland, in particular, it's one of the more major holidays I've witnessed.  Special bus lines run often, ferrying the enormous crowds to the cemeteries on the outskirts of the cities.  The cemeteries themselves begin to look like bazaars, with candle sellers, florists, vendors selling special candies called Skórka Panska (Lordly Skin/Leather.  It's like a hard taffy.) and baked goods (tiny bagels!), plus others selling gloves, scarves, socks, hats, earrings, and mittens.  Young and old flood in amongst the dead, searching for the graves.  Some wander about, trying to discern which headstone is the right one.  When they get their, they clear away the fallen leaves, dead flowers, and extinguished candles and replace them with new ones.  Sometimes, they come and discover that another family member has come and already placed candles and flowers.  The grave sites turn into mini gardens and shrines.  Most say a small prayer, and leave, perhaps to find the next grave.

Scouts selling candles.

The crowd on the way to a cemetery.

Florists doing brisk business.

A virtual market and bazaar at the cemetery gates.

A shrine to those who perished under communism.

The crowd inside the cemetery.

The graves decorated with candles and flowers.

Supposedly, gypsies come to the cemeteries and hold mini parties atop their graves.  After wandering around a little, keeping an eye out for drinking and feasting gypsies, I rationalized that it was too early in the morning for even gypsies to take to the bottle.

After a visit to the ancestors' graves, the families usually return home for an afternoon dinner.

The New Office Building

It's pretty noticeable, the rise of the new Warsaw.  From the new MoMA, to the new stadium, to the new metro, and the explosion of both apartment blocks and business parks.  These new office buildings shed the gray cement and small windows of the communist era, and erupted as massive monoliths of glass.  Now, that's not to say that they tower above like in New York or Hong Kong or Tokyo (the tallest building is still the Palac Kultury i Nauki), but they are springing up like mushrooms after a summer rain.

The new boom has pushed construction in Poland into a wild frenzy, but many don't think it will last.  Studio apartments are selling for 500,000zl in places like Wola and Praga.  With Warsaw's rapid expansion (and the rest of Poland emptying out, both due to people flocking to the cities and Ireland, UK, and Norway) many fear that there's a bubble that's inflating.  When that bubble pops, Warsaw will be stuck with monuments to man's over-frenzied greed.  Landlords won't be able to find enough tenants for to fill their offices and prices will plummet.  It's a common story, visible in Frankfurt and (most noticeably) in Dubai.  But, Poland has a lot of catching up to do.  We'll just have to wait and see how this recent tear will end up.

The office building of yesteryear

A more modern site.

A ocean of glass.

Just a Few Pictures of the Sunrise

Recently, I was wondering about a good place to watch the sunrise in Warsaw.  I nailed down a few places (the University of Warsaw's library was my number one choice, but it doesn't open until nine) and finally settled on Plac Zamkowy.  So, I got up early; baked a batch of cranberry scones; put some Earl Grey into the thermos; and headed out to see the sunrise.

Most Swietokrzyski in front of Stadion Narodowy. 

I have to say that I really enjoy Poland the most during the early morning and late evening.  Also, the seasons affect it too.  During the summer, it's hot and full of horrible tourists (I grew up in a tourist town and now see them as nothing more than walking wallets who complain.)  Before the dawn, the only people out on the streets are the partiers going home (two men asked me—at 7:15 AM—where they could find a bar/club.  I told them to go to Przekaski Zakaski.) and the really early-birds.
I was blessed with having a clear morning.  There were wisps of clouds, but the sun shone through.  It's really nice to see the morning dew on the ground and the morning fog settled between the buildings and the trees.  Plac Zamkowy offers an excellent view of the sunrise.  Once I find a better place, I'll let you all know.

Autumn Fall

Like a switch has been thrown, it's autumn in Poland.  One day I woke up and the trees had changed color and lost a great deal of leaves.  The weather turned damp and everyone walked around stylishly bundled up.  Also, I can tell it's fall by the 600% rise in interest in people seeking out English lessons.  It's like clockwork.  Every start of October and February, there's a rise in people asking for lessons, and all those lessons (and interest) cease in June.

The seasons move quick here.  Summer didn't fade into fall like I was used to; it just shifted gears and dropped twenty degrees.  I meandered about in Kabaty to tramp through the leaves (I love to skip through huge piles of fallen leaves and kick them about.  Yes, it is as awesome as it sounds.)

The growing seasons are weïrd in Poland.  For instance: right now there are no more squash in the markets.  That's right.  Squash.  I'm used to squash disappearing half-way through November, not the end on September.  It was absurd.  The markets are mostly empty now anyway; all the farmers have packed up. There are plenty of apples for sale, and that's fine with me.

Also, the colors don't change a lot like in the northern states and Canada.  My falls have always been vivid with red, yellow, orange fireworks of leaves changing.  We used to hike up a mountain and look out to see a carpet of exploding color.  Here, leaves change a paltry yellow and drift to the ground where they rapidly turn brown.