The Middle East + Central Asia - Chickpea Salad (Uzbekistan)

Full disclosure:  I'm not completely sure this dish is actually from Uzbekistan.

Facts I knew about Uzbekistan

• It is a former Soviet Socialist Republic.
• It is very mountainous and dry.
• Most Uzbeks are Muslim.

Fake facts I knew about Uzbekistan

• Uzbeks are very nosy people with bones in their brains.

Facts I thought I knew about Uzbekistan, but turned out to be wrong

• The president named the months of the year after himself.  (Actually, this was Turkmenistan, and it was really only one month named after him, and one named after his mother, but still it's a little strange.)

As you can see, I was off to a flying start, here.  Enter the Internet!

Facts I learned about Uzbekistan after 10 minutes of research on Wikipedia

• It is one of two doubly-landlocked countries.  (The other is Lichtenstein.)
• There is a very good bicyclist from Uzbekistan, named Djamolidine Abdoujaparov, who is also known as "The Terror of Tashkent" for his propensity to weave back and forth in crowded sprints.
• Uzbekistan is the world's third-largest exporter of cotton.
• The average summer high temperature is 104ºF (40ºC) and the average winter low temperature is –9ºF (–23ºC).
• Uzbeks eat a lot of sheep and noodles.

The more you know!

Armed with this knowledge, I was even less sure about the legitimacy of this dish, as is contains neither mutton nor noodles.  However, it did taste good, and all of the ingredients seemed legit to my uninformed and possibly stereotypical view of Uzbek cuisine (root vegetables and dill and rye are kind of Russiany, right?  And Uzbekistan was kind of Russiany for a while...).

First, steam up some chopped kale (cooked spinach would work, too—just make sure to drain the spinach before using).   Once cooked, set aside.

Next, get about a cup of cooked chickpeas (canned are fine).  In a large saute pan, heat up some oil over medium heat; I used some chili oil, but any oil would work (you could always add a bit of crushed pepper to spice it up).  Once the oil is hot, add the chickpeas and cook, stirring occasionally, until they've started to brown.

While the chickpeas are cooking, start your grain of choice.  Rice is the suggested accompaniment, but I used rye berries because they seemed more interesting and no less traditional (traditional used rather loosely).  You want roughly half as much grain as bean, so I used about 1/4 c. rye berries to 1/2 c. water, bringing it all to a boil and then simmering until the grains were tender.

Once the chickpeas are all crispy and golden, empty them out onto a paper towel-covered plate, to absorb some of the excess oil.  Wipe down your saute pan, add a little more oil, and return to the heat.  When the oil is hot, add a tablespoon each of black sesame seed and caraway seed, plus any crushed pepper of your choosing, to the extent your tastebuds can handle (I used a sprinkle of Aleppo pepper).  Chop up half an onion, finely mince a couple of cloves of garlic, and peel and chop the root vegetables of your choice (I used two small carrots, sliced into rounds, along with a turnip and rutabaga that were roughly diced into quarter-inch cubes).  When the seeds begin to sputter, add the onion and stir, cooking until it is just softened.  Then mix in the garlic; when the garlic is fragrant, add the carrots/turnips/rutabaga/whatever, plus a teaspoon each of ground cumin and coriander, and stir to coat. Pour in 1/4 c. water and cover, letting it simmer until the vegetables are almost tender.

Finely chop a large bunch of dill (a good 1/2 c., packed).  Uncover the pan and add the kale; let cook until almost all of the liquid (if any remains) has evaporated, then add a quick slurp of cider vinegar.  Mix, taste for salt and adjust as necessary, then add half of the chopped dill; let it all cook, stirring occasionally, until the turnips and rutabagas are done.  Mix in the cooked rye berries and chickpeas, along with the rest of the dill, and let everything heat through.  Do a final taste and adjust for salt, dill, or vinegar as needed.

Remove the pan from the heat and stir through a large dollop of sour cream or yogurt.  Sprinkle on even more dill, if that's what you fancy.  The dill's the limit.

The rye berries help make this a solid dish, but it also goes well with hunks of bread, and I imagine it wouldn't be remiss wrapped up in a pita or similar bread-like contraption.  Or, enjoy with actual hunks, if you happen to know any.

Eastern + Central Europe - Pierogis (Poland)

Welcome to 2012, dear readers!  May your year be full of health and happiness and good food and also good booze if you're into that sort of thing!

For my first post of this, the most newest of years, I am actually discussing a dish made last year.  And while I am not one to dwell on the past, the food was actually very good, so it is less dwelling and more...reminiscing?  Fondly remembering?  Something like that.

This dish is, in retrospect, dedicated to my paternal grandmother, who would have been crowned queen of the Cranky Old Ladies if they were a sovereign nation (and now everyone knows where I get my crotchetiness from—you're welcome, Mom).  However, she did try her damnedest to get me into crocheting and knitting, and while it didn't take while she was alive, something eventually stuck and here I am.

Like my version of pierogis, my grandmother was half Polish and half Irish (the Polish side always requested that we bring her pussy willows on Dyngus Day, and the Irish side got mad at me for being excited to study abroad in England because Cromwell, murder, potatoes, etc. etc.).  You can fill pierogis with most anything, including fruit if you're feeling festive and desserty, but I stuffed mine with bubble and squeak, which isn't terribly far removed from the more traditional potato and onion.  For directions on making your own bubble and squeak filling, check out my post here (just don't cook the mixture and be sure to chop everything finely, otherwise you'll have a battle on your hands when you reach the stuffing stage); I mixed things up a bit by replacing the cabbage and spinach with kale and Brussels sprouts, but you can use whatever greens you have on hand.

For the dough, I basically just used this recipe, but I thought the dough needed a bit of extra water (though I think that was mostly caused by evaporation of the 3/4 c. of water I boiled).  I also thought that letting the dough rest was a brilliant touch, and it made the kneading easier—it should feel like soft pasta dough when you're done.

 Divide up your dough into 4 or 5 pieces, and roll out a piece until it's about 1/8 inch thick; make sure your work surface and the dough are well-floured, because the dough will want to stick.  Using circular cutters of whatever size you choose (or water glasses, if you're not that fancy), cut out as many circles as you can manage.  Use a dessert spoon to put a little dollop of the filling in the center of each circle, then fold up the sides and pinch the edges together; I am an inveterate overfiller, so this part is sometimes difficult and takes some finesse and practice.  You also can press the tines of a fork along the edges to help seal them, plus it gives this nice little decorative touch that I am usually too lazy to do.

When all your little pierogis are stuffed and sealed, put them in some gently boiling water (if it's too roiling, your wee packages could burst) and cook them just until they float to the top.  While your pierogis are cooking, heat up some oil in a wide, shallow pan; once the dumplings are done, transfer them to the hot oil and let them fry up until slightly brown, turning once or twice.

I served these with some sauerkraut and sour cream (sauer cream?) and they were very tasty.  They were so tasty, in fact, that I didn't get any pictures of them and my leftover dough went weird after too much time in the fridge.  However, I heartily commend these to you as a super satisfying, hearty meal full of starch and goodness.  And if you serve them to someone you're wooing and slap them with a pussy willow while singing a brogue, that would be a strange way to woo someone, but best of luck to you with that.

Also, as my way of apologizing for my lack of pierogi pictures, here's the ol' PanCat, looking smooth in his pretty ribbon.

And yes, ladyeez, he's single!