Simple cooking in a complicated world

Posts from the ‘The Croatian Kitchen’ category

Pinca (Croatian Easter Bread)

Pinca, a Croatian Easter Bread that hails from Dalmatia – full of buttery richness and fresh citrus notes.

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Last year, I shared with you a variation of the traditional Easter bread my mom always made, Easter Bread Dolls, or Primorski Uskrsne Bebe.  It seemed fitting to choose this time-honoured recipe to share with you, for a couple of reasons.  It was the first Easter recipe I posted here on The Suburban Peasant and I wanted that recipe to communicate what Easter is to me and my family, but also because it was my first time celebrating Easter at home, in a long time.  Spending the last few years away from the traditions I grew up with made me nostalgic for those customs, and compelled me to share a recipe that truly represents Easter for me.  This year, I am hosting Easter, and since we’re breaking with tradition by having a new generation-er (me) cooking lunch, I thought I’d try my hand at a new Easter bread.

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Me, cooking Easter lunch is kind of a big deal.  I’ve cooked for my family and extended family many times before, but this is the first time I am going to cook for them for a major holiday.  In reality, it’s no different from making Sunday lunch or when I cooked for my husband’s 30th birthday, which was almost double the amount of people I am cooking for on Sunday.  However, on a more profound level, one that examines the significance of such family gatherings and how time, relationships, and plain old growing up really do change things, no matter how hard we try, it’s difficult to part with those traditions we have become so accustomed to.

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I don’t mean to get all philosophical here, but I think you know what I’m talking about.  I’m sure at one time or another, you mourned the way things use to be.  If you’re a parent of grown kids or a grandparent with grown grandchildren, letting go of your child’s youth, and the good times had that went along with it, can be a bitter pill to swallow.  Just yesterday, I called my grandmother to wish her a happy birthday and she commented on how she wishes things were like they use to be.  When we were all together, squished around the table in their basement, swapping Easter eggs and slurping soup with paper napkins tied around our necks as makeshift bibs.  Those were the days.  But those days have long since come and gone, and while I am sure there will be many more feasts around Baka’s table or my mom’s table, I am honoured to keep the tradition – as different it may turn out to be – alive.

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So, since I’m stirring things up by hosting Easter this year, I thought why not try a new Easter bread.  In reality, Pinca (peen-tza) isn’t new at all, it’s just new to me.  Also, it’s not all that different from the recipe I grew up with, except that it includes the additions of lemon and orange zest, as well as rum, and if you like, raisins.  Pinca is the Dalmatian version of my go to recipe.  Those Dalmatians with their warm climate, soothing sea, sunny dispositions and laid back attitudes, put a little spin on their Easter bread to reflect the uniqueness of their land – citrus!  The addition of flavourings to the bread make it so fragrant and really irresistible to eat.  Similar to challah, Pinca is dense and buttery, with an almost cake-like texture that makes it the perfect celebratory loaf, after a long 40 days of Lent.

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Flashback from last year: Goulash 

Pinca (Croatian Easter Bread) 

This recipe makes two loaves of bread, but it can be easily halved to make one.  Leftovers, if there are any, would make fantastic french toast.  It’s also just as delicious lightly toasted and smeared with jam for breakfast.

400 mL luke warm milk

2 packages (16 g) active dry yeast

1 teaspoon sugar

7 cups flour

1 1/2 cups sugar

1 package vanilla sugar

2 teaspoons salt

zest of 1 lemon and 1 orange

1 cup melted butter

3 egg yolks, lightly beaten (1 egg white reserved for the egg wash)

1 tablespoon rum

1 tablespoon šljivovica (plum brandy) or brandy

Proof the yeast in the luke warm milk and 1 teaspoon of sugar for 10 to 15 minutes, or until it has doubled in volume.

Meanwhile, in a stand mixer with the dough hook attachment on, combine the flour, sugar, vanilla sugar, salt and zests.  Mix on low to combine.

Create a well in the dry ingredients and pour in the milk and yeast mixture, the egg yolks, melted butter, rum and šljivovica.  Turn the mixer on to low and slowly combine.  When the ingredients begin to come together, turn the mixer up to medium high and knead for 5 minutes.  After 5 minutes check to see the progress.  Dough should be very smooth and only slightly sticky.  If it it’s still fairly wet, add a little flour, a tablespoon at a time, and continue mixing until smooth.  Remove the dough from the bowl and on a lightly floured surface, knead 10 to 15 times, just enough to make a smooth mass.  Lightly flour the dough and place in a clean bowl, covered with a tea towel, and set in a warm, draftless area of your kitchen.  Leave it to rise for 4 hours, or until it has doubled in volume.

After 4 hours, punch the dough to deflate it, and turn it out onto a lightly floured surface.  Knead briefly (4 or 5 times) and cut the dough into two equal halves.  Knead each half 3 or 4 times to make a smooth, round ball and place each on its own baking sheet, lined with parchment paper.  Allow to rise for another 2 hours before baking.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.  Brush each loaf with the egg white that has been lightly beaten with a little water.  Cut a cross on the top of the each loaf, using a small, sharp knife (I used scissors and it didn’t turn out right).  Bake the loaves one at a time, for 30 to 40 minutes, or until it is a deep brown.  Cool completely on a wire rack before cutting.

 

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Light and Lemony Ricotta Cheesecake

A light and lovely cheesecake that marries two cultures and food traditions beautifully.

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I am very excited about this recipe.  I’m excited for a few reasons; first and foremost it’s good.  I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but it’s really good.  It’s the kind of cheesecake that will make you change the way you think about this classic dessert.  If you’re the type of person that feels cheesecake needs to be rich and dense, followed by a serving of guilt and self-loathing, think again.  Cheesecake can be so many things, but it doesn’t need to be that.  In fact, it doesn’t have to be cream cheese, sour cream and graham cracker crusts either.  Light, airy, silky and smooth can be adjectives used to describe cheesecakes, without the preconceived cheesecake judgements that often accompany such characteristics, such as, “no-bake” or “Jello”.  These, people, are not cheesecakes but gelatinous imposters.  If you’re looking for a great flavour, texture and ultra smoothness, but still need that feeling you can only get when you eat a proper cheesecake, look no further.

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Enter my Light and Lemony Ricotta Cheesecake and the second reason why I’m so eager to share this recipe with you - it’s my own spin on a time-honoured Croatian  recipe.  An East meets West cheesecake - Eastern Europe that is.  I’m kind of proud of this one.  It’s not exactly my own recipe, but a conglomeration of a few recipes and techniques that marries a timeless Croatian staple with the style and flavours that North Americans expect from a cheesecake.  So what makes this cheesecake unique?  Egg whites, whipped cream and a pastry crust, to begin with.  But to get an understanding of why these components are special, I have to give you a bit of a background on the Croatian component of this recipe, and the recipe where it’s all derived from - pita od sira (cheese pie).

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Sunday Soup (Domača Juha)

A rich, flavourful broth, speckled with tender, paper-thin noodles is not only a healthy way to begin a meal, but a must for any Croatian Sunday lunch.

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Soup is the holy grail of Croatian cuisine.  Not just any soup though, but the soup, domača juha (dom-a-cha yoo-ha).  Domača juha means “homemade soup” in Croatian.  Everything I make on here is homemade, so I knew that translation wouldn’t work in describing this staple.  I needed to think of something that would highlight this course’s importance, one that would illustrate its place in Croatian cuisine and a title as simple and pure as the dish itself.  In my About + Follow Me introduction, I describe this soup as a culinary tradition in Croatian households, the starter to the long, multi-course Sunday meals.  It is what marks the Sunday lunch as special, celebratory and nurturing.  What more appropriate and noble name for a soup that is this special, than Sunday soup?  I know of none.

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In my house we just call it soup.  This is how transcending and all-encompassing Sunday soup really is.  When I say soup, my husband knows I don’t mean lentil soup or cream of broccoli or Italian wedding, but the clear, yellow, richly flavoured broth and the ethereal-like noodles that float so delicately across the surface.  This is the stuff that perfumes your entire home as it simmers on the stove for hours.  One of the first forms of solid foods that pass through the lips of little Croat babies.  It is the magical remedy that cures all ailments from the flu, to an upset stomach, homesickness and yes, even hang overs.  It is what your mom made you eat above all the other items that filled the holiday tables and until you did you couldn’t go play with your cousins.  Finally, it is the prerequisite to the all important and never to be missed, dessert at baka’s house.

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Chicken Paprikash

Chicken Paprikash is a traditional Hungarian dish, as simple as it is delicious.  Bone-in chicken pieces are braised slowly in a sauce of caramelized onions and paprika and served with a generous serving of cold weather comfort.

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I don’t know what to make of the weather in Southern Ontario lately.  It’s been on quite the roller coaster over the last few days.  This past week, the so-called “Great White North” experienced spring like weather.  We’re talking mid teens (celsius) my friends.  That’s practically unheard of where I’m from for January.  Blistering winds, half a meter of snow and bone chilling temperatures is the norm.  But on this unusual Sunday, people were outdoors in full force to take advantage of the balmy weather.  I saw people in shorts and tees out for a run, others enjoying their daily dose of Starbucks on the patio.  I felt like I should have been grilling a steak on the barbecue, not braising a hearty stew.  Then today, boom!  The temperature drops 16 degrees overnight.  I know this will sound a little insane, but I have to admit that I didn’t mind waking up to the reappearance of frost on my windows and the prospect of bundling up against the cold.  I mean it is winter.  I will take negative digits in January any day over negative digits in April.

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I welcome the cool temps for another reason, I have only just begun cooking up some of my favourite stews, soups and casseroles.  If the summer months are marked with meals on the grill, winter days are warmed with dishes from the dutch oven.  Some of my favourites come out of this pot.  Think bouef bourguignon, osso bucco or coq au vin.  These are the kind of meals that make me weak in the knees and all warm and fuzzy inside just thinking of it.  Imagine cuts of meat and plump vegetables simmered for hours in a concoction of wine, stock and herbs, that renders meat so tender you can hardly spoon it onto your plate without it falling it pieces. Sauces so flavourful that you can’t help but lick your plate for every last drop.  This is what I am talking about; this is why I want winter to stick around just a tad longer.  Can you really blame me?

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Mlinci (Pasta Tatters)

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Thanks again to Silvia from The Domesticated Feminist for making the blog swap last week happen.  Just a note on her recipe for medenjaci, the flour measurement on the recipe for medenjaci has been changed.  Also, please read the comments for other suggestions.  In case you missed it, here is the recipe I posted for the swap.

In my family it just isn’t Christmas unless there is a gigantic bowl of mlinci (mleen-tzi) on the table.  No way, no how!  I can pretty much guarantee you that of all the dishes that grace our Christmas table, mlinci  is the one that everyone looks forward to.  Turkey is just not the same without it.  Stuffing?  It just can’t cut it!  This is where it’s at.  Tender, pasta-like shards of dough baked thin and then softened first with boiling water, before being slathered with the golden, flavour laden juices from the roasting pan.  Add little pieces of turkey left behind on the cutting board from the carving, and you have the best side dish ever.2

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This is a Northern Croatian speciality, a solution to the leftover juices from roasting.  Unlike North Americans, Croatians don’t make gravy with their turkey.  Many families do today (mine included), as they took up the tradition from their adopted country, but traditionally mlinci were made to ensure that those flavourful juices did not go to waste.  The hard part is trying to explain to people who never had mlinci what they are.

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