Pierogi are similar to the Italian pastas I am very familiar with making, and yet oh-so-different.  Stylistically, the dough is more like a hybrid between biscuit and pasta dough, for one thing.  With typical tagliatelle, ravioli, lasagna, etc, the dough benefits from extreme manipulation. Biscuit dough (and similarly pie crust), on the other hand, should be touched as minimally as possible in order to ensure an airy texture.  Pierogi dough falls into the latter category in that its texture is better if it’s handled as little as possible, and yet you still have to roll it down to about an eighth of an inch thickness in order to cut rounds in order to form the individual pierog.  Yes, you heard me right, singularly they are pierog, and plural they are pierogi. Yes, you’ve undoubtedly heard American bastardizations including but not limited to perogis, perogies, perogy, pirohi, piroghi et cetera, but the accepted and accurate pluralization and spelling is pierogi.  I’m not sure why I’m going all soapbox on this word- it’s not as though I’m any kind of expert either by birth or experience, I just find it interesting I guess.

Anyway, in my effort to conquer the world of pasta I’ve decided to branch out beyond the land of Italia which I know and love so well into other areas with rich traditions of unleavened dough.  I’ve always admired the standard pierogi in all its cheesy potato glory, though I can’t exactly be trusted to leave well enough alone. Luckily this time the resulting pierogi were unimaginably spectacular, but traditionalists, you’d best turn back now.  Those of you who have read this blog for any amount of time know that I have an (un)healthy obsession with eggs.  I also happen to love tucking them inside dough. Pierogi and eggs are downright meant for one another, though the dumplings are small enough that the eggs must be of the quail variety.  I also decided some shaved raw asparagus would spruce things up a bit and help remind me that it is springtime, after all. It was a good call.

This recipe makes 12 pierogi.  The basic pierogi protocal is make the dough, make the filling, assemble, boil and finally fry.  The first thing to do is caramelize an onion by slicing it and putting it into a lidded dutch oven along with some butter.  Slide it into a 400° oven and don’t fuss with it for an hour.  You can make the dough and soften the potatoes however you see fit (I sous vide them) in the interim.  Once the onion has spent an hour sweating all its troubles away, transfer it to the stovetop and remove the lid.  Deglaze the pot with a generous splash of vermouth and scrape up all the fond that has developed.  Evaporate the vermouth, stir it all together and you have your caramelized onion.

Next, make the dough by mixing all the ingredients in a large bowl, kneading until it comes together, then allow to rest in plastic wrap while you prepare the filling.  Here are the dough ingredients:

Dough

• 2 c flour
• ¾ c sour cream
• 1 duck egg
• 3 tbsp softened butter
• ½ tsp salt

While your dough is resting, combine the cooked potatoes with the filling ingredients (except the quail eggs, salt and pepper) in a food processor and process until smooth.  Here are the filling ingredients:

Filling

• ½ lb Yukon gold potatoes
• 1 c cheddar cheese, grated
• 3 tbsp caramelized onion (or more, to taste)
• ¼ c sour cream
• 1 quail egg yolk per pierogi (in this case 12)
• Salt and pepper to taste

At this point remove the quail eggs from the refrigerator and set a large pot of water to boil.  Divide the dough in thirds and roll the first third out on a floured surface into a rectangle about 4” wide and 1/8” thick.  Using a large cookie cutter or glass (3-4” diameter), cut four rounds out of the first rectangle. You will be making 12 rounds total.  Drop a tablespoon of filling on each round and make a hole big enough for the quail egg yolk in the filling using your index fingers.  Brush each pierog with egg wash to make sealing easier.   Crack egg yolks into each pierogi (it’s ok if some white goes too- it helps bind the pierog) and seal by folding one side of the pierog over the other.  Crimping is optional, but if you want to do it you can do it with the tines of a fork.  In order to ensure even crimping, always place the first tine of the fork in the last indentation you made, like this:

Repeat this process with the remaining dough and move each batch to rest on a sheetpan lined with parchment paper.

Once you are finished filling your pierogi, boil in batches of four in lightly salted water for four minutes.  Remove with a slotted spoon.  Meanwhile, shave several stalks of asparagus and leave the shavings in lemon water to tenderize. Fry the pierogi in butter along with more of the caramelized onion on both sides until they lightly brown. Serve with sour cream and shavings of raw asparagus.

When I think of poutine I think of romance, legs in pencil skirts gracefully exiting limos, Concord dashes to Paris for a quick shopping jaunt. Those of you who have had poutine are surely shaking your heads right now thinking what it should conjure for me is glutted arteries and heart attacks at 45, but no matter. Poutine is one of those insanely attractive foods that I’ll never refuse, even if it means an extra five miles on the treadmill the next day.  A quick bit of history: poutine originated in Quebec in the late 1950’s and consists of fries, cheese curds, and sauce.  There are many variations on the sauce, but it is essentially agreed upon that the most traditional sauce is a veloute made with chicken stock (the difference between veloute and gravy being that the former is made with stock whereas the latter cream or milk).  By the 1970’s, poutine had worked its way into the hearts of New York and New Jerseyites who often referred to it by another moniker: disco fries.  I’m sure Lady Gaga would be proud.  I think this is where my non-lived-through nostalgia comes in. I just imagine the fabulous queens (gay and otherwise) of the Studio 54 set tumbling out of the club at 5 am ordering disco fries from the nearest greasy spoon to sop up all of the vodka tonics consumed during a wild night of dancing and debauchery. 

I’ve been on a bit of a poutine kick lately, which is perfectly ok since I’m also on a bit of a training for a half-marathon kick too, so there.  I’m not sure any amount of running can justify the fact that I recently bought a deep fryer, but it sure makes kick ass fries, so I’m throwing caution to the wind.  I’ve been experimenting up a storm with the Okinawan purple sweet potatoes that are flooding the shelves of Uwajimaya right now, and the true test of a good potato is to fry it straight up.  I feel like by buying a deep fryer I’ve suddenly become initiated into a secret club where I get to learn little secrets like when you’re frying potatoes you must double dip.  Yup, it’s true, the interior gets cooked but stays soft, then the second dip in the fryer crisps up the exterior and provides necessary crunch. 

I had sous vided a quartered duck the day before, so I made a veloute of the remaining jus and simply slathered it over the pretty fries. I completed the look with a smattering of fresh cheese curds from Seattle’s own Beechers Cheese.  It couldn’t be simpler, like Canada’s answer to nachos, but to my mind, much better, and irrefutably more romantic.  What are you waiting for- go out and imbibe too much of your favorite liquor and soak it all up after you’re good and drunk and danced out with a steaming plate of poutine.  You’ll be hooked before you can say “I wanna take a ride on your disco stick.”

Looking for a quick antipasto platter that uses a selection of fall flavors from cross-cultures? I am your woman today.  I’m serving up a bit of prosciutto direct from Parma, Italy.  What’s always nice with prosciutto? Many say melon, but it’s November for god sakes- no hostess worth her mostest would dare bust out a Chilean-grown locavore-ignorant cantaloupe this time of year! No, has to be something seasonal, complementary, well-paired but not well-played out.  Since I am also big on alliteration, I opted to pair my prosciutto with persimmon- take that my lovely Italian traditionalist amici!  Plus, the fuyu persimmons look so good right now they make me straight-woozy in the knees inamorata, so there you have it. 

Italy? Check. Japan? Check.  Now what about my locavore’s dilemma? I need a bit of Seattle to throw into the mix so we’ll go with good old Armandino and his buttery smooth salami from local cult gem Salumi.  But something’s missing. Shouldn’t every good antipasto platter have a decadent hunk of cheese? Yes, yes it should.  But where to go? When in doubt go old-world with new world flair and mix a couple of countries into the same wedge of fromage to boot.  Yes, we’ve got aged cheddar from England, but it’s infused with Portugese ruby port- score! 

Something has to bring this baby home though- I’m thinking something red to tie in the pink of the cheese and prosciutto.  Let’s see, multicultural feast on American soil bringing people together over food in November.  Oh yeah, that’s Thanksgiving, Il Giorno di Ringraziamento as our Italian friends call it.  So how about we go local again as well as tie in some of the flavor of the cheese by reducing some cranberries in port wine? The finished product is tart with a touch of sweetness that is far from cloying and can stand up to the rest of the big boy flavors on the plate.  Doesn’t hurt that she’s pretty, oh so pretty either.  There you have it, a minute inside the crazy mind of Salty Seattle- but doesn’t it all come together so nicely? And judging by the fact that it was gone in the first five minutes of guests’ arrival, I’ll say it tasted a’ight too!