Old-School Dumplingfest

by Jodi ~ June 16, 2007

Mom, Head Perogy Chef, rolling out dough

In March, I made perogies in my own kitchen for the first time. Wait. Perogy? Maybe it’s pierogi. Or pyrohy. No, I was using my Romanian maternal grandmother’s recipe, so it’s actually kiroste. Yet if I want to take into account the Russian lines in the family tree, I should go with pirozhki. Which spelling to use? It’s an orthographical conundrum.

Given that the origin of this little dumpling is disputed amongst a cluster of Eastern European regions, it’s not surprising that writing about this delectable quickly turns into a game of I-say-pirogi-you-say-pyrogy. We are talking about the same thing, however: a triangular or semicircular pocket of dough filled with any number of savory — and sometimes sweet — fillings. For the sake of ease (and sanity) in this post, I will defer to the Canadian Oxford Dictionary and use the term perogy, referring to the potato-and-cheese-filled dumpling that I grew up eating at traditional family celebrations and whose recipe has now taken up residence in my culinary repertoire.

For years I’ve been threatening my mom with a Perogy Weekend, where she would come for a visit and we’d prepare her family’s perogy recipe together so I could learn the method and technique firsthand. I can see her in the small green-and-orange kitchen in my grandparents’ old house, standing with my great-grandmother at the circular table, which is covered with plastic and supporting bowls of atomic-orange filling (I’ve gotten so used to eating white cheddar cheese that I now find the tinted version visually jarring, both in reality and memory. Visit the Accidental Hedonist for the story of why some cheddar is orange — I was surprised to discover that a slight orange cast occurs naturally if the milk used to make the cheese is from an animal whose diet is rich in beta-carotene), pats of dough keeping moist under the cover of upside-down soup bowls, and trays of three-point perogy pillows waiting to slide into the huge stock pot of boiling water gurgling away on the stove, tended by my grandmother, who also stirs the chopped onions gently frying in a skillet — they will commingle with the boiled perogies before the lot is served slathered with sour cream. My mom and great-grandmother expertly cradle a square of dough in their palms, plop a spoonful of filling into the centre, and fold and pinch the edges of the dough together, using their index fingers to stuff back in any potato-and-cheese mixture that tries to escape the interior.

Recalling this scene, I am surprised to see myself in it, drifting to the refrigerator to retrieve a cold drink amidst the bustling activity and returning to the front room to sink back into the couch, MuchMusic flickering on the television in front of me. At the time I had little interest in helping make this dish — it seemed such a fiddly and painstaking job. And as my interest in cooking took hold, I gravitated towards French- and Italian-inspired dishes and techniques, though my devotion to soup means I’ve always known and practised my maternal grandmother’s recipe for beet borscht (or is it borsch? Here we go again…). Seeing Michael’s reaction to his first encounter with homemade perogies during our first Christmas together, I resolved I would learn the craft and carry this family tradition forward. Seven years later I was still in the dumpling dark, but as my aunt and I celebrated our second annual pickling event last summer, I knew a perogy weekend was nigh.

My mom arrived on a Friday evening in March, and we set out to the grocery store to procure the ingredients required for the following day’s perogy production. There were no knowing smiles or nods from any of our fellow shoppers, but the contents of our cart were a dead giveaway of our intentions — several-kilograms-each bags of Yukon gold potatoes, cooking onions, and unbleached flour; a huge slab of orange cheddar cheese; eggs; margarine; and plain yogurt (as well as sour cream for mom — she remains purist about her perogy garnish) broadcast that an Eastern European dumplingfest was in the works.

Up at the crack of dawn Saturday morning, my mom had almost finished finely chopping the onions by the time I stumbled into the kitchen to put water on for coffee. After breakfast we mixed the dough and were rewarded with meltingly tender results — it meant we had a lot of perogies whose skins burst while in the boiling water, but the ones that remained intact were some of the most deliciously delicate I’ve had. Plus we got to eat the broken ones straight away — you know, to keep the stamina up and all. Michael seemed pleased with the plate he was dished for lunch, though he did have one suggestion: “Needs more bacon,” he said, chewing thoughtfully on the first mouthful. (Though my family eats perogies tossed only in sautéed onions, I’ve taken a shine to dressing store-bought dumplings in a mix of onion and bacon, which is, I’ve discovered, how many others eat theirs.)

Before long I was stuffing and pinching at a professional pace, though as noon passed and the afternoon wore on, we began to question our decision to make a recipe and a half: “If we’d made just a single batch we’d be done by now,” lamented my mom as we rolled out yet another ball of dough at around one-thirty. The freezer is still bearing perogy fruit, so our efforts are being well appreciated long after the fact. And though many variations exist — stuffings of sour cherries, sauerkraut with dried wild mushrooms, and cottage cheese — there is something about the simple potato-and-cheese classic that endures as a favourite. I think about those who originally ate this simple peasant food out of sheer necessity and contemplate the degree of their surprise if they could know how we revere it today, usually eating a mass-produced version and recognizing the occasion as a rare treat if it is served to us homemade.

I recommend making my family’s recipe with your own family or with friends. Kneading and stuffing and pinching is more fun as a group activity. And the resulting dish is best shared as well — by whatever name you call it.

Mihoren Family Perogies

Garnish

• 1 pound bacon, rashers cut into 1-inch pieces (optional)
• 1/2 cup canola oil, plus additional as needed
• 6 cups finely chopped onion
• Plain yogurt or sour cream

Filling

• 1 tablespoon salt
• 2-1/2 pounds potatoes, peeled and cubed
• 2 cups shredded old or extra-old cheddar cheese

Dough

• 8 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
• 1 tablespoon salt
• 3/4 cup margarine
• 3 eggs
• 3 cups potato water (reserved from the filling’s boiled potatoes)

1. Make the garnish. If using the bacon, fry pieces gently until crisp. Remove to a large plate lined with a paper towel. Leave enough bacon fat in pan to sauté the onions until they are golden. Alternately, drain away all bacon fat and sauté the onions in the canola oil. Mix bacon and onion together and set aside. If not using bacon, simply sauté onions in the canola oil until golden and set aside.

2. Make the filling. Bring a large kettle of water to the boil and add salt and potatoes. Cook until potatoes are tender, approximately 20 minutes. Drain well and mash until potatoes are smooth (adding up to 1/2 cup of milk if needed to achieve proper consistency). Add the shredded cheese and stir until it has melted and is well blended. Let filling cool to room temperature before stuffing into dough.

3. Make the dough. Stir together flour and salt in a large mixing bowl. Cut in margarine until dough comes together, resembling dried peas. Beat eggs in a measuring cup and fill with potato water to measure 1 cup. Add the egg mixture to the dough and knead until it is smooth and pliable, adding more flour if dough is too soft and more potato water if it is too dry. After kneading, let dough rest, covered, for 1 hour.

4. Assemble perogies. Cut dough into six pieces, keeping unused pieces covered so dough does not dry out. Roll dough out into a thin sheet, approximately 1/8-inch thick. Cut dough into 2-inch squares or rounds. Place 1 tablespoon filling in the centre of the square. Fold into a triangle and pinch edges together firmly. Lay finished perogies on a tray and cover until cooking time.

5. Cook perogies. Bring a large kettle of water to the boil and slide in perogies, several at a time, and cook until the skins start to blister slightly. Remove from boiling water, toss with warm onions and bacon, if using, and top with a dollop of plain yogurt or sour cream. Alternately, sauté the boiled perogies in a little bit of canola oil until the skin starts to crisp and brown. Add garnishes as described above.

Makes about 7-1/2 dozen