Whose idea was this, anyway?

Dinner from the backyard

Bambi is on the menu, so if you’re a vegetarian, I apologize right now.

We were given a fresh leg of young venison as a gift a couple of days ago. It was gamboling on the slopes of Mt Sitno just last weekend. (Mt. Sitno is about 10km from our village. I can see it on my walk with Sisi in the morning.)

Scott removed the lower joint to use in a winter soup (we froze it).

The rest of it has been simmering in a red wine braise – on a very low 325°F or 150°C for a very long time: 24+ hours.

First you brown it, then sauté carrots, celery and shallots, then pour a bottle of red in there with a couple of homemade Demiglace cubes and set it to simmer gently in a Dutch oven, cover on, in the oven.

Scott put the leg in at 1:30 p.m. and by 7:30 it was clear the meat would not be done.

So…. he left it overnight in the Dutch oven in the oven without heat and turned the heat back on in the morning.

At 10 a.m. morning he tests the meat and it’s falling off the bone. 

Yes.

Along with that leg, we were given baby purple carrots and gorgeous baby beets.

Scott removes  the old veg and adds the baby purple carrots to simmer till just tender

He steams the baby beets (they look a lot like radishes) for a salad with the beet leaves.

And there are two baking potatoes in the oven on a bed of sea salt. They will be turned into a divine pomme purée (mashed potatoes to you, bub).

The first course is a consommé of chanterelle mushrooms that Scott harvested (1.5 kilos or 3 ½ pounds) on Monday.

 We get out the antler cutlery – not because we need those knives, but just because they look good.

 Oh boy, it’s one lovely din-din.

The wedding tradition in Slovakia

We share our cleaning lady with our American friend, Bill, who spends about six months a year in his restored craftsman house (a Slovak craftsman really lived and worked in it) here in Banská Štiavnica. He spends the other half at his home in North Carolina.

Last weekend, the village where Iveta lives held their annual festival, which includes a reenactment of a traditional Slovak wedding, complete with real, hand-crafted costumes and live music.

They sell tickets to fill the ‘wedding guest’ tables. The ticket entitles you to a traditional Slovak wedding dinner.  This includes all the wine you can drink and a seemingly endless fill-up of your shot glass with the local, home-distilled hooch called jablkovica – apple vodka. 

The meal  begins with a bowl of chicken noodle soup.

All meals in this country begin with a bowl of soup, even dressy affairs such as birthdays and weddings.

Then comes the chicken itself, with a horseradish sauce.

And finally the dessert.

Each course is liberally sprinkled with more wine and, because of the many occasions for toasting the young couple, the bride’s parents, the groom’s parents, etc., your shot glass is kept full of the delicious and deadly jablkovica.

Now to the ceremony itself:

The wedding procession enters to music. Not all of the wedding party are in here but most are.

 

Once they have arrived on stage, the master of ceremonies takes over and the fun begins.

Here are a few photos for your viewing pleasure:

These traditional dresses are all hand-made and hand-embroidered. Note the different kinds of headdresses.  The bridesmaids – unmarried women – are allowed to show off their hair with colorful ribbons. The married women must keep their hair under wraps.  The woman on the far left is the bride. She has a more elaborate headdress than the other maidens. More of that shortly.

Here, the bride kneels to thank her parents for taking care of her all of her young life. They’re about to hand the responsibility over to the young man to the left of the Emcee.  Before all of this, there is an interesting ritual that sees the groomsmen bringing up girls to the groom to see if one of them is the right girl for him (read “bride”). They’re all the wrong one, until, of course the last one.

The bride and groom sit together at their own table, traditionally at the head of all the other tables;  served by the others. They feed each other and they have glasses of wine and an entire bottle of Jablkovica, for all that toasting.

And here are the paying guests. We don’t have to dress in costume, though some do.

Here is a tradition we don’t see in either the U.S. or in the U.K.:  the Emcee has explained that the bride and groom must now do everything together.  He breaks a plate and they must sweep it up together. The groom’s friends like to interfere….

 

Dancing plays a big part. Here are some typical dance photos:

The married women singing while the bride and groom dance;

 

Then there is the not-so-typical dancing.  There is one more woman on the dance floor than there are men. When the music stops, the men must change partners. The man who doesn’t catch a woman must dance with a broom.  Then they switch, and the odd girl out must dance with the broom:

Another crazy tradition on the dance floor: 

The bridesmaids have come down into the audience to pick men out to join them on the dance floor. The men must kneel, then help the maiden take off her petticoat, which she then puts over the man’s head and uses it as a bib as she shaves him. (it’s probably whipped cream, and the ‘razor’ is a popsicle stick). The girls then help the men to their feet to dance. Watch closely and you’ll see Scott just getting up off his knees and dancing with his maiden. Watch for the man in the red shirt about to be shaved.

  

 

The bride must now pledge herself to her groom, but not before the Emcee unsuccessfully tries to make her promise to do all sorts of silly things, like “be the first to get up in the morning and serve your husband all day long, obeying him in all things.”

When the groom takes over and kneels in front of his bride to ask her only to be faithful and love him she, of course, says yes.

There is now just one last ritual the bride must endure: the transformation from maiden to wife.

This is symbolized by the changing of her headdress.

The married women take off her beautiful flowered headpiece and tuck her hair into all sorts of bits and bobs, starting with a black band that circles her head at the forehead. Then comes a plain blue bonnet where all of her hair is caught up and tied away.

Lastly, a white lace cap goes over all.

This occurs while her bridesmaids sing what can only be described as an a capella lament, it sounds so sad.

 

After all this dancing and toasting and singing and eating, a cold pivo goes down very smoothly indeed.

Shrooming

This summer has been a little wet. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. We’ve had really lovely weather: hot in the sun but cool in the shade; and an afternoon thunderstorm almost daily, just like they do in Jackson Hole.

We’re a few feet lower in elevation than the Hole, though, so a little more humid.

That combination brings out the mushrooms here.

Our neck of the woods feels unusually fecund this time of year, especially with all the rain. It comes alive in more ways than one:

 

We have written a post about mushrooming here before, but I want to do it again, because it is a national pastime in Slovakia, as it is in many central and eastern European countries.

Scott has read about the myths surrounding mushrooms (the Slavs take ‘shrooming very seriously). This charming story is from Bohemia (in the east of the Czech Republic):

 “It seems that Jesus and Peter were passing through a Czech village and heard the sound of wedding music in a humble cottage. They joined the party, but not before Jesus had warned Peter to accept no food save only bread and salt, for the people were poor. Jesus and Peter were made most welcome. They partook of the bread and salt that were offered to them, declining however the cakes.

"But a little later, when no one was looking, Peter slipped some cakes into his pouch. After a while Jesus and Peter continued on their way, Jesus immersed in his thoughts and Peter lagging behind, that he might nibble on his cakes. But at each bite, Jesus would wheel around and ask him what he was eating. Peter would spit out the mouthful and reply, "Nothing." This happened again and again, until there was no cake left. Then Jesus said to Peter, "Go back, and pick up all that you have spat out, and I will wait for you."

"When Peter returned he said to Jesus, "I found nothing except this that I show you. I thought it was food, but lo! it was a growth, rooted in the soil." Jesus said, "It is a growth, and it grew from the food you threw away." Then Peter asked for forgiveness, and it was granted to him. Then they went to the cottage of a poor woman and asked her to cook what Peter had found, and it turned out to be mushrooms, and they were good.

"Because the mushrooms had spring from the food of poor people, Jesus bestowed them on the poor, and he taught the poor woman where to seek them. And because poor people need help, mushrooms multiply and abound. And because Peter, eating them, nevertheless remained hungry, mushrooms are not filling.”

It’s the exact opposite of the traditional English view of mushrooms and fungi, which is linked to death and decay, while the Slavic people look at them as god’s gift of food for the poor.

Every year, at the onset of mushroom season, there begins a series of newspaper articles telling us where to find the best places to hunt, who is the first to die from eating a bad one, who has found the largest …

Scott has studied a couple of books and feels pretty confident about which ones to pick – and, more importantly, which ones not to. I can’t even see the good ones, only the scary, deadly ones that do not look at all appetizing.

Here he looks for dubaky, under the oak tree

Scott goes for four specific types – the ones that are absolutely safe:

Chanterelles (they call them “little chickens” here: kuriatko, pronounced: koo-ree-aht-ko); they grow in our back yard

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Black Chanterelles (or Trumpets of Death - even though they're not!)

 

Cossacks (birch boletes, in English – called Cossacks because they look like they’re wearing little Russian hats) 

 

Ceps (French/English) or Porcini (Italian/American); they call them dubak here, which means from the oak tree (dub in Slovak) since they are mostly found around oak trees (those big mothers on the right are the porcinis - they cost a fortune at Borough Market in London).

Tamara, the wife of our one-time caretaker, is the best ‘shroomer we know. I remember when we visited them at their chata one summer, we walked up an old path to the top of a hill behind them.  All along the trail, she casually bent down and scooped up mushrooms as if by magic – we couldn’t see them, but she knew they were there.

Our neighbors also enjoy ‘shrooming. They find them easily too. This bowlful is filled with a gift from them: (it’s my Grandma Edwards’ bowl however)

This year is so good for them, even I found a couple this morning just walking Sisi up the path behind the house. I have to keep her on the leash constantly, however, because there are ‘shroomers all around our little woods. Only last week, one very cheeky guy strolled along our private upper terrace, with his dog no less! And yesterday, just when I thought it was safe, I let Sisi off-leash to get some exercise, and she went right after two nice old ladies (my age) who were bushwhacking through the trees on the hill behind us.

We had grilled veal chops with a wild mushroom cream sauce for dinner the other night.

Scott's foray into the other side of the valley just now was very successful - we think we'll have some wild cream of mushroom soup soon.