http://www.babaskitchenonline.com/Some of my fondest memories from childhood are the times spent in my Grandma Figlar’s kitchen. I remember spending many Friday evenings in her two-story house on Hill Street in Duquesne, Pennsylvania, surrounded by my aunts, uncles, and cousins. Dressed in her blue and white cotton housedress, quilted slippers, and a white babushka (scarf) covering her hair, my Slovak “Baba” stood over her stove for what seemed like hours, preparing chicken soup, mouthwatering golden buns dusted with flour, and lemon pie—all made without reference to a written recipe. Even today, I can recall the delightful aromas of fresh bread baking in the oven, the chicken soup slowly simmering in the large, "bottomless," white enamel pot on the stove, and browning butter in the old black iron skillet.
I grew up in Duquesne, a steel-producing town near Pittsburgh, where large numbers of Slovaks settled in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. My grandmother, Verona Straka Figlar, came to America from Slovakia in 1922. Although she left behind her own mother and the world most familiar to her to start a new life in America, she brought with her all of those aspects of her Slovak heritage that were an integral part of her identity.
In the Slovak culture, food is richly entwined with tradition and religious teachings, especially for Christmas and Easter, when special dishes are prepared and rituals observed. For example, on Christmas Eve, we celebrated with a meatless Vilia Supper (to honor the Christian practice of fasting). During this supper, we ate foods like bobalky, perfectly baked little balls of dough browned in butter and mixed with sauerkraut, and pirohi, ravioli-like pillows of dough filled with cabbage, cottage cheese, potato, or prunes. At Easter, we ate paska, a round bread with a golden crust and yellow center made from eggs, butter, and white raisins (indicative of living bread come down from Heaven), and hrudka, a bland, sweet, custard-like “cheese” made from cooked and separated eggs and milk (as a symbol of moderation).
Then there were the home remedies. Some I continue today, like adding a shot of whisky to a cup of hot tea when I have a sore throat; others I try to forget from my childhood, such as wearing cooked sauerkraut wrapped in a cloth around my neck to reduce the swelling from the mumps.
Whatever the occasion, “Baba’s” kitchen functioned as the center of her home. It was where this soft-spoken Slovak woman spent the majority of her days as wife, mother, and grandmother, preserving the traditions of her homeland. There, in her domain, she also assumed other important roles of comforter, teacher, disciplinarian, financial manager, and instiller of religious teachings, morals and values.
The kitchen also became the place where some of life’s most important lessons were taught and learned. In Baba’s kitchen I learned the importance of family. I also learned how to share because no matter how many of us showed up for dinner, Grandma somehow managed to divide the food among us in a way that made us all feel satisfied.
It was also in this kitchen I was introduced to the foods and traditions that were central to my Slovak and Rusyn heritage. Paska bread at Easter, bobalky at Christmas and halushki every Friday night…
Like many immigrant women, my Grandma Figlar was a wonderful cook. Sadly, I never got the chance to truly know my paternal grandmother, Elizabeth Fenscak Alzo, who died when I was two-years-old. However, I learned from my parents that Grandma Elizabeth was very skilled in the kitchen and spoiled my father with delicious meals. Fortunately, some of her recipes were passed down to her daughter (my Aunt Betty), and she prepared them often for family dinners and gatherings.
When Grandma Figlar passed away in 1984, my mother took over the roles of "expert cook" and cultural "torch bearer." Our kitchen became the gathering place for Christmas Eve and Easter Sunday celebrations. Mother would don her own babushka, pull out Grandma's large wooden board and rolling pin and prepare the various Slovak dishes to perfection. Although she opted to keep her "recipes" handy, my mother probably could have prepared all of the dishes without reference. Of course, she had a great teacher.
My mother passed away in 2000, leaving my family one more step removed from our heritage. While we try to preserve our Slovak traditions, it becomes increasingly difficult in today’s hectic world, as my family becomes more scattered. The time spent with loved ones is limited to holidays and special occasions.
It is often said that you do not truly appreciate a person until he or she is no longer present. I am so grateful to my grandmothers for passing down their recipes and life’s lessons, and I pay tribute to them with this book.
Pirohi Recipe
http://www.babaskitchenonline.com/____________________________________________________________________________
These are the real deal! and she is not related to me as far as we both know---[my family original name was also Figlyar changed to Figlar and to Figler. Her family name stopped at Figlar and we both had grandfathers named Janos Figlyar.]