How to Make Chicken Goulash (“Paprikás Csirke”)

Not that long ago, I found some old paystubs from my father’s job as a mechanic in a saw factory where he worked for over 25 years, until his retirement in 1990. The particular paystub was from 1972, and his hourly earnings were $3.26.

Three dollars and twenty-six cents an hour.

My parents had five children and a mortgage. My brothers and sisters and I all went to private schools. We had piano lessons, always a fridge full of food, our own bedrooms, clean clothes and toys, roast beef dinners every Sunday, and colourfully wrapped presents for each of our birthdays, Christmases and Easters, every year. Looking back today, I don’t know how my parents did it.

One of our “special” meals was Chicken Goulash, or Paprikás Csirke, my father would always say in his native Hungarian. It’s also the first meal I ate when I arrived into Budapest, Hungary, in 2004, a trip I will always cherish because it’s when and where I started to write my book, The Inheritance of Shame. I’ll also never forget that first meal in Budapest. I’d arrived by train, late night. Thrilled beyond words to be in my father’s birth city, the rapturous Budapest, I had failed to notice that the restaurant I’d chosen for my inaugural meal did not accept Euros, only Forints. At the end of my meal, several glasses of Bulls Blood later and not speaking a word of Hungarian, I went about trying to pay for my meal when the waitress, not speaking a word of English, tried to explain something that I could not hope to understand. Finally, the couple in the adjoining table, speaking both languages, translated for us both. Reluctantly, the waitress explained in Hungarian to the couple, who explained in English to me, that I could go in search of a bank machine, as long as I left my belongings in the restaurant, which by then was also closing 15 minutes later. So that’s what I did, frantically. I left my belongings with people I did not know in a restaurant that was about to close in a city whose language I did not speak while I ran for blocks in search of a bank machine, which, at least in 2004, the year Hungary joined the European Union, was still far less common than in North America. Finally, blocks later and panting like a dog out of breath, I found a bank machine, withdrew the Forints, then ran the blocks back to the restaurant, paid my bill and went on my merry way. Such was my introduction to Budapest.

As for Paprikás Csirke – though labor intensive, the payoff is definitely worth the effort. Served over egg noodles is great, but for a little more effort (and even great pleasure), you can make homemade potato dumplings, or “Nockerl,” as we called them at home. Finally, Cold Cucumber Salad is the perfect side dish.

3 - 4 large onions, chopped
A whole chicken, cut in pieces
3 - 4 red bell peppers, washed, cored and quartered
2 large carrots, peeled and quartered
2 celery stalks, quartered
1 parsnip, peeled and quartered
1 tomato, quartered
Several cloves of garlic, minced
Chicken broth
3 - 4 heaping Tbls Hungarian Paprika
Caraway seeds (optional)
Worcestershire sauce
Soya sauce
Extra Virgin Olive Oil (EVOO)
Salt and pepper to taste
Sour cream
Flour

Cut the chicken into pieces, wash, pat dry, set aside.

Chop the onions and sauté in EVOO over a medium heat for at least 20 to 30 minutes, or until well caramelized. Add the garlic and roast; add more EVOO and the paprika, then the chicken pieces, searing on each side. Do not burn. Add all the vegetables, seasoning, and a little bit of stock. Cover and steam a few minutes, adding more and more stock until all the chicken and vegetables are just barely covered. Bring to a boil; turn down and simmer, stirring often, until chicken falls from the bone, about 1 hour.

To thicken sauce before serving, add sour cream and a few tablespoons of flour to a serving Pyrex dish over heat. Once well mixed, add sauce and chicken to the sour cream mixture.

Dumplings (“Nockerl”)

6 Eggs
8 - 10 Tbl Flour
2 tsp salt
Water

Beat eggs lightly, add salt and flour. Mix well. Slowly add a bit of cold water, then more flour, until very thick and smooth. Bring a pot of water to a rolling boil. Add salt. Spoon one teaspoon of batter into boiling water, and repeat, one at a time, moving quickly in order to use up all batter within a minute. Bring dumplings to a boil and cook for about 5 minutes (dumplings will triple in size once cooked). Drain and add a bit of melted butter. Serve with the chicken goulash.

Cold Cucumber Salad

Long English Cucumber
Dill
Sour Cream
Salt

Slice the cucumber thinly. Salt well and sprinkle with dill until well covered. Refrigerate for at least an hour. The cucumber will release a lot of juice. Before serving, add sour cream (or half sour cream and mayonnaise). Sprinkle with paprika. Serve as a side dish to the Goulash and Dumplings.

How to Make Hungarian Goulash

In times of crisis, I say Cook!

Everyone has their favourite or most comforting childhood dish, and for me it's Hungarian goulash.

Stewing beef is the best to use; resist the temptation to buy more expensive cuts of meat, thinking that the more money you spend the better the result. Not true! Stick to stewing beef, which is typically already cubed when you buy it in your grocery store or butcher (you may need to cut each piece in half, as they are usually a bit too big, though). Chop your onions and sauté in extra virgin olive oil (EVOO) over a medium heat for at least 20 to 30 minutes, or until golden and well caramelized. Do not burn, which may mean adding a bit more EVOO as the onions reduce in volume. Just before the onions are ready, add the chopped garlic, roasting for about one more minute. At this point I usually remove most of the onions so the meat can have direct contact with the oil. Add more EVOO and the paprika; roast for a moment, then add the beef and sear on all sides, turning every minute. Add back all the onions, then the vegetables. When I made goulash like this in Europe, my 80-year old aunt said that Hungarian goulash never had vegetables "in the old world." I don't care; eventually they all cook down and add tons of flavour. Add the caraway, beef broth, soya, Worcestershire, a shot of ketchup. Bring to a boil. Turn down and simmer. The trick is to cook the goulash slow and long. If you like, near the end you can add a peeled potato to thicken.

A bowl on goulash on its own is perfect, maybe with some fresh crusty rye bread. Growing up, we always ate our goulash over roasted macaroni. Caramelizing the pasta, as opposed to straight out boiling it, adds a richness to the flavour that you just can't beat. 

Melt butter in a large pot over a medium heat. Add the macaroni and at least one teaspoon of salt. Turn the pasta in the melted butter for about 5 to 8 minutes, slowly roasting, until golden in colour. Add just enough boiling water to barely cover the pasta; cover and reduce to minimum for about 15 minutes. When done, fluff the macaroni and serve with the goulash.

3 - 4 large onions, chopped
Stewing beef, chopped in bite-sized chunks
3 - 4 heaping tablespoons of Hungarian paprika
Extra Virgin Olive Oil
3 - 4 red peppers, washed, cored and quartered
2 large carrots, peeled and quartered
2 celery stalks, quartered
1 parsnip, peeled and quartered
1 tomato, quartered
Several cloves of garlic, minced
Beef broth
Caraway seeds (optional)
Worcestershire sauce
Soya sauce
Ketchup
Salt and pepper to taste