9 August 2006
Karelian hotpot
My grandmother is from Karelia, one of the areas of Finland that were lost to the then Soviet Union after the Second World War. That area had, and still has, among the descendants of the refugees and in those parts of the “tribal” area that remained within Finnish rule, an extremely rich culinary culture. It is far more influenced by the Russian flavours and methods than the cuisines of the rest of the Finland, an example of which is the liberal use of mushrooms. When I was a child, we never ate them and I consequently did not learn to like them, which is something I’m seeking to remedy now, but my grandmother retains the knowledge of mushrooms and especially lately has occasionally cooked them.
Most of the Karelian food is baked or roasted in the oven. The houses were essentially built around vast constructions made of bricks, which provided both heat and the means for cooking food. It held a huge fireplace/oven which was heated up first by burning wood in it, and once the wood was burned out, the ashes and remains were swept out into a deepening in front of the oven door and food was cooked in the now cleaned out oven. Due to its nature the oven remained hot for a very long time. If something needed to be boiled, it was done in the deepening in front of the door. Such constructions, although typically in a smaller scale, can still be seen in many Finnish houses. My grandmother’s house has a very large one, which takes up about half the kitchen, and she still uses it actively, in particularly at feast times such as Christmas, in exactly the way it has always been used.
Due to the nature of the cooking, pastries, pies and tarts of all sorts are in many people’s minds the core of Karelian cooking. My husband will be more than happy to announce the virtues of what he knows as “Karelian pastries,” unsweetened rice pudding baked in an open rye crust and eaten as bread, to all and sundry. These iconic concoctions are known throughout Finland as Karelian pastries, but sadly the ones you can buy in supermarkets, with their flappy mostly wheaten crusts, simply do not compare with the real homemade thing. Due to my grandmother, I know these things merely as “rice pastries” just as the variations are “potato pastries.” There is no reason for someone actually of the original area to remind themselves where the pastries come from.
And then again, occasionally the locative is so deeply rooted in the name of the dish that it sticks regardless of the speaker. This is the case with the Karelian hotpot, which I made last night. To be precise, I used a recipe from my book of traditional provincial Finnish foods that called itself a modern version; it did provide the more authentic one as well, but I was in the mood for slightly richer flavours.
The basics of the dish are very simple. You take equal amounts of different meats, apply herbs and spices to your liking, layer the meats in a pot together with sliced onions, cover the whole thing with water and plonk it in very moderate (we’re talking max. 150 degrees C, you gas people work that our yourselves) oven for three hours. You don’t cover the dish. As water evaporates, the top meat browns in a very attractive fashion. Typically the meats used would be beef, pork and lamb. Pork is important for its fat. You might like to use things like kidneys or liver as well, but I’ve never been a fan of such things. With the liquid, you’re looking for it to remain mostly clear.
I had 500g of each type of meat, thankfully already cut in pieces by the butcher. Instead of water, I used beer (Guinness), topping it up with water, as I only had one can, and added prunes among the layers of meat and onions. I was itching to try out figs instead/as well but figured that for once in my life I might actually follow the recipe and once I am confident that I can’t mess it up (and I realise that this method is pretty much idiot proof, but you can never be sure) I can start experimenting with it. I was uncharacteristically meagre with spices and herbs, only applying some sea salt, whole peppercorns, dried sage and stalks of fresh rosemary. As the container itself I used my big Le Creuset iron pot. The dish turned out incredibly satisfactorily. My husband made potato mash flavoured with fresh parsley and steamed carrots to go with it, and we had good bread to soak up the liquid.
I wouldn’t make this dish in the heart of the summer, but on cold, rainy, windy days and in winter amongst those of you who get snow this would be absolutely superb. Obviously it goes without saying that as with most foods of this type, it’s far more sensible to make a large patch so that it will feed you for several days.
Hello Nina
I was delighted to find you when browsing for blogs with food history content. There are not many of us! Keep it up please.