Serving traditional Hungarian fare such as goulash (158 Cong. Rec. E1453)

One of my summer jobs during college was working as a waitress at Chris's Cafe in Mansfield, which has been renovated into the Red Brick Diner. Neither of the restaurant names belie the family owners' specialities: goulash and hot pepper salad, both of which are still on the menu. As a waitress, I was not too fond of the goulash because, inevitably, it would spill off the plate, either burning my hand or staining my uniform. But after work, when I had a moment to eat, I thoroughly enjoyed the goulash, even if I did have to pay for it. (Incidentally, brother managers Jeff and Pete also required their servers to buy logo shirts as part of their uniforms; the replacing of them because of goulash stains might've been an excellent supplementary business, in fact.)

Then, while I was working in Israel, I took a long-weekend trip to Budapest, where I was able to try authentic goulash. As it turns out, Chris's recipe was right on the mark, except it lacked the dumplings that the meat and sauce are normally poured over. Ever since then, I wanted to see if I, too, could make a mean goulash, but I never had the proper Hungarian sweet paprika, which anyone will tell you is necessary for a true version of the stew. So when I found a can of the stuff in my local supermarket, I decided I could give goulash a go.

I shouldn't have been surprised that this delicious dish begins as every recipe should: with bacon. As I fried up the pot of pork goodness (top), I chopped peppers, garlic, onions, and potatoes (bottom left). In the end, the bacon beat me, as I ended up having to pull out the crispy bits while I finished cutting some of the ingredients (bottom right).

 

The recipe called for beef shank, but I ended up using London broil instead because it was on sale (left). I assume that shank, the leg of the animal, is the original cut because the meat takes a long time to tenderize, making it perfect for the long-term boiling of goulash. London broil comes from the flank, the hindquarters of the animal, but it has more muscle than connective tissue, making it prone to become tough, but I didn't have that problem, perhaps because I seared the meat (right) and the other ingredients acted as kind of a marinade.

When the meat was ready I added the most of the vegetables (no potatoes) and all of the spices, including the Hungarian sweet paprika (left). After those were thoroughly mixed (right), in went the liquids, mostly beef broth (mine was from bouillon cube) and some vinegar. Incidentally, I skipped the step of roasting and peeling the red peppers beforehand, a shortcut that I wouldn't recommend, as after all the pepper flesh boiled down, it left skins that, although not exactly tough, seemed out of place in the otherwise smooth stew.

I like my goulash thick, so for the first hour of simmering, I left the pot uncovered, so some of the liquid would evaporate (left). But I put the lid back on after I added the bacon and potatoes, so the tubers would get thoroughly cooked (right). Obviously, this stewing could be done in a crockpot, but the amount of the recipe didn't fit in mine, so I opted for the stove.

Considering this recipe includes potatoes, I doubt it was meant to be poured over dumplings, but I just couldn't forgo the spaetzle. The dough started with a simple batter: Beat the wet ingredients (eggs and milk) together (top left), then add the dry (flour, baking powder, and salt). I find that a whisk helps the mixture be less lumpy (top right) and is easier to use when the dough thickens (bottom).

The cooking of the noodles actually sounded a lot more complicated than it turned out to be. Instead of a colander, I used a fry basket that I bought in Mexico to separate the dough into pieces (top left), dropping them straight into the boiling water. The pieces almost immediately floated to the top (top right), but I did use a spatula to unstick some from the bottom. Once the pieces puffed up, I skimmed them out with a fine-mesh colander (bottom left). I went through the same process four times, but even so, after only about a half-hour, I had a bowl full of noodles (bottom right).

To keep them from globbing together, I chilled the noodles in the refrigerator while the stew finished cooking. It was perfect timing because when I poured piping-hot goulash over the lukewarm spaetzle, it created a perfect temperature for tasting. A dollop of sour cream, a sprinkle of parsley (sorry, but dried had to suffice as it was all I had in the house), and of course a napkin were the only necessary accompaniments.