My blog

In my ancient, pre-marital, teenage days, I dated a lovely girl named Magda. Magdalena, I send you my warmest regards.

And although I could write a thick, absorbing novel full of unexpected plot twists about Magdalena, that's not what I wanted to write about this time.

At Magda's house, every Sunday, at a fixed hour - if I remember correctly, 1:30 p.m. - there was a family dinner, which I had the pleasure of attending for several years.

These were not ordinary dinners. They were served on a stylish, round, extendable table that barely fit into the living room of a PRL apartment, always covered with a freshly starched tablecloth. The obligatory four courses were served on pre-war platters, pulled out of an old chest of drawers only for this occasion, and the act of consumption was performed with ancestral cutlery that was difficult to lift.

After more than three decades, I am no longer able to recall a single dish, but I remember well the excellent flavors and, above all, the laughter, the silliness, the more or less serious conversations held at the table, which for this three-generation family were the true meaning and essence.

These Sunday dinners were all thanks to my mother, who devoted the entire Saturday to preparing them, starting with shopping at the market, allowing her husband to do the peeling of potatoes at most, and the children to do the washing up. As a kid, I looked at these weekends spent by this mother as drudgery. Today I see it differently.

Last Sunday I hosted my children for dinner. Every time I do this I have to think hard, because the oldest one is gluten intolerant, the average one is meat intolerant, and the youngest one is intolerant to any cuisine except grandma's.

For the first course I made tomato soup. I boil carrots, celery, leek, parsley and potatoes for forty minutes, from which I then make a vegetable salad. I add two roasted peppers, without skin and seeds, a bottle of good tomato passata, a jar of tomato puree to the broth. Then I add apple pie with garlic fried in olive oil and cook everything for twenty minutes. Before serving I blend, salt and pepper, mix with thick cream and serve with lumpy rice, which my mother taught me.

The main course in the meat version was roulades. I cut a good piece of beef leg across the grain and pounded it into thin cutlets. They have to be really thin, because that's the key to a good roll. I spread mustard on each cutlet, add a slice of bacon, a piece of carrot, a pickled cucumber and roll them up tightly. I coat them in cornmeal and fry them. Then I pour in red wine and water and add a can of tomatoes, salt and pepper. I simmer for six hours, making sure it doesn't burn.

I serve the roulades on sweet potato pancakes. They are a bit difficult to make because they don't stick together as well as those made from regular potatoes, so they have to be a bit smaller. I grate a large sweet potato on a grater with large holes. I add two eggs, potato flour, salt and pepper. I fry in hot oil.

To this I add fried beets. In heated olive oil I throw a large spoon of potato flour and fry until it starts to change color. I add baked beets under foil, grated on a grater with large holes, a little water, lemon, salt and pepper.

The main meatless dish was cabbage rolls. I made them from cabbage rolls. Inside I put boiled pearl barley with oyster mushrooms fried in butter, baked eggplant and fried onion. I seasoned with salt and pepper. I made the sauce from blended cabbage with the addition of tomato paste, thickened with corn flour.

Finally, I served a patriotic version of dessert. The day before, I made a panacotta from cream, sugar and gelatin, and when it had set, I poured raspberry jelly with fresh raspberries over it. I served it with pine nuts.