Citizens from Western Ukraine are obsessed with food
All their needs, desires, and expectations in life are centered around food, its quantity, and variety.
The expenses of Western Ukrainians on food can only be compared to their spending on renovations and fences.
iPhones and cars are nothing compared to the array of stuffed cabbage rolls, jellies, roulades, and salads on holidays
A whole week before Christmas, accompanied by the advertisement for Festal on TV, both young and old housewives prepare for receiving guests. Stoves and ovens never stop running day and night, and a thorough cleaning is done in the homes. Windows are scrubbed to a shine, new curtains and decorations are hung.
Charred pigs lie with their hooves to the sky.
The Galician pig is like LEGO; it instantly turns into hams, bochky , sausages, gurky , blood sausages, small sausages, chops, salsiccia, cracklings, stewed brains, jellied tongues, aspic, roulades from ears, fried kidneys and hearts, stewed liver, roasted ribs, and at least a good dozen of dishes that are unimaginable in other parts of the world.
Like the Bible, greasy cookbooks unfold, written in tiny handwriting of all colors, showcasing numerous recipes for pies, casseroles, honey cakes, strudels, cakes, Napoleons, embroidered shirts, dumplings, roulades, mushrooms, corn, nuts, and crackers.
“Because how can I put store-bought on the table? What will people say? Won’t I cook, boil, shape, and bake it myself?”
And then lie down afterward and “die” from exhaustion.
The fridge doors are propped open with wooden slats, holding back the avalanche of holiday foods: two buckets of mayonnaise, boiled sausage, three jars of green peas, six packs of butter, two kilos of mandarins, vegetables, and much more.
Cabbage is cooking for stuffed cabbage rolls, pig’s feet are being prepared for aspic, horseradish is being grated for tzvikli, and poppy seeds are being prepared for kutya.
The homemade moonshine has long been distilled and locked away in the pantry, “because the scoundrel would even drink it from a dead man’s ear” while the store-bought wine, Transcarpathian brandy, and a couple of bottles of Khortytsia are stashed there as well.
Eight types of dough have been baked.
The door to the unfinished room, where it’s always cold and the smell that never leaves from childhood, now opens only about 30 centimeters, just enough to squeeze sideways and bring up more food to the second floor.
Ten plates of aspic are on the floor, a basin of hams, baked goods, sausages, smoked fish, and thickened kissel.
Amidst the Everest of embroidered pillows, the Virgin Mary looks sorrowfully at it all from the images.
And God forbid anyone, be it the children or the husband, touches anything from it— “leave it for the holiday!”
The door must be tightly closed so that the four-legged filthy creature doesn’t sneak in and eat it all.
Small change in 10, 20, and 50-hryvnia coins are exchanged for carolers (50 for the neighbor’s children, with whom they aren’t on bad terms, and closer relatives).
Well, it seems like everything is ready for the holiday in advance.
The rest will be bought later.
Tags: Culture Ukraine
