Food Friday: Bostan din Cuptor

My host mom laughed at me when I took this picture.  She doesn’t think it really counts as cooking, since all she did was cut up a pumpkin (from her garden!) and put it in the oven, with maybe a little vegetable oil. Bostan din Cuptor (“Bost-ahn  deen coop-tor”)* just means “pumpkin from the oven.”  But it sure tastes good!

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*pronunciation approximate

Food Friday: Prăjitură cu mere

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You can see the apples inside the cake.

I came home from the school one day this week to find my host mom in the kitchen, as I often do.  She was explaining that we would eat lunch in a few minutes when I spied a homemade coffee cake on the counter behind her.  That certainly hadn’t been there that morning!  So I asked about it.

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I’m told that prajitura (coffee cake) is different from tort (cake) which is a more complicated recipe, wih icing

“Prăjitură cu mere” (“pruh-zhee-too-ruh coo mair-ray”*) she told me, apple coffee cake. “Pentru fata mea”; for my girl.  My host mom, who is a diabetic, and could only eat a taste of it, had made a coffee cake just for me! She knows the first week of school is always stressful for teachers, and she is incredibly kind.  By the way, the cake is delicious. At this writing there are only two slices left! 🙂

*pronunciation approximate

Food Friday: “Coteț de Găini”

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Rolling the dough; adding the filling.

At the dining-room table, Elena and Sașa are preparing something.  Elena has rolled the dough into spiral logs, then sliced them.  Now she is carefully rolling the resulting nuggets into circles of dough.  Sașa generously fills each with a spoonful of something, and pinches the sides to make a triangular pie.  At first I think she is adding fruit filling, but on closer inspection and questioning, it turns out to be raw chicken bits and chopped onions, with a little pepper and salt.

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In the oven, the tartlets turn a delicious golden brown

My friends direct me to the kitchen, where previous batches are already  baking.  They smell wonderful, and the dough is turning a rich, flaky golden brown.

When I ask the name of these delicious little chicken-pie thingies, my host mom gets a puzzled look on her face.

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The finished product

After consulting with her friend, she tells me they don’t really have a name.  That evening, the nameless but scrumptious tartlets are served at a family meal and I ask the name again. Nobody can say.  Sașa’s sister jokingly names them Coteț de Găini (coh-tets day guh-ee-nee”)*  which means “chicken coop”.

 

 

 

 

 

*Pronunciation approximate