Pasha is a traditional Finnish Easter dish, especially in the eastern parts of the country. It was brought here by the Russian Orthodox church hundreds of years ago, and is eaten to celebrate the end of the lent. You may know pasha with a little different name – pascha, pashka, or something similar. Pasha is a Russian word for Easter, originally from a Hebrew word pesah. The transliteration from Cyrillic alphabets explains the small variations in the name.

Pasha is really energy rich food – its main ingredients are quark (milk curd), cream, butter, eggs and sugar. Dairy animals produce milk fats whether you use them or not, so after the lent you had a surplus of cream. It was then used to make pasha. I’m referring to the days when agriculture was the predominating livelihood :)

Traditionally pasha is made in wooden, pyramid-shaped molds. Since Easter is the biggest holy day of the Russian Orthodox church, the molds are often carved with religious symbols such as XB, short for Russian words  Christ is Risen. The pyramid shape reminds of the Jews’ slavery in Egypt.

Pasha

250 g quark / curd cheese (in US, look for tvorog in Russian stores)
50 g butter
3 tbsp sugar
1 egg
1 dl raisins
1/2 dl candied lemon zest (sukaatti, suckat)
1/2 dl crushed almonds
3 tbsp orange marmalade
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tbsp lemon juice (about 1/2 lemon)
2 dl whipping cream

Unless you use Russian tvorog, put the quark or curd cheese in a coffee filter for 12 hours. During that time the liquid will separate which makes for a denser Pasha.

Mix sugar and butter until airy and smooth. In a separate bowl whip the cream until hard. Add all remaining ingredients in the sugar and butter mixture, mix until smooth, and finally carefully add the whipped cream.

Pour the mixture in a double-layered coffee filter or sieve, and let stand in a fridge for 24 hours.

When 1-2 dl of liquid has dripped from the pasha in the fridge, tip it over on a plate and decorate with candied lemon zest and raisins.

Kulitsa is also a Russian Easter dish, which is often eaten with pasha. It is a sweet, buttery, and incredibly tasty loaf, which is sliced like bread and and topped with heaps of pasha.

I urge you to try this, it is absolutely delicious!

Kulitsa

(1 huge loaf or 2 smaller)

2 dl milk
25 g fresh yeast or equivalent amount of dry yeast
1/8 g saffron
1 tbsp cardamom
1/2 tsp salt
1 egg
1 dl sugar
2 tbsp candied lemon zest (sukaatti)
1 dl raisins
1/2 dl crushed almonds
7 dl all purpose flour
125 g butter

Make a dough (as you would for any bread/roll), and let it rise for 30 minutes. Make one or two round loaves on a baking sheet covered with parchment paper. Decorate with dough strips, candied lemon and raisins (make e.g. letters XB).

Heat the oven to 180 C (355 F), but don’t let the loaves rise for longer than it takes for the oven to heat, otherwise they will loose their shape.

Bake for 30 minutes.

Update

This is Anna’s version of the same recipe – the kulitsa is on the background but it’s really the star attraction here. Perfect for an artery-clogging Easter breakfast!

Lue Suomeksi ‘Pasha And Kulitsa – Eastern Easter Delicacies’(Hide…)

Once again, I broke up with New York. It’s an on – off relationship: my love affair with the City tends to grind to a halt by the beginning of July. Now that I am away from it all, I do get occasional intense longings for the rumble of the elevated tracks, for sleepy afternoons spent in Sunset Park (the Chapultepec of New York) lounging on grass, for the quiet calm of Hasidic shabbos, for feasts on baklava and meze in Bay Ridge, for drinks at the corner of Havemayer & Grand followed by crossing the Williamsburg Bridge on foot in the velvety darkness. Nevertheless, despite all the potential delights of summer in the City, swapping the cloying humidity, the annoying drone of A/Cs, and sidewalks festering with garbage for the cool endless pastel-hued Nordic nights is a no-brainer.

Everyone who ever ventures to Finland in July will encounter strawberries. Mounds of them: hulking layer cakes of heavy cream and strawberries. Strawberries for breakfast, strawberries in salads, strawberries with the afternoon coffee, strawberries as a midnight snack. Friends who drop in for a surprise visit will bring you a punnet of strawberries. And you will surprise them with dessert of strawberries – for years and years, my most low-effort version has been a cup of hulled and halved strawberries marinated in the fridge with half a tablespoon of high-quality aceto balsamico and one tablespoon of sugar.

My co-worker’s father has a strawberry farm near Lohja. Today marks the end of their strawberry picking season. Although strawberries from Suonenjoki will still be abundantly available for a few weeks, I really should get started with my strawberry recipes before it’s too late.

I’ll travel to Australia for a brief work-related thing next month. The logistics have been unusually complex – there are five people involved and each person has different schedule requirements. This probably explains why I have baked a pavlova (probably the most famous culinary invention from down under) for three separate sets of guests this week.

The recipe for pavlova has been with me for at least a decade – it’s always an enormous hit and the perfect party dish. In frenzy of a few minutes, your guests will devour every last crumb, and you will get thank-you notes, e-mails, and text messages that wax poetic about your choice for dessert. It is imperative that you prepare the meringue yourself the morning or night before. You can bake several meringues at once, although I have never been able have them around for longer than a few days. In theory, you could go to a store and buy some readymade meringues. Unfortunately, they will have the texture and taste of drywall. This is because a pavlova is not a dish that travels well: your homemade meringue will be so fragile, yet so deliciously chewy inside that it barely survives from the oven to the table.

Pavlova is a tremendously simple affair: once you have amazed yourself by performing true kitchen magic by producing a perfect meringue, you will just pile a lot of whipped cream and fresh fruit on top of it. My favorites are simple and perennial ““ either pomegranate seeds or a few passion fruits: both will produce a miraculously pretty dish. Fresh raspberries would also work beautifully, but right now, strawberries are the one and only correct answer.

The Strawberry Pavlova

Serves 6-8 with generous second helpings

Meringue:
4 egg whites
230 g (2.7 dl or 1 heaped cup) sugar
1 tsp corn starch
1 tsp white wine vinegar
½ tsp vanilla sugar

Topping:
2 dl (3/4 cups) heavy cream
4 or 5 passion fruits, 1-2 pomegranates, or fresh strawberries

If at all possible, bake the pavlova directly on the serving plate (you can line it with a circle of oiled parchment). You can also use an oven tray, but remember that moving the meringue around will crack it very easily.

Beat the whites of eggs with the sugar until hard peaks form (a Kitchen Aid mixer is ideal for this task). Add vinegar and vanilla, and continue beating for 4 more minutes, or until of thick and glossy in consistency. Lightly fold in cornflour.

Pile mixture into one large or two smaller circular shapes on the oven tray, making a hollow in centre for filling. Note that the mixture will swell during cooking.

I have a gas oven: I bake the meringue at 150 C (300 F) for ten minutes. Then I turn the oven to 140 C (180 F) for a further hour if there is just one enormous meringue; if I make two smaller ones, 30 more minutes is sufficient. Then I turn the oven off, and leave the pavlova in the oven until cool. Undercook rather than overcook – the meringue should remain brilliantly white (if it starts to gain color, the oven is too warm), hard on the outside and meltingly soft inside.

Top with whipped cream and decorate with fresh fruit. Serve immediately.

Jaloviina or Jallu is a legendary Finnish cut brandy, which is made by blending cognac with grain liquor. Its production began in 1932 as a cheaper alternative for cognac, and originally this three star grade Jallu had 3/4 of cognac. The Second World War cut luxury item supplies, and in 1940 Jallu had to be replaced by a one star grade, which had a mere 1/4 of cognac in it. During the difficult years the popularity of the drink grew, and has remained relatively high in demand ever since.

Ville Valo, the lead singer of a Finnish rock band HIM, has made meatballs served with Jallu sauce popular by announcing them his favorites. The recipe was developed a few years ago in his local hangout, Restaurant Tori in Helsinki.

I first tried the recipe a year ago, and both S and I instantly fell in love with the smooth, hearty taste of the sauce. The meatballs are also fine, but its the Jallu sauce that makes this dish so special. It was only a few weeks ago when we went to Tori to try out the original. Their portion is huge: five enormous meatballs with a mountain of mashed potatoes and plenty of sauce. Surely a trucker’s meal, but not surprisingly S didn’t seem to have any trouble finishing the plate. However, Tori’s meatballs were tough and plain, albeit the sauce and the mash were perfectly fine. After our second and third visit to Tori we had to conclude that tastewise there isn’t really a reason to leave home. The following recipe is really that good.

Finnish Meatballs in Cognac Sauce, i.e., Jallupullat

Serves four

For the meatballs:
450 g (1 lbs) ground pork and beef
1 dl (0.4 cups) crème fraîche
½ dl (0.2 cups) onion soup mix
½ dl (0.2 cups) dried fried onion
a pinch of allspice

For the sauce:
50 g (1/2 stick) butter
1 dl (0.4 cups) all purpose flour
2 dl (0.4 cups) demi-glace
3 dl (1.25 cups) water
2 tbsp beef fond or two beef stock cubes
1 dl (0.4 cups) cooking cream
0,5 dl (0.2 cups) cut brandy (1/4 VSOP cognac, 3/4 plain vodka)
a pinch of crushed black peppercorns

Preheat the oven to 175°C (350°F).

Mix the meatball ingredients, and roll into 12-16 balls. Bake for about 30 minutes or until just done.

Heat the butter and add the flour stirring constantly until nicely browned. Don’t let the flour burn. Add the demi-glace and water stirring vigorously, trying to avoid lumps. Add the beef fond, and let simmer for 30 minutes stirring occasionally.

After the 30 minutes add liquor and cream, and let settle for a couple of minutes. You can either add the meatballs directly in the sauce (tastier), or if appearances are more important (boring), serve the meatballs and the sauce separately.

Serve with hot mashed potatoes and crushed and sugared lingonberries. Garnish with fresh parsley.

I bought a can of Libby’s pumpkin puré more or less a year ago, but never quite remembered to use it. Finnish Father’s Day was a little while ago, and I wanted to bring something easy yet tasty for the Sunday meal’s dessert. I remembered the pumpkin can, and read the back label which had a pie recipe on it. Since I happened to have all the ingredients at hand, and didn’t have the energy to google for the ultimate pumpkin pie recipe that takes forever to make and requires three trips to specialty stores for exotic spices, I decided to give the can’s recipe a go.

“This is the traditional holiday pumpkin pie. This classic recipe has been on LIBBY’S® Pumpkin labels since 1950. This pie is easy to prepare and even easier to enjoy. Just mix, pour, bake for a delicious homemade tradition.”

And sure enough, the outcome was delicious. For all non-Americans, the taste is really close to gingerbread, yet the consistency is soft and luscious, just like when you soak a handful of gingerbread to a glass of milk and spoon them as a soggy mess – one of my favorite childhood memories…

So here you go, LIBBY’S® Famous Pumpkin Pie, straight from the can’s label.

LIBBY’S® Famous Pumpkin Pie

1.75 dl (3/4 cup) granulated sugar
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp ground ginger
1/4 tsp ground cloves
2 large eggs
1 can (425 g / 15 oz.) LIBBY’S® 100% Pure Pumpkin
1 can (3.5 dl / 12 fl. oz.) condensed milk
1 unbaked 23 cm / 9-inch (0.9 l / 4-cup volume) deep-dish pie shell
Whipped cream (optional)

MIX sugar, cinnamon, salt, ginger and cloves in small bowl. Beat eggs in large bowl. Stir in pumpkin and sugar-spice mixture. Gradually stir in evaporated milk.

POUR into pie shell.

BAKE in preheated 220°C (425°F) oven for 15 minutes. Reduce temperature to 175°C (350°F); bake for 40 to 50 minutes or until knife inserted near center comes out clean. Cool on wire rack for 2 hours. Serve immediately or refrigerate. Top with whipped cream before serving.

Some months ago I was looking for an easy and light dinner, and ended up buying a box of premium brand ready-to-eat Jerusalem artichoke soup. Before heating the soup I googled its manufacturer, and found their recipe site, which suggested a bacon-tomato topping for the soup. Both S and I were positively surprised by the smooth texture and exquisite taste, but being the foodie I am, the thought of eating canned soup felt wrong.

Our first encounter with Jerusalem artichokes happened in the middle of the summer, and I assumed it would be trivial to buy them from any market. I did immediately find a few plastic bags full of semi-rotten tubers in the nearby supermarket, but I wasn’t ready to settle for anything but perfect. Soon my trusty greengrocer explained that Jerusalem artichokes are a fall species, and that fresh tubers start to appear in stores in late October.

A couple of weeks ago I found a small bag of tiny fresh tubers, and made my first batch of Jerusalem artichoke soup. Peeling the tubers was a pain, as they are quite similar in appearance to fresh ginger. Peeled tubers also brown quickly if exposed to air, so they need to be put in water as soon as possible. The small, gnarly and uneven tubers took a lot of time to peel, and I actually made a mental note not to make the soup from scratch ever again. Because the soup ended up being really good, I decided to give the Jerusalem artichokes an another go when I saw a batch of big tubers at the greengrocer’s. This time I only washed them carefully, and scrubbed the worst parts off, leaving the skin. This saved a lot of time and effort, and unless a glutton for punishment, I suggest doing the same.

I haven’t bought sun dried tomatoes since I first made oven dried tomatoes some two years ago. They’re cheaper, have less oil and taste every bit as good as store bought ones – if not much better. The recipe is in Finnish, but basically you halve the tomatoes, brush them lightly with olive oil, sprinkle with salt, coriander and balsamico, and bake in an oven for 4-9 hours using the lowest temperature setting, and the door slightly cracked open allowing the steam to escape.

Jerusalem artichoke soup with sun dried tomatoes and bacon topping

Serves 4-6

1 kg (2.2 lbs) Jerusalem artichokes
1 medium-to-big parsnip
2 potatoes
2 dl (a scant cup) cream
chicken broth
salt, pepper to taste
egg yolks for thickening (optional)
parsley

150 g (5 oz) bacon
2 dl (a scan cup) of sun dried tomatoes, or a couple of fresh tomatoes
5 cloves of garlic
croutons

Scrub the Jerusalem artichokes carefully, or peel them. Peel the parsnip and potatoes, and cut in large cubes to speed up cooking. Cover the vegetables with chicken broth and cook until soft, about 10-20 minutes. Keep the cooking liquid.

Puré the vegetables with the cream, and add cooking liquid until the soup runs smoothly. Season with salt and pepper. Use egg yolks if you need to thicken the soup. Add finely cut parsley.

Cut the bacon into strips, and fry with crushed garlic until nicely browned. Add the tomatoes. Spoon the bacon-tomato mixture on top of the soup and add croutons. Decorate with parsley leaves.