My So-Called Goulash Recipe

Because one of my loyal readers asked for it, here is my goulash recipe.

First of all, I should say that I am not Hungarian. (I'm not really anything, my ancestors having retained virtually no old world traditions.) But glancing through my high school yearbook would reveal that I grew up with lots of children and grandchildren of Hungarian immigrants, so somewhere along the way I picked up a sort of affinity for Hungarian things in much the same way that I (eventually) learned to like New York style pizza.

(To preempt any slurs against my, er, authenticity, I freely admit that I only started drinking Tokaji after reading His Dark Materials. Happy?)

I started making my own goulash in New York, where there is virtually no Hungarian presence (living in New York will really make you appreciate Balaton - let's hope they don't get squeezed out by increased rents at Shaker Square). It was a little bit homesickness, I guess, plus I had done some kind of extended project about the Magyars at work.

But most of all, Jim's mom had gone on a trip to Budapest and what did she send me? Two little sacks of red cocaine (er, paprika). Lord almighty, the red dust languishing in the back of my cupboard went down the incinerator chute.

Incidentally, my mom used to make goulash, but it was 100% American goulash, with macaroni noodles and ground beef and tomato sauce. I vaguely remember that my sister and I would run and hide if goulash night was announced -- the sight of a cooked green pepper sent me into a psychological tailspin.

This is not my mom's goulash.

MY SO-CALLED GOULASH RECIPE FOR NON-HUNGARIAN HUNGARIAN ENTHUSIASTS
This is probably the perfect winter meal. It should be served over egg noodles sprinkled with fresh dill, maybe with a nice cucumber salad to go with that and have some onion rye from Theresa's at the West Side Market.

What should you drink with this? Ouzo. (Yes, really!) My dad tells a story about a restaurant in East Berlin where he used to get a bowl of goulash and a glass of ouzo on cold, rainy evenings. Try it, you'll like it!

adapted from A Well-Seasoned Appetite (a good cookbook for eating seasonally)

2 Tbsp. butter (why use teaspoons when you can use tablespoons?)

1 large onion, sliced

3 large Hungarian wax peppers, sliced
(this is where it gets scary, people - real Hungarian peppers are unassuming, pale green things with a vengeance. If you want to use Italian peppers, which are a little smaller, fine - but you won't get the heat. You can also use fewer Hungarian peppers, or a combination of Hungarian and Italian, but don't use green bell peppers...you're going to cook the hell out of this stuff, and overcooked green peppers are just unholy.)

A few palmfuls of sweet Hungarian paprika
(yes, you read that right...the original recipe called for 2 Tbsp but I believe in using as much paprika as is humanly possible. Paprika is, after all, the star of this dish. Use the best paprika you can. Not McCormick.)

1 tsp. caraway seeds

1 pound beef stew meat
(I think I've been getting mine from the stand across from the bratwurst place)

1/4 cup flour

1 cup white wine

1 cup stock or water
(I just use water...I never have stock around, and if you're using good meat and good paprika, it'll be fine.)

salt and pepper to taste
(I always use more than the recommended amount of salt. I think I inherited some kind of salt deficiency - my dad salts his pizza - so seriously, use your own judgment.)

A few palmfuls of chopped fresh dill
Egg noodles, for serving (I like the wide curly variety)

1. Cook the onions and peppers in butter in a large stew pot until very soft, about 10 minutes. Add the paprika and caraway and stir until fragrant.

2. Dredge beef cubes in flour and toss in the pot; allow to brown a little bit, maybe 5 minutes.

3. Add liquid and bring to a simmer. Cover and allow to simmer for 1 1/2 to 2 hours, adding more liquid and adjusting seasonings if need be.

Supposedly serves 4, but in my house, it's more like 2.