By: Maja Kolakovic
We arrived in Canada in the middle of winter. As I stepped out of the airport, I suddenly had fond memories of my cramped seat on the plane, and the rhythmic flushing of the toilet behind me. Just like I had anticipated (but not prepared for), I was met with potent gales, nipping at my ears and the tip of my nose in greeting. Such unbearable frost caused my body to twitch in spasmodic pulses.
The neighborhood where our rental was situated seemed too quiescent, contrary to the next life I would know. I peered at the dusty buildings from my vantage point in the backseat of a taxi. The vehicle drove my brother and I to foreign doors, and stepping into the classroom, I was struck with an immediate sense of alienation. My first thought: why was it so filthy? The school greatly lacked the sophistication I had envisioned - it didn’t even have a pool. In gym class, there was no gymnastics, no swimming - we just played dodgeball. I took a while to adjust.
My grandmother (Mama, in Hungarian) stayed with us for those first few months. She used to operate a restaurant back in Hungary with my grandfather, so she was an avid and experienced cook. Mama would make all sorts of traditional Hungarian dishes. I would linger in the small kitchen and watch her concoct meals.
Our abode was far from perfect - it wasn’t very roomy, and the apartment flooded once early on. I recall getting sick quite often. I missed Europe - I missed my home. Fortunately, my grandmother brought some of that with her. Particularly one thing, she would make for us very often: these Hungarian crepes called palacsinta. Their aroma, the texture of the dough, the way they were rolled up - it all reminded me of Hungary. I’d have something to look forward to after a day of getting assailed by dodgeballs: my grandmother’s cooking.
Too soon, however, Mama went back to Hungary. We purchased an apartment on bustling Richmond Street. My mother continued to make the palacsinta, and I would try my hand at it, even though I wasn’t the best pancake flipper. I’d spill batter on the stove. I’d get flour all over the table. The palacsinta would end up misshapen - but they still tasted okay.
I continued to adjust to Canadian life. I became accustomed to the winters, and the less-sophisticated sports in gym class, and the people. The palacsinta remained as a vestige of my old life, carrying with them my heritage and the traces of Europe.
We moved twice more. As I was finishing middle school, Mama came back to spend time with us. She made the palacsinta, and it was achingly familiar to the way my mother would make them. We’d sit down, eat, and play card games. I’d practice my Hungarian with her - a language I’m trying not to lose. She left shortly after, and for a while, I was devastated. Now the palacsinta remind me not only of Hungary, but of her.
The neighborhood where our rental was situated seemed too quiescent, contrary to the next life I would know. I peered at the dusty buildings from my vantage point in the backseat of a taxi. The vehicle drove my brother and I to foreign doors, and stepping into the classroom, I was struck with an immediate sense of alienation. My first thought: why was it so filthy? The school greatly lacked the sophistication I had envisioned - it didn’t even have a pool. In gym class, there was no gymnastics, no swimming - we just played dodgeball. I took a while to adjust.
My grandmother (Mama, in Hungarian) stayed with us for those first few months. She used to operate a restaurant back in Hungary with my grandfather, so she was an avid and experienced cook. Mama would make all sorts of traditional Hungarian dishes. I would linger in the small kitchen and watch her concoct meals.
Our abode was far from perfect - it wasn’t very roomy, and the apartment flooded once early on. I recall getting sick quite often. I missed Europe - I missed my home. Fortunately, my grandmother brought some of that with her. Particularly one thing, she would make for us very often: these Hungarian crepes called palacsinta. Their aroma, the texture of the dough, the way they were rolled up - it all reminded me of Hungary. I’d have something to look forward to after a day of getting assailed by dodgeballs: my grandmother’s cooking.
Too soon, however, Mama went back to Hungary. We purchased an apartment on bustling Richmond Street. My mother continued to make the palacsinta, and I would try my hand at it, even though I wasn’t the best pancake flipper. I’d spill batter on the stove. I’d get flour all over the table. The palacsinta would end up misshapen - but they still tasted okay.
I continued to adjust to Canadian life. I became accustomed to the winters, and the less-sophisticated sports in gym class, and the people. The palacsinta remained as a vestige of my old life, carrying with them my heritage and the traces of Europe.
We moved twice more. As I was finishing middle school, Mama came back to spend time with us. She made the palacsinta, and it was achingly familiar to the way my mother would make them. We’d sit down, eat, and play card games. I’d practice my Hungarian with her - a language I’m trying not to lose. She left shortly after, and for a while, I was devastated. Now the palacsinta remind me not only of Hungary, but of her.
Recipe
Supplies
Ingredients
Procedure
- Stove top
- Spatula
- Pan
- Large bowl
- Large plate
- Mixer
- Cups/mugs
- Spoon
- Pastry brush
- Measuring cup(s)
Ingredients
- Milk - start with 1 cup (2 decilitres*)
- Sparkling water - start with 1 cup (2 decilitres*)
- One cup (2 decilitres*) of all purpose flour
- 2 large eggs
- A pinch of salt (¼ tsp)
- 3 teaspoons of grapeseed or sunflower oil
- *If the mix is too thick or runny, then adjust quantities of flour/water (thick -> add water, runny -> add flour)
Procedure
- Assemble your ingredients.
- Pour one cup of all-purpose flour, one cup of sparkling water, and one cup of milk into a large bowl.
- Crack 2 eggs into the bowl (both the yolk & egg white) and place the eggshells in the compost. WASH YOUR HANDS after handling the eggs!!!
- Add three teaspoons of sunflower or grapeseed oil and a pinch of salt.
- Set up the mixer.
- Mix the ingredients together and check the density of the batter with a big spoon. It shouldn’t be too thick and should appear a whitish yellow colour.
- Pour some oil into a separate bowl (to oil the frying pan).
- Set your stove to medium heat and place the pan on the surface.
- Spread oil over the pan with the pastry brush.
- Wait a few minutes (2-3) until the pan and the oil are heated up. Use a ladle or a big spoon to scoop out some of the batter into the pan. Make sure that it’s distributed evenly and relatively the same thickness in all areas.
- With the spatula, occasionally lift the bottom of the palacsinta and check its colour. If it is a golden brown, then you’re good to flip the palacsinta. If it’s still white, wait until it warms over.
- Using the spatula, flip your palacsinta without getting it on the stove or the ceiling like I do.
- The second side tends to warm faster, so check the palacsinta sooner. If it’s cooked over well, you can deposit the palacsinta on a large plate (it may be eaten right away or saved for a few hours later).
- Using jam, cocoa powder, or nutella, slather the surface of the palacsinta.
- Roll up the palacsinta and enjoy :D
- Repeat steps 9-15 to make another.