You know how they say "methode champenoise" on bottles of fizz, meaning the contents were produced by the same methodi, but not in the same place as champagne ? Well, same thing here : coltunasi, as in the Romanian dish, except evidently not made in Romania, nor by a Romanian girl.
First off you fill a large pot with water and set it on the stove and while it builds itself to boiling point you prepare your dough. For this purpose you will need some flour in a bowl to which you add a little fat (say Olive Oyl, if you wish, or butter, or schmaltziv) and fresh potato ground finely. Like so :
That watery goop is the only liquid your flour gets. Work it into a hard dough with just a little salt added, and once it's done let's make the filling!
For this instantiation I chose red onion (though leeks would have worked just as well -- but we didn't have any, what can you do), some fine Brie and a little bit of well ripe avocado, just enough to turn the ensemble butter colored.
At this juncture, you roll out the dough thinly and (traditionally) cut squares out of it, about five centimeters alongside. We departed from this tradition today, the girl cut rectangles for no reason other than misunderstanding my explanation and misviewing the sample object I cut out as I was explaining. My coltunasi thereby weren't triangular as per tradition, but rectangular instead. They look cute like that, I think the naked slut ruined yet another tradition in the eyes of the dominant male. Try and guess now why older women comme il faut, la casa lor utterly and consummately HATE the naked sluts, the concept of slavegirls, the notion of a harem, and what exactly do they expect to get for themselves out of "safe, sane and consensual" for other people. Right ?
Once all the squares are rectangularily cut and the filling is inside and sealed, you dump the lot into your boiling water pot. Once they're done they rise to the surface. I know it doesn't sound credible, but here you go, first pop :
They are to be eaten immediately once out of the pot, with a little bit of butter, or sour cream or whatever. The slavegirl is to be eaten immediately thereafter. Alternative fillings could readily be had, say mushrooms, finely minced meat, even heavily spiced aspic if you're fast enough.
This, if you're curious, was breakfast, produced out of the idle inquiry line of "what shall we have ?" "i could make you eggs ?" "meh" "would you like tuna ?" "no." "how about..." "let's make coltunasi!". The whole production took just about twenty minutes, but traditionally these are a hors d'oeuvre, served before the soup which comes before the roast which comes before the pastry and the fish and the desert and the fruit and the so on. I used to have them at my grandmother's stately dinners a few short decades ago that feel like long, long centuries. I loved them then and I love them still.
Enjoy! And may they make you also feel young again!———
- Bottle fermentation. [↩]
- I don't mean, "she plays around as if she were on days we feel like it". She doesn't play around, she's not a slave like you're an undiscovered actress. She's a slave like the moon's a satellite. (And yes I'm aware the moon could one day quit its orbit. So could she!)
Nor do I mean "safewords" and assorted bullshit , she doesn't have one of those either. Unsafe, constructively, insane quite deliberately and consensual in the limited sense of "it's so assumed". By me. [↩]
- You know she doesn't get to wear clothes indoors ? Nor do the visitors ? [↩]
- Did I tell you about the great duck we just had in the oven ? No ? Well one of these days I shall have to explain the roasted bird -> soup -> salata de boeuf transformation for your benefit won't I! [↩]