Matching Tracksuits

In America, if a beer has "more than three and two-tenths percent of alcohol by weight," it's called "malt liquor." And "malt liquor" has certain connotations.

The alcohol-by-weight for taxation purposes versus alcohol-by-volume for all other purposes is yet another example of America's love affair with mixed measure standards. At L's last check-up, for instance, I noticed that weight was calculated in the English system while head circumference was measured metrically. And surveying, because of software limitations, uses not inches but tenths of feet -- the American metric system.

Wikipedia -- that bastion of objectivity -- writes, "Malt liquor is distinguished from other beers of high alcohol content in that the brewing process is seen by many as targeting high alcohol content and economy rather than quality." Translation: it's a seen in American culture today as something of a party and/or ghetto drink. It's for people who don't know better, can't afford better, or just don't care.

In Poland, there's just beer. Some beer is called "Mocne" ("powerful" or "strong") but it's just called "beer".

Generally speaking, I don't like Polish "strong" beers. To get their strength, they add a lot of malt (hence, "malt" liquor) and it produces a sweeter beer than I generally like.

There are some exceptions. Okocim Mocne is drinkable, but still too sweet. Debowe Mocne is less sweet, but there's just something I don't care for. My favorite is Tatra Mocne. A review is available here.

I've never seen any of these in the States except the Okocim, though I really haven't looked -- just happened to find it at a Russian food store in Asheville.

In four days, though, I won't have to look far.

Clean, clean, clean — the first three steps in the Polish Christmas prep tradition. This year, we only did the second on those three steps: having a toddler running around makes cleaning a Sisyphusian challenge.

The next steps in preparing a traditional Polish Christmas: cook, bake, bake, cook, cook, bake, cook. Due again to the Girl, we have time for only half that. And we’re getting a late start at that. Last year we did the dumplings and “ears” weeks in advance and froze them.

Last night, I got started on the pierogi (dumplings) and uszki (“ear” — little dumplings, more like wontons).

First step: saute the mushrooms.

Second step: make a pulp out of the mushrooms.

Third step: squeeze every last bit of water out of the mushrooms.

This third step is critical, since the mushrooms will be the one of the main components of the pierogi and the sole component of the little wontons. Too much moisture in the filling and instead of nice little dumplings, you wind up with a doughy mess.

The next step after the mushrooms is simple: do the same thing with the sauerkraut.

It took me about ninety minutes last night to prepare the mushrooms and kraut, though most of that time was simply waiting for it to cook. But it’s frightening: ninety minutes for the filling of one of several dishes for Christmas Eve dinner.

But what is time when you’re cooking? The only regret is how long it takes to prepare all the food versus how quickly everyone eats it — the cook’s eternal curse.