Things cooked and wrapped up by grandmothers

There is something ingenious about grandmothers wrapping up food. My own g-ma was a fastidious tin foil salvager--judging by the foil's wrinkles and loss of sheen, my sandwich was the 17th that had been protected by that malleable metal.

But the two Marie's here (Michal's grandmothers have the same name) are on a higher level of salvage. This past spring, I received walnut berry cake, skillfully wrapped in layers of bread bag, carefully snuggled into an empty Kleenex container, held tight with a giant rubber band.

Likewise, when I opened the fridge yesterday, I found a plastic tub that once held grapes, full of a special meat and soy patty,(Karbonatky) covered and lined inside by plastic bread bag. The whole thing rubber banded in place like a little girl's pony tail.
A large cake box, greasily addressed to Michal, held a surprisingly benign looking hill of white rolls. Turns out they're Buchty, sweet bread rolls filled with a thick plum jelly. Heated up, they're pretty delicious.

Never judge a book by its cover, or could it be the other way around?

Sweet Soy Log

Parsley is merely a serving suggestion

Mmm, who doesn't love a hunk of sweet soy? Next to the Milka chocolate, the wafer bars and the Orbitz gum, you can still find the old fashioned Sójové řezy bar in the Czech Out Aisle. The name roughly translates to "soya cuts," and the filling treasure costs 50 American cents. Apparantly, Sójové řezy has remained popular enough that Nestle bought up the name and recipe. The packaging however, remains the same as pre-Revolution era.
As for taste, Soya Cuts is sort of like a fatty, cookie dough with traces of coconut and almond extract. My roommate swears there is also a trace of permanent marker.

Here are the ingredients, thanks to Google Translate. All words are verbatim:
Sugar, soy flakes, glucose-fructose syrup, Plant fat, dried milk, wheat flour wafer, aromas, museums containing traces of peanuts and almonds.

The Czech Out Aisle number 5

When I lived with my Slovak friend Zita this summer, she introduced me to many culinary delites (creamy pork and pasta for one). Sleďový závitky was another surprise: pickled carrots, cabbage and peas wrapped in an equally pickled herring, packed below a solid, you-gotta-work-for-the-calories gelatin top.



Though not as ghastly fishy tasting as I had anticipated, the rolled fish snack tasted most strongly of vinegar. Zita wanted me to go back for more: "Don't worry, there's so much of it. Have some!" she said. I feigned being full. And then my camera caught Zita looking none too sure about the situation either.

Makový Koláč

This was a breakfast item recently, and I have to admit, I have fallen in love with the koláč, (say "kolach") a traditional Czech pastry filled with sweet quark, jam and poppy seeds (mak). The word koláč simply means cake, and it can also be a savory snack, but usually the packaged rolls in the carb aisle come looking a little like a round, culinary flag, like the cukrářský koláč (fancy cakes) above.

Business Line newspaper claims that the Czech Republic produced 59,000 tons of poppy seeds in 2008, Turkey being their only real competitor in the poppy seed market. Below you can see a field of white poppy pods (next to miles of sugar beets) in the distance near Solany, Czech Republic, waiting to be harvested this past June.

Pâté Centrum

This will certainly be an ethnocentric grocery entry, because I first saw the aisle of paštika and pomazánka (pâté and meat spread) and thought it was cat food. The tins are little and cute, with peel back covers and unintelligible (to me, the Anglo) ingredients. I peered at them, expecting to find a kitty licking its furry lips a la Fancy Feast. Ne ne, the spreads are for humans instead, and many of the pâtés have the Eiffle Tower on them, adding a little je ne sais quoi to their potential deliciousness. While scrutinizing brands at the Hypernova, My boyfriend assured me that Májka is a classic Czech pâté--indeed, no France reference in sight--though the original comes in a proper tin can. Made from pork liver and spices, it is usually eaten with rohlík (see Czech Out Aisle 2. Official definition is "pointed roll") as a snack.

As a rule I limit my liver consumption to less than once a month, and recently I ate a fried rabbit version for Sunday lunch. So I sampled the pikantni pomazánka (spicy tomato and pork spread) instead of the pâté.
(Note: Wikipedia says that Pâté "is a mixture of ground meat and fat minced into a spreadable paste", and liver is an optional addition)
The liverless variety tasted inexplicably like Prego tomato meat sauce, sort of spicy tomato-y with a strong sensation of animal, though it didn't seem to matter which one. Very salty, and definitely preservative tasting (I can't say I've actually sampled Fancy Feast, but...) pikantni pomazánka most resembles a lighter Spam, and perhaps if the '50's had been a little spicier, the U.S. might sell something similar to this, which is labeled Pro Labužníky (for the gourmand).

At less than 12 crown per tin, the gourmand here can save his cash for a sausage or two, and go home happy. I just hope he doesn't put his pâtés on the same shelf as Fluffy's food, though perhaps it would be no great mix-up.

The Czech Out Aisle: Rohlík

Rohlík: King of the bread Aisle.

For Westerners accustomed to packaged breads and glass enclosed pastries, the bread aisle at most Czech supermarkets is sure to surprise. Open baskets are filled with all sorts of yeasty delicacies, and people come through in droves, filling up plastic bags to the brim.

The rohlík (roll, pronounced "row-hlick") is the Czech/Slovak sweetheart of the bread section, and at less than 1 Koruna per kilo, it is clearly a family staple. At home, the rohlík may be sliced open and filled with margarine, ham and cheese, or the accompaniment to soups and salads, especially the classic Vlašský Salát, a very mayonnaisey potato and salami salad.

But never have I seen a nation consume rolls-on-the go as I have seen the Czechs do. From teething kids in strollers, to ankle biters and their hungry parents, Czechs wander the street or flood the metro, rohlík in hand, tearing into the plain, white flour delight with happy abandon. And because they are such a well loved snack, you can find rohlík in all places, like the Vietnamese corner store, the train station sausage stand, or sometimes even the tobbacconist.

Whole grain versions of rohlík do exist, as do other flavors, like garlic or sesame, but the white flour classic prevails, and for pennies, you can stave off your hunger for at least an hour, or until the craving for more Czech bread returns.

'The Czech Out Aisle' Official Launch! WSCBP does Groceries, Czech Style!

Zakysana Smetana

Not the splashiest item in the dairy cooler, but SMETANA—Smotana in Slovakian—is all over Czech food like white on rice. Its closest equivalent in the US is sour cream, but Smetana is thicker and more mild, like a creamy Greek yogurt. Smetana shows up everywhere: slathered on sausages, stirred into Slovakian halusky, added to pasta, spread on bread, and accompanied by a plate of Czech Goulash and dumplings.

The supermarket versions, like the “Clever” brand here range in milk fat from 12% - 36%. In fact, the main perk of Smetana is that it is so high in fat, it doesn't curdle at high temperatures. You got something boiling on the stove that needs a little oomph? Some cookbooks suggest that people without access to this Eastern dairy staple can mix Western sour cream with heavy whipping cream and experience the bliss. Na zdravi!