Tuesday, February 9, 2016

(Puhn-Chkee): P-A-C-Z-K-I

Most people don't know that my husband is one-quarter Japanese.  His mom's mom was born and raised in Japan, and taught her daughter all kinds of delicious Japanese recipes.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), my mother-in-law's cooking is the only food I've really enjoyed up here thus far.  To be fair, she's a spectacular cook, and puts an enormous amount of effort and love into each of her elaborate, multi-faceted meals, so reaching the caliber of her cooking is kind of a tall order (I'm sincerely not trying to suck up, it just happens to be a plus that it's true and may or may not flatter my MIL). But as of this moment in time, Michigan food outside of my in-law's home has consisted of a lot of salt and sour cream (bleh), without much else as far as seasonings and condiments go (aside from the time I was served mozzarella sticks with Ranch dressing - that was weird). There has yet been but one exception to my culinary adventures in the past few months, and that lies in a seasonal pastry.




And this is where the other almost three-quarters of my husband's heritage comes in - Polish.  As it turns out, a significant portion of Michigan is made up of Polish-American ancestry.  It becomes evident at a certain time of year, when the smell of confections hits every bakery in the state, and the Meijers are flooded with stacks of little red and white boxes, with a myriad of letters on the side that may have been picked at random through a game of the official unofficial sport of Michigan, and don't seem to actually make up a full, sensible word - Paczkis. P-A with a squiggly underneath- C-Z-K-I.



Say it with me now - Puhn. Chkee.

No, I'm not trying to set you up to sound like an idiot next time you have a conversation with a Michigander about Polish pastries, which is obviously a common topic at the water cooler.  That's really how you say it.  Somewhere in between Poo and Punch, with a Key on the end.  Purse those lips like you're kissing Aunt Gerta.  Puhn-Chkee.  There ya go.


And guys, Paczkis are a really big deal.



Like, Clemson vs. Carolina big.  Summer is here big.  Oh my god they're forecasting an inch of snow and Publix is out of bread big.  Making enemies because you described it to "foreigners" as a jelly-filled doughnut big.  So I'm not saying it's a doughnut.  Instead, I will say that it is "a small, fried cake of dough, generally formed in a flattened sphere-like fashion, filled with a fruit-flavored gelatin or custard."  There. Now I won't get strung up and beaten with egg noodles.



Michigander legend has it that the Paczki originated when bakeries in Poland were trying to get rid of their perishable, too-rich-for-lent ingredients before Lent, because, traditionally, they were devout Catholics, and gave up sweets (and meat, hence the popularity of fish frys) until Easter.  So, they just dump all of their leftover eggs, sugar, flour, yeast, fat, and milk into a mix and fry it, and the result is a super rich, super heavy, slightly chewy, insanely delicious pastry.  It's then poked and filled with a sugar-drenched jam or custard, and distributed to the masses to get in one last sugar fix bender before fasting for six weeks.  And they are only available one time a year - the day (or week) before Ash Wednesday. Thus, in Michigan, "Paczki Day" and "Fat Tuesday" are one in the same, interchangeable phrases. (Although in Poland, it is actually "Fat Thursday." See the purist debate on Twitter.)

When I told Matt we had to go get Paczkis (because eating them will obviously help me remember how to spell them), he initially said we had to "get there early."  I, of course, am thinking, "ok, so, like, 8?"

Getting Paczkis on Fat Tuesday is an early morning event.  For us, it was 5am.  And it was snowing.


Nope.

Apparently, on Paczki Day, some bakeries open as early as 3am.  Some close their doors to the public and will only let you in if you've placed an order ahead of time.  The majority are out of pastries by 8am.  Matt's dad used to leave their house at 4am and sometimes stand in line for almost an hour to get their two dozen and be home in time for breakfast.  Like I said, these Paczkis are a serious business.




Thankfully, my husband is merciful (and sleeps like the dead), so we awoke at a leisurely 5am to heavily falling snow (our yard has been bare for weeks) and drove the 30 mins to Krzysiak's (I have no idea how to pronounce it - it took four attempts just to spell it correctly), where we stood in line for about 20 minutes to get our assorted dozen.  Other people in line were commenting on how tame it was this year, and grumbling that people could come in "first come, first serve." ("I thought you had to order ahead of time!")

Krzysiak's paczkis at 5:45am.  According to their Facebook page, these were full when they opened this morning only 45 minutes before our arrival, in addition to the hundred something boxes ready for pre-placed orders.

Guys, they had already almost run out.  Serious. Business.

Additional Polish goodies they offer, like egg noodles and pierogies, heavy potato-filled pasta shells.

That poor bakery was so busy the boxes were spotted with powdered sugar and jelly.
Which I in turn got all over my lap.


We drove back, the Paczkis happily awaiting consumption on my powdered sugar drenched lap, and discussing how glad we are that we got there in time.  Then, once arriving back home, sat down to coffee and a box of assorted Paczkis and began the guessing game of which pastry enveloped which sweet, gooey filling.

They may all be covered in strawberry jelly, but don't let that fool you. You have to inspect the hole they use to inject the jelly to get a pretty solid (but not certain) idea of what's inside. We got lemon, custard, strawberry, blueberry, and cherry.




I'm slowly learning that, much like the weather, and when the next snow plow will come by, not really knowing what's coming is all a part of the fun of living in Michigan.  It's a constant adventure.

Matt says this happens in almost every batch. Bakeries are in such a hurry to meet demand that a pastry just slips through the cracks and gets no filling.  He calls them "duds." But they're still awesome.

Now, is this sucker Strawberry, Cherry, or is that jam from another Paczki?



Double-check me - did I spell Paczki right every time??

What Michigander food should I try next?

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