HAPPY NEW YEAR Everyone!
2019 has finally arrived and I hope that you all had a wonderful New Years celebration with friends and family! Some may have made New Years resolutions for 2019 and some may not. Regardless, I sincerely hope that this will be a defining and positive year for you all where you make your dreams come true.
While the celebration in Tbilisi doesn't really compare to the ball dropping in New York or the firework displays over London, Paris and Moscow...I can tell you that it does edge up in it's own way. The actual government firework show is a bit..."lacking" so the local population really put on a spectacle instead. In Tbilisi, fireworks (Roman candles) are not illegal and easily bought on the streets and people buy them in great quantity to shoot them from their balconies and we're no exception. We live in a Soviet built building area so the buildings are often surrounding a small central park style ground. So when the clock hit 12...the entire population lights off several Roman candles and fires them in the air...and at the opposite buildings balconies, which are far away enough not to get hit, but close enough to make you duck and cover. The overall effect is exciting and well....unnerving at the same time.
Some of you might be thinking that this post is coming a bit late, but in Tbilisi (and many other post-Soviet countries) this holiday is celebrated twice; both Western New Year and Eastern New Year, which means celebrating the occasion over a two week period. Oh sure, at first this might sound like great fun, but honestly....it can be a bit..."tiring" to say the least. Celebrations are primarily revolve around getting together with friends and family, eating, drinking and THEN you go to another house and eat and drink again and again and again, but that's jumping ahead a bit.
Of course, what really distinguishes Western New Years from Eastern New Years? "Salat Olivier."
"Salat Olivier?" Some of you may wonder "What is that?" Salat Olivier is a traditional version of potato salad that has become a New Year table staple of most post-Soviet homes and has even managed to finagle and creep it's way into Iran, Israel, Mongolia, Turkey and even Latin America. Needless to say, Salat Olivier is the bane of my New Year's existence.
Now, before I delve into why I am not a fan of Salat Oliver, let me provide you with the history of this culinary magic.
In the 1860's, Belgian chef, Lucien Olivier concocted the infamous version of potato salad while working at the Hermitage restaurant in Moscow. This potato salad was so delicious that it quickly became signature dish of the restaurant and "yes" - the "rage" of the city. Now, initially in my mind, when potato salad becomes the "rage" of the city, it's a pretty clear indication of how bad conditions must be, but you see this was no average potato salad my friends. No, no, no! This was potato salad extraordinaire ! It contained grouse, veal tongue, caviar, lettuce, crayfish tales, capers and smoked duck (you know, all the ingredients that we have laying around the house). It was basically a four course meal unto itself! And the dressing! Well the dressing consisted of.....well, I'd tell you, but honestly,...I don't know. In fact, no one does and THIS is where it gets interesting.
It was the dressing that made Salat Oliver a signature dish and Chef Olivier guarded his recipe with extreme paranoia. In fact, he would prepare it a separate room from his own staff. Now with the stage set, the plot thickens like the mayonnaise dressing.
One day, while making the dressing, Chef Olivier is called away and his industrious and evil sous-chef Ivan Ivanov stealthily takes advantage of the moment, sneaks into the private kitchen and spies upon the mise en place to learn ingredients of the infamous dressing, but not the exact quantities. Armed with this partial knowledge, he leaves the Hermitage to work at the Moskva restaurant and created "salat stolinchny" or "capital salad" based on Salat Olivier. The local gourmands considered "salat stolinchny" good, but lacking in comparison to the infamous Salat Olivier.
The dastardly clever Ivanov quickly realizes that he will never achieve the status, fame or fortune as Chef Olivier, then sells his "capital salad" recipe to various publishing houses. Once Chef Olivier died in 1883 and the Olivier family departed Russia sometime after 1905, Ivanov quickly capitalized upon the name and then changes the name of his mediocre Capital Salad to "Salat Olivier". Oh the scandal. But wait, there's more!
Given that certain ingredients become rare, expensive, rely on the seasons, etc. and people and publishing houses begin to suggest replacements (i.e. soy sauce replacing Worcestershire sauce,etc.) Then there was this pesky, incident known as the "Russian Revolution" and the expensive ingredients were replaced by the cheaper, "worker" style ingredients of eggs, pickles, peas, etc. YET, it was still called "Salat Olivier" and THIS version (a.k.a. "Soviet Olivier") is the version that has become the New Years comfort food for the post Soviet states. Now THIS is where I begin to have issues...because remember...the holidays are celebrated twice.
Now, it's not that I'm against potato salad per se. I mean, it makes best of what is available and traditionally potatoes are a staple in the winter months. Nor am I against tradition per se. Every family and culture needs traditions to remind them who are and bind them together. That said, however, certain traditions should evolve with the times; especially eating traditions. Let me explain.
Every year, every New Years table in every house will include an array of wonderful food because you will be hosting and eating for two weeks. Makes sense. But because of tradition, every year, every New Years table in every house must include Champagne, mandarin oranges and Salat Olivier. So now after eating in their own home, families will go from one house to another day after day to visit and sit at tables where the other food is overshadowed by Champagne, mandarin oranges and the showcase dish....copiously nauseating amounts of Salat Olivier.
Now, you might think "well then, just don't eat it," but you see, it doesn't work that way. It took me a while to understand this, but because Salat Olivier has made it to the pinnacle of household New Year cuisine, this quaint, wholesome family staple has become a fierce, unwritten, culinary blood sport competition to see who makes the best Salat Olivier. Refusing Salat Olivier will only bring forth a look of terrified confusion - as though you just urinated on host's house cat. Thinking that you must be intoxicated (as no normal person would refuse this New Year treat), the hostess will then dish out a sample (i.e. five heaping tablespoons) for you of their Salat Olivier. Then she graciously stand to your left anxiously trying to analyze your facial expression as you put every spoonful in your mouth on waiting for your approval. Not only do you have to feign delight in seeing the dish, but now have to eat it several times daily, while your spouse sits on your right with arms folded across her chest with a pleasant smile on her face, but a look in her eyes that reminds you that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned; especially when what you are eating is in direct competition with her version of it. You learn to tread lightly.
At this time, I'd also like to remind you of something very important: mayonnaise sauces; especially once mixed with pickles, don't necessarily last very long. So by day four of this tradition, Salat Olivier has now taken on a new tongue tingling life of it's own. Pass the bromine please.
Thus, to avoid the gastric conflict and later impromptu flatulence concert that ensues making the neighbors wonder if we've trained a baby elephant from the local zoo to "toot out" "Broadway's Greatest Hits", I try (albeit unsuccessfully) to talk Madame DuPont into foregoing tradition and omitting Salat Olivier from the table. This year was no different.
About a week before New Year, I'm having coffee with Madame DuPont and I wanted to try a different technique to broach the subject without offending. I tried to open with the history of the salad.
"You know, you actually can't make Salat Olivier" I smugly announce ready to enthrall her with the historical ingredients and scandal of Salat Olivier.
She pauses from blowing on her coffee and looks over at me with eyelids half closed at me without moving her head "What?"
Misinterpreting the half closed eyelids as "sleepy" and not "fierce glare" that it was, I repeat myself "You cannot actually make Salat Olvier"
"You're starting in early" she responds thinking I am telling her that I don't permit her to make the salad.
"What? I'm just saying that you don't know how to make real "Salat Olivier."
Now in my mind, this made perfect sense. I was (or so I believed) simply trying to stress that the conventional recipe was nothing like the original recipe. In retrospect, this is probably where I should have sensed that having this conversation (or practically any conversation before coffee) was not a great idea, but I blindly trudge forward anyway.
"I do. I can. And I will" she testily announced
"But...wait. I'm not saying that I don't allow you to make...."
"You have that right!"
"What I am saying is that you don't know what real Salat Olivier IS"
And now I embark with quintessential mansplaining. The only thing I could have done different was to start off with "Let me just tell YOU about your silly little traditions, culture and cuisine...." About midway through my culinary soliloquy, she stops me.
"You know we do this every year! I'm making Salat Olivier!"
"Look! I beg of you - not this year!"
"What's wrong with you? What will you do when people ask for it?"
"Ask for it?" I respond incredulously thinking that she must be insane or drunk "No one asks for it! No one craves other people's Salat Olivier. That's unheard of!"
"When I go to other people's houses, I eat it"
"You only eat it because you want to taste it and then come home and criticize it."
"I critique it"
"What are talking about?"
"I like to know what's wrong with their salad" she adds with a fiendish smile
"What? What difference does that make? It's the criticizing you like, not the salad."
"Others do it to me"
"Then let's stop the madness and not make it! No salad means no criticism!"
"Are you kidding? They'll criticize us more for not having Salat Olivier! Plus, why do you care? You don't have to make it"
"Yes, but I have to eat it! I eat ours then I eat it at every house we go to."
"So you think that if we don't make it, then you will not have to eat it at someone else home?"
Well played Madame DuPont, well played indeed
"Noooo...." I slowly uttered trying to think of a counter move "but I will have to eat theirs AND the enormous amounts of Salat Olivier leftover that we'll have"
"Oh we won't have an enormous amount of leftover this year!" she happily announced
"Really? Do tell"
"Because mine will be the best and everyone will eat it" she smiled
It became so quiet that I could hear my heart break.
[sigh] So began the yearly process again of running around, cleaning and preparing a feast of food for unknown amounts of people. And as we do every year, we curse and swear that this is the LAST time that we'll ever have these sort of New Years dinners again, knowing full well that it won't be.
Next year before New Years, I'll open our conversation with "You know, your Salat Olivier was so good last year! I mean "wow"! I never thought I would like it, but you really outdid yourself! In fact, I don't think that you could top that! Let's quit while we're ahead."
I'll let you all know how that goes, but in the meantime I need to get myself another helping of Salat Olivier.
Happy New Years Everyone! Let's make 2019 OUR year to remember!
2019 has finally arrived and I hope that you all had a wonderful New Years celebration with friends and family! Some may have made New Years resolutions for 2019 and some may not. Regardless, I sincerely hope that this will be a defining and positive year for you all where you make your dreams come true.
While the celebration in Tbilisi doesn't really compare to the ball dropping in New York or the firework displays over London, Paris and Moscow...I can tell you that it does edge up in it's own way. The actual government firework show is a bit..."lacking" so the local population really put on a spectacle instead. In Tbilisi, fireworks (Roman candles) are not illegal and easily bought on the streets and people buy them in great quantity to shoot them from their balconies and we're no exception. We live in a Soviet built building area so the buildings are often surrounding a small central park style ground. So when the clock hit 12...the entire population lights off several Roman candles and fires them in the air...and at the opposite buildings balconies, which are far away enough not to get hit, but close enough to make you duck and cover. The overall effect is exciting and well....unnerving at the same time.
Some of you might be thinking that this post is coming a bit late, but in Tbilisi (and many other post-Soviet countries) this holiday is celebrated twice; both Western New Year and Eastern New Year, which means celebrating the occasion over a two week period. Oh sure, at first this might sound like great fun, but honestly....it can be a bit..."tiring" to say the least. Celebrations are primarily revolve around getting together with friends and family, eating, drinking and THEN you go to another house and eat and drink again and again and again, but that's jumping ahead a bit.
Of course, what really distinguishes Western New Years from Eastern New Years? "Salat Olivier."
"Salat Olivier?" Some of you may wonder "What is that?" Salat Olivier is a traditional version of potato salad that has become a New Year table staple of most post-Soviet homes and has even managed to finagle and creep it's way into Iran, Israel, Mongolia, Turkey and even Latin America. Needless to say, Salat Olivier is the bane of my New Year's existence.
Now, before I delve into why I am not a fan of Salat Oliver, let me provide you with the history of this culinary magic.
In the 1860's, Belgian chef, Lucien Olivier concocted the infamous version of potato salad while working at the Hermitage restaurant in Moscow. This potato salad was so delicious that it quickly became signature dish of the restaurant and "yes" - the "rage" of the city. Now, initially in my mind, when potato salad becomes the "rage" of the city, it's a pretty clear indication of how bad conditions must be, but you see this was no average potato salad my friends. No, no, no! This was potato salad extraordinaire ! It contained grouse, veal tongue, caviar, lettuce, crayfish tales, capers and smoked duck (you know, all the ingredients that we have laying around the house). It was basically a four course meal unto itself! And the dressing! Well the dressing consisted of.....well, I'd tell you, but honestly,...I don't know. In fact, no one does and THIS is where it gets interesting.
It was the dressing that made Salat Oliver a signature dish and Chef Olivier guarded his recipe with extreme paranoia. In fact, he would prepare it a separate room from his own staff. Now with the stage set, the plot thickens like the mayonnaise dressing.
One day, while making the dressing, Chef Olivier is called away and his industrious and evil sous-chef Ivan Ivanov stealthily takes advantage of the moment, sneaks into the private kitchen and spies upon the mise en place to learn ingredients of the infamous dressing, but not the exact quantities. Armed with this partial knowledge, he leaves the Hermitage to work at the Moskva restaurant and created "salat stolinchny" or "capital salad" based on Salat Olivier. The local gourmands considered "salat stolinchny" good, but lacking in comparison to the infamous Salat Olivier.
The dastardly clever Ivanov quickly realizes that he will never achieve the status, fame or fortune as Chef Olivier, then sells his "capital salad" recipe to various publishing houses. Once Chef Olivier died in 1883 and the Olivier family departed Russia sometime after 1905, Ivanov quickly capitalized upon the name and then changes the name of his mediocre Capital Salad to "Salat Olivier". Oh the scandal. But wait, there's more!
Given that certain ingredients become rare, expensive, rely on the seasons, etc. and people and publishing houses begin to suggest replacements (i.e. soy sauce replacing Worcestershire sauce,etc.) Then there was this pesky, incident known as the "Russian Revolution" and the expensive ingredients were replaced by the cheaper, "worker" style ingredients of eggs, pickles, peas, etc. YET, it was still called "Salat Olivier" and THIS version (a.k.a. "Soviet Olivier") is the version that has become the New Years comfort food for the post Soviet states. Now THIS is where I begin to have issues...because remember...the holidays are celebrated twice.
Now, it's not that I'm against potato salad per se. I mean, it makes best of what is available and traditionally potatoes are a staple in the winter months. Nor am I against tradition per se. Every family and culture needs traditions to remind them who are and bind them together. That said, however, certain traditions should evolve with the times; especially eating traditions. Let me explain.
Every year, every New Years table in every house will include an array of wonderful food because you will be hosting and eating for two weeks. Makes sense. But because of tradition, every year, every New Years table in every house must include Champagne, mandarin oranges and Salat Olivier. So now after eating in their own home, families will go from one house to another day after day to visit and sit at tables where the other food is overshadowed by Champagne, mandarin oranges and the showcase dish....copiously nauseating amounts of Salat Olivier.
Now, you might think "well then, just don't eat it," but you see, it doesn't work that way. It took me a while to understand this, but because Salat Olivier has made it to the pinnacle of household New Year cuisine, this quaint, wholesome family staple has become a fierce, unwritten, culinary blood sport competition to see who makes the best Salat Olivier. Refusing Salat Olivier will only bring forth a look of terrified confusion - as though you just urinated on host's house cat. Thinking that you must be intoxicated (as no normal person would refuse this New Year treat), the hostess will then dish out a sample (i.e. five heaping tablespoons) for you of their Salat Olivier. Then she graciously stand to your left anxiously trying to analyze your facial expression as you put every spoonful in your mouth on waiting for your approval. Not only do you have to feign delight in seeing the dish, but now have to eat it several times daily, while your spouse sits on your right with arms folded across her chest with a pleasant smile on her face, but a look in her eyes that reminds you that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned; especially when what you are eating is in direct competition with her version of it. You learn to tread lightly.
At this time, I'd also like to remind you of something very important: mayonnaise sauces; especially once mixed with pickles, don't necessarily last very long. So by day four of this tradition, Salat Olivier has now taken on a new tongue tingling life of it's own. Pass the bromine please.
Thus, to avoid the gastric conflict and later impromptu flatulence concert that ensues making the neighbors wonder if we've trained a baby elephant from the local zoo to "toot out" "Broadway's Greatest Hits", I try (albeit unsuccessfully) to talk Madame DuPont into foregoing tradition and omitting Salat Olivier from the table. This year was no different.
About a week before New Year, I'm having coffee with Madame DuPont and I wanted to try a different technique to broach the subject without offending. I tried to open with the history of the salad.
"You know, you actually can't make Salat Olivier" I smugly announce ready to enthrall her with the historical ingredients and scandal of Salat Olivier.
She pauses from blowing on her coffee and looks over at me with eyelids half closed at me without moving her head "What?"
Misinterpreting the half closed eyelids as "sleepy" and not "fierce glare" that it was, I repeat myself "You cannot actually make Salat Olvier"
"You're starting in early" she responds thinking I am telling her that I don't permit her to make the salad.
"What? I'm just saying that you don't know how to make real "Salat Olivier."
Now in my mind, this made perfect sense. I was (or so I believed) simply trying to stress that the conventional recipe was nothing like the original recipe. In retrospect, this is probably where I should have sensed that having this conversation (or practically any conversation before coffee) was not a great idea, but I blindly trudge forward anyway.
"I do. I can. And I will" she testily announced
"But...wait. I'm not saying that I don't allow you to make...."
"You have that right!"
"What I am saying is that you don't know what real Salat Olivier IS"
And now I embark with quintessential mansplaining. The only thing I could have done different was to start off with "Let me just tell YOU about your silly little traditions, culture and cuisine...." About midway through my culinary soliloquy, she stops me.
"Look! I beg of you - not this year!"
"What's wrong with you? What will you do when people ask for it?"
"Ask for it?" I respond incredulously thinking that she must be insane or drunk "No one asks for it! No one craves other people's Salat Olivier. That's unheard of!"
"When I go to other people's houses, I eat it"
"You only eat it because you want to taste it and then come home and criticize it."
"I critique it"
"What are talking about?"
"I like to know what's wrong with their salad" she adds with a fiendish smile
"What? What difference does that make? It's the criticizing you like, not the salad."
"Others do it to me"
"Then let's stop the madness and not make it! No salad means no criticism!"
"Are you kidding? They'll criticize us more for not having Salat Olivier! Plus, why do you care? You don't have to make it"
"Yes, but I have to eat it! I eat ours then I eat it at every house we go to."
"So you think that if we don't make it, then you will not have to eat it at someone else home?"
Well played Madame DuPont, well played indeed
"Noooo...." I slowly uttered trying to think of a counter move "but I will have to eat theirs AND the enormous amounts of Salat Olivier leftover that we'll have"
"Oh we won't have an enormous amount of leftover this year!" she happily announced
"Really? Do tell"
"Because mine will be the best and everyone will eat it" she smiled
It became so quiet that I could hear my heart break.
[sigh] So began the yearly process again of running around, cleaning and preparing a feast of food for unknown amounts of people. And as we do every year, we curse and swear that this is the LAST time that we'll ever have these sort of New Years dinners again, knowing full well that it won't be.
Next year before New Years, I'll open our conversation with "You know, your Salat Olivier was so good last year! I mean "wow"! I never thought I would like it, but you really outdid yourself! In fact, I don't think that you could top that! Let's quit while we're ahead."
I'll let you all know how that goes, but in the meantime I need to get myself another helping of Salat Olivier.
Happy New Years Everyone! Let's make 2019 OUR year to remember!
 |
| The famed Salat Olivier |
I love your posts!
ReplyDeleteEspecially since I have entered the culinary world this year, officially taking classes at the local college to get my baking and pastry certificate. I'm three classes into a 12 class curriculum.
I may have to try this out, knowing that I'm not eating boatloads of the stuff. :)
Eating over and over? Grt to g full to the point of explosion? That's what a bomitoruum is for - another ancient tradition! Enjoy the salat and pass the rolaids! Happy New Year!
ReplyDelete