When I arrived in Romania for the first time ever, I had landed in Otopeni Airport (since renamed as Aeroportul International Henri Coanda) in Bucureşti and encountered what was to become the very first of many similar conversations I would have with taxi drivers all over Romania. No matter the judetel, no matter the town, most taxi conversations sound something like this first one. And, particularly, if you are near any train station or another airport, you can expect to finally have this exact conversation yourself.

Download full Taxi MP3. Many thanks to acclivity for the background atmosphere sample.

It started out as a simple walk one afternoon. Wandering the backstreets of Poarta Schei as the adults eyeballed me, muttering comments under their breaths, and teenage girls giggled at the unimaginable idea of an American possibly being interested in photographing their “boring” old streets, I inadvertantly stumbled across an abandoned religious memorial of some sort.

Both the interior and exterior were covered in frescos of religious significance typical of their day. Here we see what must be a representation of the Patriarch (aka Orthodox Pope) or, at least, the Archibishop of the region.

Given the lack of attention this memorial has received, I was impressed the frescos survived at all. In this one, we can clearly identify the story of Jesus talking to the twelve disciples. What I find immediately interesting is the reminder of how Jesus is always depicted as a humble man, while church leaders are often seen wearing gold, jewels, crowns, and other assorted luxuries that tell the truth behind their lies.

I wasn’t exactly sure of the depiction on the left, but it seemed as though it might be a scene from the story of the ressurection. That or he’s just about to share his passion.

So, what’s the memorial for? Ah, tucked up near the top on one side of the building was a plaque declaring dedication to the memory of one Ilie Birt. Or, probably more correctly, it was a religious memorial whose construction was financed by Birt.

And thus the mystery of Ilie Birt begins. The shrine bears his name. The street sign bears his name. Yet, no one seems to know or care. He’s just some guy from a long time ago and seems like a remnant of forgotten Romanian lore.

I offered a prayer up to Saint Google and, while it responded, there wasn’t much in the way of answers. Certainly nothing in English and very little in Romaneşte.

It appears as though Ilie Birt was in the Poarta Schei neighborhood of Braşov in 1698. He seems well educated as evidence suggests he spoke three languages: Hungarian, Greek, and Turkish. Hungarian probably would have been the language of most merchants and affluent people of Braşov (although certainly not exclusively… and it must be stated that I’m not yet an expert). Greek should have been the church’s language. And Turks were the rulers of the day, with the Ottoman Empire having advanced quite a bit through eastern Europe and venturing into central Europe.

All kinds of fun stuff was happening at the time.

Before his birth, the Austrians had taken over the Magyar territories, including Transylvania and much of modern Romania. There was constant turbulence in the Transylvania region as locals sought to throw of their Austrian masters. The Ottomans saw an opportunity to gain ground and launched their invasion, extending control from Bulgaria into what is now modern Romania and Hungary. The Hungarians were ecstatic to have help in dislodging the Austrians. The Romanians were also somewhat supportive, but received little to no benefit.

Now, just before the birth of Ilie Birt, the Turks had recently attempted to take Vienna. Much to their surprise, they lost for the first time in hundreds of years. It was a significant event that would put the next decades in motion.

A short time later, the Russians got help from the Austrians in a collaboration to smash the Polish wars for independence from Russia. This success would free up the Russian armies to head south where they sought to crush the Khanate of Crimea and finally establish ports on the Black Sea. Essentially, this was an attack on the Ottoman Empire, of whom the Khanate had been a vassal, and distracted the Turks.

And here things came full circle. With the Ottoman Empire already having demonstrated it was weak and now being forced to protect itself from northern attacks by the Russians, the Austrians were able to march east and retake Pannonia and Transylvania.

Exciting stuff, eh?

It was during these sweeping changes that Army captain Ilie Birt, in his prime, rounded up the young men of Braşov and launched attacks against the Turkish Ottoman Empire to drive them out of Romania. In particular, it seems he had a rather substantial victory during a large battle in Piteşti in 1737… and thereupon earned his fame for helping push back the Sultan even further.

From what I read, he went on to live a celebrated life with honor for military service, church loyalty, and general civic leadership in politics. The memory of this ethnic-Saxon and his heroics on behalf of Transylvania and Romania still cling to life in Poarta Schei, although it is by a thread.

That’s virtually all the information I could find (or understand from the Romanian language sources online). I trust that someone somewhere knows far more than I do or else Romania would be in danger of losing a little bit of its multicultural history.

Do you have some additional knowledge to help shine more light on this mystery? Tell us…

Yes, my friends, as we survey the vast culinary offerings of Romanian cuisine, we stumble upon a sort of recipe for Romerican’s Original Pui Zacusca^®. Mmm mmm mmmmm. That’s right, you heard it here first: my first ever self-created masterpiece. Break out your pencil and paper (or just print this out, eh?) as you’re dazzled beyond your wildest imagination. Step right up, step right up!

First things first, da? Da. We’ll need to gather up some ingredients before we get too far. Let’s get some chicken breast, an egg, and flour. We’ll also need to scrounge up some telemea cheese, because it’s a little bit like feta (only sweet instead of salty), and caşcaval sofia which has a nice tangy flavor that somewhat resembles extra sharp cheddar cheese (hint, hint, Americans).

In Romania, we don’t buy plastic-wrapped, pre-sliced, dried out bread with no taste or nutrients. No, we tend to buy whole loaves of freshly baked yumminess from any of the bread stores within a 3 minute walk. The downside is you actually have to cut your own bread. Oh, I know it sounds incredibly difficult and time-consuming… but the benefits are a large bicep and the ability to control the relative thickness of one’s slice.

Golly gee, Mr. Romerican, sir, whatever shall we do with all those bothersome breadcrumbs that scatter all over from cutting the bread?

I’m glad you asked, Timmy! We’re going to save them. Yes, just scoop them into a bowl and let them dry in the open air. This is the original way to create “dry bread crumbs” and comes as a shock to many Americans accustomed to buying their bread crumbs in vacuum-sealed packages (adevarat!) from the megamart down the highway. After a couple loaves have been eaten during other meals, you’ll probably have accumulated quite a nice pile of crispy little nuggets.

And finally {drumroll} — we’ll need some zacusca sauce. You can either make your own from Bunica’s secret recipe or you can cheat like I did and buy a jar of Buftea. In the US, call your local Romanian food store and ask if they carry zacusca or where to find it. Otherwise, be patient and wait for my future experiments in making my own zacusca recipe.

Aham. I see you’ve noticed the photograph shows two eggs. Well, yeah, that’s how it happened. There were two eggs. As it turns out, I had about half left over. After consulting a book on the advanced calculus for inverse derivatives, I determined that a solitary egg was sufficient.

Ready, kids? Alright, buckle up. Remember to wash your hands thoroughly before and after handling any poultry products. That includes washing in between the touching of other foods. With all this hysteria about bird flu, one would imagine I don’t have to warn you twice. Just do it.

Beat the eggs in a bowl using a whisk or fork. Get a frying pan on the stove over medium-high heat with just a little olive oil.

Take your chicken breasts and partially filet them with care along one side in order create a pocket. Into this pocket, put your telemea cheese. In my case, I used 3 slices of cheese from the block size you see pictured per breast and stuffed them inside. (Americans substituting feta should think about cutting back a little.)

Next, get a nice covering of flour onto the chicken. Try to find a nice thin-but-covered balance. We don’t want to cake on a 2cm thick wall, but then we don’t want our bird to be naked either.

Then dip the breasts into the whisked eggs on both sides. Avoid dillydallying too much or you’ll lose all your flour.

Place that chicken into the bowl of breadcrumbs. Press down with mild force so the crumbs underneath will stick solidly, then flip the chicken over and coat the other side equally well. The more the merrier. Don’t be afraid of getting too much. If it sticks, let it ride.

Now, you’ll want to hustle over to get the chicken into the skillet right away. Any delay will risk your breadcrumbs turning into a soggy mush. So, be mindful and get the job done promptly.

Don’t be afraid to wash your hands again, Mr. Tamiflu.

Aşa. The chicken should be cooking along happily while you head back to slice up some good-sized portions of caşcaval sofia. I went for a piece the size of lei vechi. (Dolla’ bill, y’all.)

Time to check on the chicken breast. You should flip it over when it’s a nice golden brown. You might prefer yours just a shade darker than mine.

Let it continue cooking until the other side also has a crispy carribbean tan.

The next step is controversial. Get a second frying pan. A smaller one, if possible. Pour in about half your zacusca, so it rests on the bottom of the skillet. When your chicken is ready, use a spatula to transfer into the new pan on top of the zacusca. Lay down your thick slice of caşcaval sofia and then smother the rest of your zacusca on top.

Place it on the stove over medium-low. Cover and let sit for 10-15 minutes.

Yes, I cheated and took the lid off just for this photo. Then the lid went back on. And what about the controversy? Oh, that. Well, theoretically, you could have used a glass pyrex baking dish and popped into an oven pre-heated to say 400. Either way, it works. I think the covered skillet approach leads to juicier chicken, myself.

You can check the chicken by using a knife to cut open a sliver into one of the breasts. Like a surgeon, deftly peer inside and see that the meat is well cooked. If it is, you’re ready to dab a little sauce over the cut so no one will notice our little secret.

Go ahead and and dish it up. Use the spatula to lift the chicken out of the skillet and onto the awaiting plate. I like to take the left over sauce and put it on the side or on top. Garnish with paprika machinata to taste.

That’s my insignificant contribution to Romanian cuisine. Serves yourself plus one lucky gal.

Pofta buna!

Atenţie Garaj. Nu Parcaţi. No Blocaţi.

One street. One hour. Braşov, Romania.

Relative Distances

Paris to Berlin
545 miles / 878 kilometers

Braşov to Minsk
578 miles / 931 kilometers

Houston to El Paso
672 miles / 1081 kilometers

Seattle to San Francisco
684 miles / 1102 kilometers

New York to Chicago
714 miles / 1149 kilometers