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!

This entry was posted on Monday, March 27th, 2006 at 9:57 pm and is filed under Food. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.