[Russia]

I have a confession to make. Until college, I had no idea where “Siberia” was. I knew it was somewhere in Northeast Asia, but honestly, when someone mentioned it, my mind just glossed over it. It’s like when someone introduces themselves at a party, and even though you’ve never heard of their hometown, you nod to be polite. When someone said Siberia, I would do a mental nod and move on. To set the record straight, Siberia is a geographical region of Russia and northern Kazakhstan that spans the north of Asia. Even though it accounts for 77% of Russia’s land, only 27% of Russians live there. What’s out there? Tundra, mostly. And while a lot of the land is beautiful, it is also very, very cold.

When I first came up for the concept of this project, part of the goal was to explore both familiar and unfamiliar regions of the world. Russia was high on my list, but I realized that as the largest country in the world, the cuisine likely varies from east to west. Siberia then became my target. After a bit of research, I found that doing Siberia was a great opportunity to kill two birds with one stone: one, do something from a place that’s completely unfamiliar to me, and two, do a dumpling. Dumplings were definitely something I hoped to attempt, and Russian pelmeni provided a perfect opportunity.

Pelmeni are round dumplings with a basic flour wrapper and a filling of both ground pork and ground turkey (the same dish is called varenyky if a veggie filling is used instead). I used a recipe from Natasha’s Kitchen, which is run by a Ukrainian food blogger, for reference. The instructions for making the dough and the filling were simple enough. The dough uses flour, eggs, sour cream, and buttermilk, and only requires about 20 minutes of rest to let the gluten relax. The filling is very meat-forward. I added both meats to a bowl, sauteed chopped onion, hot sauce, and a touch of seasoning. Mixing it together was easy and satisfying. Alright, I thought to myself, this dish seems like a gimme. Little did I know then, but I could not have been more wrong. It was time to wrap the dumplings.

One of the first lines on the web page is, “Pelmeni are a royal pain in the bottom to make.” I’m not one to shy away from a challenge, but in hindsight, I might have wanted to take a longer look at pelmeni molds on Amazon. These devices have around 40 shallow divots to make a large batch of dumplings at once. Instead of wrapping each pelmeni by hand, the wrapping dough is rolled out and pressed into the divots, cradling spoonfuls of filling before a second sheet of dough and the second half of the mold are placed on top. Press the mold together, and you suddenly have dozens of little pelmeni! My experience, however, was not as simple. Hand-wrapping the dumplings calls for a particular method of pulling the dough around the filling, pinching the top shut, and folding the excess wrapping on the edges over the seam. The pelmeni were supposed to look like tortellini, but for my big ol’ fingers, that seemed like an impossible task.

Despite the unfortunate appearance of my pelmeni, taste is king. And these tasted incredible. I put about three giant dumplings in a bowl with a bit of butter, vinegar, and hot sauce to enhance the meat-heavy filling. The steamed pelmeni quite literally exploded with flavor. The juices from the filling burst into my mouth after my first bite, leaving the inside of the wrapper soft. Although I was initially confused by the combination of pork and turkey, the slightly sweet and fatty pork was balanced by the lean poultry meat. I could taste each other element as well, like the sweet sauteed onion and the heat from Frank’s hot sauce. This meal would have been perfect in the dead of winter, much like the climate in Siberia.

I was almost reluctant to admit how good they were after my battle with the folding process. I realized I have never been strong at making dumplings. I burnt gyoza a while back, and I’ve never been able to crimp a pierogi. The first time I made bao, I could not believe that eighteen pleats was the standard for each dumpling. Dumplings are a laborious and time-consuming meal; I can think of a thousand faster ways to eat protein with carbs. So what makes dumplings better?

The first dumplings likely came from China. Even though the legend around the origin of dumplings takes place almost 2,000 years ago, the story has the inventor’s name: Zhang Zhongjing. He was a Chinese medicine practitioner whose village was suffering from frostbite around the winter solstice. The legend claims he put medicinal herbs and spices into dough that was folded into ear-like shapes, to keep the frostbite from affecting the villagers’ ears. Even now, the Chinese eat dumplings on the winter solstice to ensure good luck for the year.

Something about this story is so selfless. This man made a time-consuming, laborious dinner for his village. And while I can’t find similar legends for Russia or any other country, I’d like to think that the pelmeni, empanada, and samosa were born from similar circumstances. Making a complicated dish is no trouble when it’s for someone you love. As I went back for seconds, I called a friend. I asked if he or his roommates wanted dinner.