Rubrika: Freds-Fast-Food

Závodní kuchyně SlovaDne dostala dotaz čtenáře a obrací se na ctěné strávníky s prosbou o pomoc:

Zajímalo by mne, zda existuje nějaky vztah mezi výrazy čalamáda a remuláda. Jedná se sice o různe pochoutky, ale přesto znějí tak podobně, že to možná není náhoda…

Jiřulka komentuje Hubertus:
Ad hubertus: “Sousede, co to lovíš v té žumpě?” ” Ale spad mi tam hubertus.” “To bys ho ty čuně vzal eště na sebe? ” ” No to né, ale mám v něm v kapse karbenátek.”

My češtináři víme, že se správně píše karbanátek. Karbanátek byl tradičním pokrmem karbaníků, neměli čas pojídat komplikovanější pokrmy vyžadující obě ruce. Poker přinesl rozmach karbanátků i do USA. Slovenský mariášník Kroc převzal a proslavil v USA Mc Donald’s… Kdo hledá, najde přímou kulturní linii od mariáše přes karbanátky až k pokeru a Mc Donald’s.

Těsto is crust. You have a těsto on a pizza, a piece of bread and even knedlíky. Těstoviny is therefor „cruststuff“ that you eat.

Zapějme si s Honzou Vyčítalem:
Šerif Fred je z pepřenýho těsta …

Fred je typický cizák – nechápe, že svíčková se jmenuje podle toho, že ji původně směly vařit pouze svíčkové báby.

One of the tastiest Czech dishes is known as svíčková. This creamy concoction is often a pearly off-white. This is because its primary ingredient is melted candle wax. That is why it’s called svíčková, because the word for candle is svíčka.

The best Czech soups are heavenly. One of them, made of tomatoes, is called Rajská Polévka. This comes from the Czech word „Ráj“, which means paradise or heaven. Eat it, and you’ll be enraptured. Dobrou Chuť!

Frede, Frede, ušlo ti, že nejlepší rajská polévka je od Slováka Andy Warhola?

Here’s my latest…dumping on dumplings.

I have discovered, after great trial and error, a way to respond to the dreaded question;
„How do you like the knedliky, Fred?“

I put on my most genuine face. „Of all the knedlik I have eaten in my life, this is by far the most recent.“

I admit to being in the ugly group of subhumans who don’t appreciate Czech dumplings.
I’ve tried to like knedliky. Really, I have!

Grannies have made it for me. Mothers have made it for me. Beautiful seductive women have made it for me. As far as I know, gay, bi, trans, and intra-sexuals have made knedliky and I’ve probably eaten it.

I’ve eaten knedliky in the finest restaurants, and in humble kitchens in the countryside. Hot knedlik, warm knedlik, cold knedlik. It’s been in my mouth, stomach, intestines, and colon.

I’ve eaten regular knedlik, potato knedlik, fruit knedlik. With and without drippings, oils, syrups, grated cheeses, sugars, salts and peppers, and every kind of sauce known to ancient and modern civilization.

I just don’t like the stuff. I’m sorry.

It’s the texture. Like wadded up and boiled white bread. Slimy when masticated. Easily permeated by surrounding liquids. Wet bread. Going from gooey to gluey.

It’s a bland, bloating experience for me. How I feel lumpen and heavy afterward, wanting only to curl up like a sick animal in a dark corner and sleep for hours.

So I avoid it when I can.

Still, Jirka has asked me to suggest improvements to this alleged food, the world-famous inedible Czech dumpling. What can I do but my very best, and worst:

Use a non-stick pan and high heat to toast thin slices of knedliky until it becomes a sort of pseudo English muffin. This might be then coated judiciously with jam to your taste. Basically, dry the stuff out until it’s toast.

Cut a freshly boiled loaf of knedliky lengthwise into thin strips, about 2 cm thick. Coat the knedliky strips in a mixture of ground cinnamon and sugar. Place them in a hot oven for five to ten minutes. Serve hot.

Slice fresh boiled knedliky diagonally, and toast on a non-stick pan. Make a 3 cm hole in the center of the toasted knedlik. Return the toast to the non-stick pan, and crack one egg yolk into the hole so the white of the egg spreads to the rest of the knedlik. Cook for three minutes at high heat, and turn. Cook three to five minutes and serve. Salt and pepper to taste.

I’m serious. I think this might make knedliky edible for me. Try it yourselves at home and see if I’m right.

Of course, it’s easy to invent ridiculous and improbable uses for knedliky…so I’ll do that too.

Mix fresh knedliky and grated selzer tablets into thumb size balls. Throw these selzer-knedliky balls to unwanted pigeons. Watch them explode.

If you live on a busy street, use knedliky to mold your own „speed-bump“ in the road.

If you don’t have a bicycle helmet, use fresh knedlik and plastic bags to make your own. (If you have attempted this at home, please send pictures to slovodne.)

Perhaps you too have a great recipe for knedlik? Please post it in the comments!

Being originally from California, just a few miles from the Mexican border, I’m quite fond of Mexican food. So when I was at the wonderful Jaromir Nohavica concert last month, my mouth watered when I saw this sign:

I was expecting one of my favorite culinary delicacies, a hard tortilla shell stuffed with seasoned meat, cheese, vegetables, and a bit of hot sauce on the top:

Instead, what I got for my 60 Czech Crowns was a sort of bland soupy concoction, with a few token vegetables sprinkled on top with not a tortilla to be seen:

This is a common thing here, but it’s gotten better in recent years. Not long ago, an order of “spaghetti” at a Czech restaurant meant you’d get some limp noodles with a bit of ketchup on top.

Stačí málo obrazotvornosti a na chytání sliny přejde člověka chuť.

Anglicky chytit slinu: catch the gob(?)

Copak se to Fredovi honí hlavou?

Voda is water. Hučí is the original Czech word from which Americans have derived „hoochie kootchie“, also known as „techtle mechtle“ in Czech. Lučina is a dry soft cheese spread, traditionally popular with lots of garlic. So, clearly, this lyric in the Czech national anthem accurately translates as: „Spread lučina all over yourself and then have fun playing hoochie kootchie with a loved one under the water“