Bittman’s Kasha

JUST the other day I was discussing kasha with a grain-loving pal. The conversation went something like this:

She: “Kasha. There just isn’t a whole lot you can do with it.”

I: “No. It’s actually the least interesting of grains. I’m not even sure I like it.”

She: “Well. Kasha varnishkes.”

I: “Mm … kasha varnishkes.”

Kasha, toasted hulled buckwheat, is not what you would call versatile. But kasha varnishkes — kasha, noodles (typically bow ties), loads of slow-cooked onions and fat — is an amazing dish, one I used to beg my grandmother and mother to make for me, one that shows kasha in a light that does not shine on it elsewhere, at least in my repertory.

One could argue that you could replace the kasha with tenderized gravel and the dish would taste just fine, but in fact the very qualities of kasha that make it unappealing elsewhere — its grassiness, its too-soft texture — are the same ones that vault kasha varnishkes to the highest ranks of Eastern European cooking.

To make a completely authentic dish, you must cook the onions in chicken fat. (You can use olive oil, but it’s not the same.) You can buy chicken fat, but it’s easy enough just to save the excess fat from a few chickens that you are using for other dishes and freeze it. When you have about a cup, cut it up and cook it over very low heat until the fat is rendered and the solids crisp up (save those solids, and eat them on crackers). Onions are never better than when cooked in chicken fat.