Cabbage. One of the most underrated vegetables around. Sauerkraut: one of the most underrated preparations of that underrated vegetable. Too many people think of sauerkraut as the stuff you (or other people) put on hot dogs. Depending on your heritage, you may be a little more accustomed to it. Or not.
If you’re at all interested in the food of Eastern Europe, though, you’ve encountered it many times because it’s a fundamental ingredient of much of the cooking of that region. Especially Hungarian. A little earlier, I devoted
a post to the use of sauerkraut in a dish claimed by both Romanians and Hungarians:
varza a la Cluj if you’re Romanian and
Kolozsvári rakott káposzta (Kolozsvar being the Hungarian name for the Romanian city of Cluj and
káposzta being the word for cabbage.
The craving for sauerkraut struck again recently and so I perused the cookbook collection and decided to make a classic Hungarian dish this time:
Székelygulyás or, sometimes,
Székelykáposzta.
We interrupt this recipe post for a brief history lesson. The Székely
or, as they are sometimes referred to, the Szeklers, are an ancient peoples in the region of what is now Romanian Transylvania. They claim descent from Attila’s Huns, professional historians’ doubts notwithstanding. Regardless of origins, they are a distinct Hungarian-speaking ethnic group accounting for a very significant portion of the significant Hungarian population in Romania. HOWEVER, this dish is NOT named for them. It is, instead, named for a gentleman by the name of Szekely. Lang describes it thus:
“It is a cabbage dish that is not Transylvanian and was not created by the inhabitants there, the Székelys, and it is not even a gulyás
. According to a letter in the magazine of the Hungarian restaurateurs guild, it happened this way: In 1846 the librarian of Pest County came too late to a little restaurant, Zenélő Óra (the musical clock), to choose from the menu. The librarian, whose name was Székely (a rather common Hungarian name), asked the owner to serve the leftover sauerkraut and pork porkolt
together on the very same plate. The improvisation was so good that the great poet Petőfi, who was nearby within hearing distance, the following day asked the restaurateur to give him Székely’s gulyás
, meaning the same mixture Mr. Székely got the previous day. This time the owner topped it with sour cream and the dish, together with its name, became part of the everyday repertoire.”
Regardless of origin,
Székelygulyás is so fundamental, so basic a dish of this region that you will not find a Hungarian cookbook without a recipe for it.
As with any dish of this kind, there is general agreement about the ingredients and preparation but disagreement about the fine points. Thus, some suggest adding green peppers, some push tomatoes, some suggest adding red peppers, some say marjoram, and so forth. I chose to rely, as before, on George Lang’s
The Cuisine of Hungary. Lang is well-respected and widely cited and that’s good enough for me. Besides, his preparation had the virtue of clarity and simplicity.
Your ingredient list:1 large diced onion
1/8 pound of lard
1½ pounds of diced lean pork
1 tablespoon of (sweet) paprika
2 tablespoons of tomato puree
2 pounds sauerkraut, well-drained
½ teaspoon caraway seeds
salt to taste (I didn’t use any)
½ cup sour cream
I began by sauteeing the onion in the lard until translucent; added the pork, and cooked until lightly browned. Lang says to cook it covered but I found this kept too much moisture in the pot (a large Dutch oven); the meat cooked faster with it off. (I used some nice-looking pork chops though most recipes will suggest that pork shoulder/pork butt is just fine. Most recipes suggest that the pork be cut in one-inch cubes; I cut mine about half that size because I just like it that way: more little pieces mean more little pieces of porky goodness scattered throughout the dish.

Next, add the tomato puree and the paprika. Next time, for what it’s worth, I will either add more tomato or leave it out entirely. I found that the amount called for added little in the way of color or taste. So too with the paprika. I think the dish is just fine with one tablespoon, but I think I might double it. At this point, pour in enough water to cover the meat and cook over low heat until the meat is done.
Squeeze any remaining liquid from the draining sauerkraut and add it to the pot with the caraway. (Again, though Lang doesn’t specify, I saw elsewhere that you should “bruise” the caraway and I think that’s a good idea to help release essential oils. Bruise whole seeds; don’t use powdered!) Cook for another ten to fifteen minutes, adding the salt at the very end, if you need it. I didn’t need any at all.

You can serve at this point (each dish topped with a splot of sour cream) or you can cool it and reheat the next day. I personally prefer it a bit more cooked; I like the pork to fall apart. Lang lists at least eight variations on this basic recipe, the most compelling of which (to me, at any rate) is to mix a little flour into the sour cream, add the whole thing to the dish and cook an additional ten minutes.

Serve it over boiled potatoes or dumplings. And enjoy.
Gypsy Boy
"I am not a glutton--I am an explorer of food." (Erma Bombeck)