By Kelly Raftery
A few months into my marriage, I asked a question any new
bride might ask, “What is your favorite food?” My Kyrgyz husband answered, “Manty with pumpkin.” I believe my response might have been
something eloquent and deeply meaningful, along the lines of, “What the heck is
that?”
Manty is a potsticker. A lamb potsticker. Steamed, not fried. A dumpling.
No more, no less. With my
husband’s explanation of dough wrapped around meat in mind, my younger self set
off on a Mission to make the Perfect Manty.
It was more than food, it was my first real challenge as a wife and I
would not let it defeat me.
First off, to make the perfect manty, one must obtain a
special piece of equipment–a dumpling steamer–basically a large stockpot topped
by layers of metal steaming racks. Next
step is the dough. As a new bride, I
doggedly pursued making the perfect manty dough from scratch--flour, water, and
a bit of salt. The dough should be
substantial enough to hold the filling in, yet thin enough to not be chewy or tasty
of flour. During an early attempt, my
new husband watched his American-brought-up-on-TV-dinners-and-canned-vegetables-wife
struggle with the dough, then he abruptly grabbed the rolling pin out of my
hands and muttered something along the lines of, “Don’t they teach women
anything here?” Apparently, in
Kyrgyzstan making and rolling dough of all kinds is a task mastered by every
child.
Once dough preparation had been appropriately delegated,
we moved onto the filling. Mix together
finely chopped lamb, onion, and pumpkin with some salt and pepper. Then center a small amount of lamb and
vegetables on a square of dough, seal the edges with water, make the dumpling
look pretty by folding the dough into a nice design on top, place on oiled
steaming racks over a big pot of boiling water and leave for 45 minutes. There you have it – perfect manty! Except it wasn’t.
For months, I tried to make the food my husband craved,
what reminded him of home and it just never turned out right. The dough was too thick, the filling was just
wrong. We bought pumpkin after pumpkin
after pumpkin, tried different cuts of lamb.
Every weekend for months was filled with experiments in manty-making. I was determined to get it right, even if it
killed me and him both. And, while it
never went that far, I do remember one batch that resulted in us both doubled
over with stomach pain and fighting for the bathroom. Each failed batch of manty seemed to reinforce
my own overwhelming feeling of being completely unsuited to being a Kyrgyz
wife. My husband, who had left his whole
life behind for me, deserved someone who understood his culture and how to roll
dough properly.
One day, not far from Embassy Row in Washington, DC, a
wise Kyrgyz woman told me the secret, which was both culinary and
linguistic. The word tykva in Russian is generally translated
as “pumpkin” but it means more than that, it means “squash.” I was trying to make jack ‘o lantern pumpkins
into something edible when I really should have been using butternut
squash. That afternoon, we passed a
farmer’s market and excitedly picked out a suitably curvy and coffee colored
specimen for the next batch. The manty
filling was right for the first time. Mission
successful, first test as wife finally completed, tragedy averted.
There have certainly been refinements over the years – I
have stopped trying to make my version look like a proper Kyrgyz dumpling,
favoring substance (i.e. taste) over style, I buy wonton wrappers, skipping the
rolling pin and we top ours with a totally non-traditional squirt of Siracha
sauce.
On chilly autumn afternoons, you will find my husband and
me doling teaspoons full of lamb and vegetables into bite-sized pockets of love,
our home filling with heavenly-smelling clouds of warm steam. The first batch out of the steamer is
devoured in minutes and my husband and son eat manty for every meal until they
are gone then plead, “More manty, please!”
In our home, love and comfort are measured in manty.
Oh, delicious! I believe I've had a version of manty--over the Chinese border in far western Xinjiang province. I can see how that could be a food someone would crave. Thanks for sharing Kelly!
ReplyDeleteYep, there is actually a very sizable Kyrgyz diaspora living in Xinjiang, too. There are versions of manty all over that area of the world.
DeleteKelly, this is fascinating. I love the way you've adapted the process with won ton wrappers, etc. When I started reading, I was intrigued by the idea of pairing lamb with pumpkin. And I may experiment with that. Here in Italy, we don't have big jack-o-lantern pumpkins. Pumpkins are smaller and come in different varieties, including one with green rind. And I've never seen butternut squash.
ReplyDeletePatricia,
DeleteThis is what a butternut squash looks like...
http://www.clovegarden.com/ingred/sq_butnutz.html
I honestly have no clue what kind of squash they use in Kyrgyzstan, since I hadn't tried the dish until I got home! We love onion, squash and lamb.
Kelly, I am glad that a fellow from my country is in such loving hands! Happiness to you! Nargiza
ReplyDeleteThanks Nargiza! I am sure you could teach me a thing or two about rolling dough - for samsa, manty or lagman...
DeleteKelly
That is great -- it reminds me of my two years in Poland and all the foods I ate there. I have tried to make some of them since ... but to mixed success. Some things you need a grandmother to teach you ... not a cookbook!
ReplyDeleteI can totally relate to your culinary struggles, Kelly. It reminds me of my attempts to make the perfect polo (Persian rice). I'm still learning after 25 years...
ReplyDeleteHeidi,
DeleteI will let you know when I manage to make the perfect Plov (rice, carrots, onions and lamb) twice in a row, because in over a decade and a half, I have yet to manage to do it consistently. Kelly
Nice article, Kelly. It was like a short story with tension and a surprise twist in the wonton wrappers. And it sounds like a happily ever after ending also.
ReplyDelete