Pyrohy week

Yes, I’m using the Ukrainian spelling in honour of my friend Krys and of our master chef, also of Ukrainian descent.

Car trouble and a theatre group crisis prevented me from attending the previous two Ladies Who Lunch gatherings. This was the last of our six weeks.

I confess my heart sank when I heard what was on the menu this week. Making dough and rolling it out thinly is not one of my strengths. Well, I say “not one of my strengths”, but perhaps with practice it could be. However I have never done it before. I’ve only ever used my rolling pin to flatten meat for quicker cooking.

It was up to us to decide what filling we would choose. A list of possibilities was circulated with a note that there were limitless other options circulating on the internet. My eye was immediately drawn to this one. Philly cheesesteak filling. Ooh, cheesy! I do like cheesy things. As I said when I forwarded my decision.

The good news was that I didn’t actually have to make the dough. Our master chef demonstrated and made big batches of basic dough (no sour cream) for everyone. 

Our job was first to prepare the fillings. 

Then cook the steak. Then go into the other room with fillings and a bowl of dough and start rolling the dough out on floured surface. Oh, you’re supposed to put flour on the rolling pin, too, are you? Why the fuck didn’t anyone say so? Presumably because, unlike me, they already knew and assumed everyone else did.) Then cut dough into circles, add filling, moisten one side and seal. Forgot to take a photo of this stage because I was too busy swearing and sighing. 

The idea was that everyone would make up to 12 of their pyrohies (is this, I wonder, the correct spelling of the plural?) so there would be some for everyone and some left over to take home.

Doesn’t this look lovely?

Oh, ha, ha. That is not my tray. This is what I managed in the allotted time.

Five sad sack, pathetic pyrohies.

Depending on the recipe your pyrohy might be boiled or fried.

I, of course, had opted for a recipe that requires both. (Boil first, then fry.) Well, at least mine didn’t burst open in the boiling water and made it into the frying pan in one piece.

And then it was time to dish up.

I’ll say this for mine: they delivered. They were indeed cheesy. And, you know, pretty tasty. As were all the others.

Will I ever attempt a homemade pyrohy again? No, I will not. (But, in the unlikely event that I ever spot a bag of frozen Philly Cheesesteak ones, I might buy some.)