Пельмени
Пельмени — from the Komi pelnyan, ear-bread, for their shape.
Small meat dumplings in thin dough, boiled until they float and served with smetana or with butter and vinegar.
Named from the ingredients as written, including those carried in from sub-recipes. This is not a guarantee — check the labels on what you actually buy, and note that a product’s recipe can change.
Mix the flour, the egg, the 130ml of cold water and the 5g of fine salt into a stiff, rough dough with no dry flour left in the bowl.
Knead on an unfloured surface for 8-10 minutes, until the dough is smooth, tight and springs back slowly when pressed. It should feel firmer than bread dough; a slack dough cannot be rolled thin without tearing.
Wrap the dough and rest it at room temperature for 30 minutes. The gluten needs to relax or the dough will shrink back under the pin faster than you can cut it.
Put both minces in a bowl with the grated onion, the grated garlic, the 6g of fine salt and the ground peppercorns.
Grate the onion rather than chopping it, so it gives up its juice into the mixture instead of sitting in it as pieces that stay crunchy.
Beat in the 60ml of ice-cold water a splash at a time, working it in with a fork until the filling is soft, loose and slightly sticky.
Keep the filling cold. Warm mince smears and turns pasty, and the fat starts to render before it ever reaches the pot.
Cut the dough into four pieces and keep three covered while you work on the first.
Roll the piece out as thin as you can manage, 1-2mm, thin enough to see the shadow of your hand through it.
Cut 6cm rounds with a cutter or a glass.
Put a rounded teaspoon of filling in the centre of each round.
Fold into a half-moon and press the edges together from the middle outwards, pushing the air out ahead of your fingers as you go.
Leave no air pocket in the seal. Trapped air expands in boiling water and splits the dumpling, and a split dumpling empties its filling into the pot.
Bring the two corners of the half-moon together around your fingertip and pinch them firmly into a ring.
Lay the finished pelmeni on a floured tray without touching each other and repeat with the remaining dough and filling. You should get 55-65.
Freeze them on the tray for 30 minutes, until firm.
Freezing is not only for storage. Firm dumplings hold their shape as they go into the water and the seams stay shut.
Bring a large pan of water to a rolling boil and add the 20g of coarse salt. Use far more water than looks necessary; a crowded pan cools when the pelmeni go in and they stick to each other on the base.
Drop in the pelmeni and stir once, gently, as soon as they are in.
Cook for 6-8 minutes from frozen.
Do not lift them out when they float. Floating means only that the dough has cooked at the surface, while the raw meat inside has not; give them a further 3 minutes after the last one rises. This is the mistake almost everyone makes once.
Test one by cutting it open: the filling should be evenly grey-brown with no pink and should be sitting in its own broth.
Lift them out with a slotted spoon into a warm bowl and toss with the butter until every one is glossy.
Serve with smetana, or with the vinegar and a heavy grinding of black pepper, and scatter with the dill.
Serve them in shallow bowls with a spoon rather than on plates, so nobody loses the broth inside them.
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Plain and savoury, and deliberately so — this is peppery pork and beef with onion juice through it and very little else. The black pepper is the loudest seasoning and it is coarse enough to meet in individual grinds. The dough itself tastes of almost nothing, which is its job. What changes the whole bowl is the dressing: smetana is cool, thick and sour and turns it rich; butter with vinegar and pepper is sharp and much leaner, and the two are genuinely different meals.
Boiled dough and meat, which is a mild, homely smell rather than an announcing one — pelmeni are not a dish you smell from another room. What is sharp is what goes on at the table: fresh dill, coarse black pepper and the vinegar off the jar.
Thin dough, and thin is the whole point — at 1 to 2mm it is slippery and yielding almost everywhere, with one deliberate exception at the pinched ring where the dough doubles on itself and there is real chew. Inside, the filling is soft and loose rather than compacted, and there is a distinct moment where it gives and releases liquid. The smetana adds a cold, thick smoothness over the top of all that.
Very little. The roll of the water when they go in, and the sound of a spoon in a bowl. The only sound of the making is the flour and the pin.
Butter and dough first, and for a moment it seems like a very plain mouthful. Then the dumpling gives and the broth comes out, which is the entire point of the dish and is what changes the register — suddenly it is savoury and meaty and much more than the outside suggested. Black pepper builds at the finish, and if there is smetana on the plate it cools everything down again ready for the next one. Vinegar, where it is used instead, does the opposite and sharpens the finish rather than softening it.
Hotter than they look, and specifically hotter inside than out. The broth sealed in the middle holds heat much longer than the dough around it does, so the first one bitten straight out of the bowl will catch someone out. Served alongside a spoonful of fridge-cold smetana, which is a deliberate contrast rather than an accident.
Smetana, or butter and vinegar with heavy black pepper — one or the other, not both. Dill. A clear broth alongside. Rye bread. In Russia the drink is vodka or kvass, and salted cucumbers are on the table more often than not.
Easy in every individual step and long in aggregate. Sealing sixty dumplings is the work; nothing about it is difficult.
Cheap. Flour, an egg and two minces feed four generously.
A rolling pin, a 6cm cutter or a glass, a floured tray that fits in the freezer, and a large pan — far larger than looks necessary.
A cold afternoon with company, since sealing sixty dumplings is far better with two people than one. Cooked, they are a fifteen-minute weeknight meal from the freezer for months afterwards.
None, though the tradition is a winter one and the dish suits the weather it came from.
The dough turns from opaque white to just translucent, so the dark filling shows through it. Cut one open and the filling should be evenly grey-brown with no pink anywhere, sitting in a visible pool of its own broth.
The dough should be tender and slippery with a little chew at the pinched ring where it doubles over, and the filling soft rather than firm — it was mixed loose with ice water and should not have set into a bouncy ball.
The filling goes in raw, so the three minutes after the last dumpling floats are not optional. Test one by cutting it open rather than by timing alone. Keep the raw filling cold while you work, and freeze the tray promptly rather than leaving assembled dumplings standing at room temperature.
Split dumplings and cloudy water: air was trapped in the seals, or they went in unfrozen. Doughy and heavy: the dough was rolled too thick. Dry filling with no broth: the ice water was left out, or the mince was too lean. Tearing while rolling: the dough was too slack, or it was not rested. Grey water and stuck dumplings: too little water for the quantity, or they were not stirred in the first few seconds.
This is the make-ahead dish of the collection. Roll, fill, freeze and cook them across the next three months.
Raw, frozen, they keep 3 months in a bag once they have firmed up on the tray. Cooked, they are much less good the next day.
Cooked leftovers are better fried in butter until crisp on both sides than reboiled — this is a standard Russian second life for them rather than a compromise.
Freezing is the intended state. Cook them straight from frozen without thawing.
Fried in butter with an egg cracked over, or dropped into a clear broth.
Scales as far as your patience does. Cook them in batches whatever the total, since a crowded pan is what causes most of the failures.
The traditional Siberian filling mixes beef with pork and sometimes lamb or game, on the reasoning that no single meat gives both enough flavour and enough fat — an all-beef filling is noticeably drier. Full-fat soured cream stands in for smetana, which is thicker and less sharp. Do not substitute leaner mince: the fat is where the broth comes from.
Contains cereals containing gluten, eggs, milk from the butter and soured cream, and sulphites from the vinegar. Served with butter and vinegar rather than smetana it is dairy-free apart from the butter, and with oil instead of butter it is dairy free entirely.
Mince with the fat percentages stated rather than the leanest on the shelf. Smetana from a Russian or Polish grocer if you can get it; full-fat soured cream otherwise.
About as cheap as a meal for four gets. Buying mince with real fat in it costs less than lean mince and works considerably better here.
Half a kilo of mince across sixty dumplings feeding four is an efficient use of meat, and the dough carries most of the bulk.
Carbohydrate and protein in roughly equal weight, with the fat concentrated in the filling and whatever is added at the table.
Worth making once at full scale rather than repeatedly at small scale — the work is all in the sealing and the freezer does the rest.
The Urals and western Siberia.
Пельмени (pelmeni).
pyel-MYE-nee.
Generally derived from Komi and Udmurt pel'n'an', usually read as ear bread, for the shape of the sealed dumpling with its corners pinched into a ring. This is the accepted account rather than a proven one.
Pelmeni are not Slavic in origin. The form most likely reached the Urals and western Siberia from Central or East Asian dumpling traditions, the same broad family that produced manti, buuz, momo and jiaozi, and the name itself comes from the Finno-Ugric languages of the region rather than from Russian. They spread into general Russian cooking during the nineteenth century. Households in Siberia made them in large batches at the start of winter and stored them frozen outdoors in sacks, which is why they are still cooked straight from frozen rather than thawed — the freezing in this recipe is a domestic version of an outdoor larder.
Home and canteen food throughout Russia, Siberia and Central Asia, and sold frozen in every Russian supermarket. Pelmennaya cafes serving little else were a standard cheap eating place in Soviet cities and a number still operate. Making them is often a group activity, which is the practical answer to sixty dumplings needing sealing.
Everyday food rather than occasion food, though a large batch made communally is itself an occasion.
Ice water beaten into raw filling so it becomes broth inside the sealed dumpling, and freezing the batch before cooking, which was originally storage and turns out also to keep the seams shut in the water.
The freezer replaced the winter sack, and the supermarket bag replaced most home production. Little else about them has changed.
Fillings vary with what is local — beef and pork is standard, lamb and game appear in Siberia, and there are fish versions in the north. Pelmeni differ from vareniki in two ways: they are smaller, and their filling goes in raw where vareniki take a filling that is already cooked.
No author. A regional dish with a Finno-Ugric name and an Asian ancestry.