Cmunda with sauerkraut and ham. Focus on the cmunda.
“Every story begins with an event. This event is understood as the incursion of one logic into the world of another logic initiating what every story grows out of and draws nourishment from: situations, relationships, conflict…The logic of a story resembles the logic of games, a logic of tension between what is known and not known, between rules and chance, between the inevitable and the unforeseeable…For this reason alone, mystery is a dimension of every story.”
– from Stories and Totalitarianism by Czechoslovakian Playwright Václav Havel
A play written after Czech couchsurfer Eda stayed with me, then had an accident in my house. Can you guess what happened? Can you solve the mystery? Read on to figure it out…
A small room. The COUCHSURFING COOK sits forlornly in a chair head resting in her hands. She appears sad and slightly frustrated. The UNSEEN PERSON asks a question that is only heard by the COUCHSURFING COOK.
You ask me what is cmunda? Hlupák! Pitomec! Again we must speak of this? Everyone knows cmunda! It is like your pizza. So common. Only those who spend their lives in holes covered with leaves hiding from communists do not know cmunda!
Why just the other day Babicovy Dobroty, the Rachael Ray of Czechoslovakia, and I made cmunda together.
Babicovy Dobroty and I make cmunda.
What do you mean it does not look like me? Perhaps I cut my hair. Perhaps I gained weight over the holidays. It is possible! Anything is possible!
You say the last time I spoke of cmunda was after couchsurfer Eda stayed at my home? Perhaps this is true. But why must you bring him up? You know I am trying to forget Eda. You know this!
You want me to tell the story again? Why must you force me to speak of this? Do you not recall how I told you of the incident with the klimatizace?
You want to hear it again? Agh! You hlupák! Fine. I will tell the story:
Many months ago, there came to my home a man. A young man. A handsome man. Blond. Tall. Maybe six feet. I don’t know! Stop asking questions!
He brought cookies. Like wafers. Only bigger. They were filled with chocolate. They were a little dry, but that is a story for another day…
Eda brings me chocolate wafers. They were a little dry.
No matter. He said he was grateful to be at my home and that he would be good to me. And I, hlupák that I am, believed him. But then, without warning, he broke my okna…and my klimatizace! Ah, and afterwards, I was hot. So very, very hot. I thought I could not go on.
And my heart. It too was broken. Like the okna. Because, blázen that I must be, I trusted him. It is true. I opened my heart and trusted.
But then, as I explained to you months ago, but which, stupidní člověk, you have forgotten, I realized, after he left, that there is no okna klimatizace where he is from!
How do I know this?
Because there is no other explanation for what happened next…
He saw the klimatizace.
It was sitting in the okna.
And yet he opened it.
What was he thinking?
There were five oknas in the apartment.
Did he HAVE to open the one with the klimatizace in it?
He did not.
He was not thinking. Perhaps he is hloupý. This was my thought.
Unless…what if they have no okna klimatizace where he is from?
Is such a thing possible? No okna klimatizace?
Ano! It’s true.
See. Klimatizace on the floor. Not in the okna.
After he left, I looked through the broken okna and stared at the ground below.
No more okna.
No more klimatizace. Goodbye klimatizace.
I am happy you have fresh air Eda.
But could you have chosen another okna?
Or at least the one without the klimitizace?
And that is it. That is the end of my story.
What? You say it is not a story unless there is a happy ending?
Fine! I will tell you this: After he left, I made cmunda. There. Are you happy?
Because, as babička says, there’s no better way to wash the taste of a broken okna and klimatizace out of your mouth than with a piping, hot plate of cmunda.
And with that I say, “šťastný stravování!”
And you? Enough! No more stories!
All you need to make cmunda.
Cmunda: Czech Potato Pancakes*
*Best eaten after your air conditioner has fallen to the ground because your Czech couchsurfer Eda opened the window in which it was sitting. God knows why he chose that one out of the five other windows in the apartment!
Servings: Makes 14 medium-sized pancakes
2 pounds Yukon gold potatoes (you can peel the potatoes, but I prefer to leave the skin on. That’s where all the nutrition is!)
6 small to medium garlic cloves
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
4 Tablespoons milk
2 teaspoons regular salt or 1 1/2 teaspoons sea salt
2 teaspoons marjoram (can substitute oregano if marjoram can’t be found; trust me, it’s hard)
1 teaspoon caraway seeds
1 teaspoon black pepper
2 ounces butter or vegetable oil for frying. Both work. Butter is richer.
1. Pre-heat oven to 250 degrees.
2. In a food processor or by hand, grate potatoes into thin strips.
3. Put potatoes in colander over bowl and squeeze out liquid, then discard.
4. Transfer drained potatoes into bowl and add milk, eggs, flour, and spices. Mix well until fully combined.
5. Heat 1-2 Tablespoons of butter or oil in cast iron skillet or non-stick pan over medium heat until hot but not brown.
6. Fill 1/2 cup measuring cup with grated potato mixture and add to pan. Flatten with back of spatula into thin, medium-sized pancake. Potato mixture may stick slightly to spatula.
7. Let pancake cook on bottom until brown, approximately 2 to 3 minutes. Flip and repeat on other side. Pancakes will cook faster as pan continues to heat.
8. Remove from pan and place on plate covered with paper towel to absorb excess oil.
9. Put pancakes in oven to stay warm until ready to serve.