Our carnival of beefblogging continues today with a big shout out to renowned Hungarian cyberfoodie Domestic Goddess, who responded to our item gently teasing her for only now learning to cook marhapörkölt with an even more candid follow-up post confessing that beef stew isn't the only Hungarian classic foreign to her kitchen. And to reward her for her candor and good cheer, we're now going to publish some graphic evidence of our own innocence in the area of Hungarian beef cookery, namely a photo essay of our first attempt to cook a proper bográcsgulyás (kettle-cooked beef soup).

Like all proper Hungarian recipes, this one comes from the countryside, more specifically from one of our neighbors in Csákberény, the small Fejér County wine village where we spend our summer weekends. Unfortunately, since we spend most of our time in Csákberény even drunker than our neighbors, the measurements and methods below are approximate.

Júlia néni's bográcsgulyás

• A big bowl of cubed borjú lábszár (veal shin)


• A similar-sized bowl of peeled and quartered potatoes


• A somewhat big bowl of chopped onions


• A somewhat smaller bowl of sliced carrots


• An even smaller bowl of sliced parsnips gyökér


• A really small bowl of minced garlic, or maybe none


• A lump of fresh lard roughly the size of a tabby cat's head


• A small handful of sweet paprika


• A smaller handful of salt


• A pitcher of water


• One large bogrács, and a contraption to hang it over the fire


• Twice as much firewood as you think you'll need


• Enough wine, beer and pálinka for twice the estimated number of guests

Unsurprisingly, the key ingredient here is the meat. While bográcsgulyás is traditionally made from beef, it takes a deft hand to turn Hungarian stew beef into something other than a dry and stringy mess. Therefore, Júlia suggested we instead use veal, and more specifically the tender shin meat often used by fancy-pants chefs in France to make consommé.

We got ours at French hypermarket Cora, where it cost Ft 1,999 a kilo, un-diced. This is not cheap, but given our other handicaps, it seemed crazy to skimp on ingredients.

After prepping all the ingredients, and getting the fire going, you begin by tossing in the lard. When this happens, there will invariably be lots of rejoicing, and drinking as the fat literally hits the fire. You're on your way.

Then dump in the onions, and stir like mad, otherwise they will start to burn. After a few minutes, toss in the garlic, if desired.

Cook the onions until they are as glassy as the eyes of the most drunken guest, and then hurl in the hús. Even if the fire is roaring, it probably won't brown very well.

Once the meat is acceptably brown/gray, pour in enough water to cover the meat. Remember, whatever all the other idiot foreigners think, gulyás isn't a stew, it's a soup.

Exactly when you start to chuck in the vegetables will depend on what cut of meat you use. Since we were using stuff that Júlia and the French say is super-tender, we didn't wait more than an half-hour before adding the répa and gyökér.

Now we get to the part of the program where seasoned bogrács szakértők may be shouting idióta külföldiek! at their screens. We waited until after there was fluid in the pot to spoon in the paprika, while conventional Hungarian cooking wisdom usually has it being added as the onions are being stewed in the fat. But like we said, we're just stupid foreigners doing the best we can, so cut us a break.

From what we recall, after adding the paprika and salt we took an extended pálinka break, and let the thing simmer until the meat was almost tender, after which the krumpli went into the kettle. This is when it begins to smell really good.

With everything in the pot, it was back to the pálinka, which gave us the strength to chop another big pile of wood. (Remember, you need a lot of wood for this job.)

And then, before we even knew it, soup was on. So how was it? Believe it or not, excellent. In fact, you might even say that it was marhajó. And if a bunch of drunk idiot foreigners can make it, no doubt so can you.