One of the things that attracted me to Joe all those years ago was the fact that he was Czech. It wasn’t that I was so impressed with all things Czech; in fact, I hardly knew a thing about the country or its people. I think I had some kind of idea that they were “sort of “ Polish, or some other comparative condition. It had never dawned on me that they would be a strong nation in their own right, with a rich and exciting history much older than that of the United States.
But, in my mind’s eye, Joe’s Czech-ness was intriging and exotic, and I was deeply fascinated with all he could tell me about his background and family, who had emigrated to the U.S. in the 1850’s and settled in Southcentral Minnesota. Although he was what we would call “third-generation,” his grandparents, who married here, were all born in Bohemia.
When we moved to Minnesota, it wasn’t much of a change. Minnesota is the heart of the Heartland, remember? We moved to LeSeuer (“Cornfield”) County, and found ourselves back in the middle of the Czech-est of Czech places. The three little towns—New Prague, Montgomery, and Lonsdale—were predominantly Czech in extraction and tradition. Much was made of this Czech identity, and our entire circle of friends was drawn from people whose backgrounds were virtually identical to Joe’s.
Joe was fluent in the language, and spoke it with many of the locals. But he couldn’t read it. I, of course, was LOST in a social situation. When we learned of the existence of a class in conversational Czech, we snapped it up, he to learn to read it, and I to understand what I was hearing around me. The classes were enjoyable, friendly, and fruitful. Czech is one of those languages that is so difficult to learn that one is soon praising a background in Latin, and I didn’t hold out a lot of hope that I would ever become fluent. But I did learn to pronounce and read like a native, which was a boon later. Before long, he was spending time reading from old Czech readers, while I was practicing my “R’s” (the sound of “R” in Czech is pronounced two ways: strongly rolled in the unaccented pronunciation, and a combination of the rolled “R” and “Zh” in the accented sound). It wasn’t long before I could pick up enough of a conversation to get the gist of it, enough to laugh at the funny parts and pick out the words I knew.
Part of learning the language was understanding the culture, and that definitely includes the cuisine. Czech/Bohemian foods are substantial, thanks to the history of hard physical labor in fields and factories. Potatoes, cabbage, bread, and meat figure heavily in all meals. It soon became obvious that although the residents of “Czech Country” still cooked and served the same menus their parents and grandparents had, their livelihoods and vocations had become much less strenuous. Eating like a Czech farmer is one thing. Working like a Czech farmer is an entirely different matter. It didn’t take us long to realize that those substantial, scrumptious basics of Bohemian cuisine would have to be relegated to special occasions. This wasn’t too much of a hardship, since there was always a festival or get-together of some kind in the area.
But I learned to cook the tasty dishes, and still make them occasionally, even if it’s only for myself, my son, and his family. Brombori (potatoes), knedliky (potato dumplings), zeli (sauerkraut), kolacky (fruit-filled buns) and buchty (more buns), as well as other muscular dishes, appear on our tables every once in a while these days.
Eating like a Bohemian is easier than singing like one, but is guaranteed to stay with you longer.
