Nikel Tarts

Last November, I sailed far above the Arctic Circle to Kirkenes, Norway, then continued overland across the border to Russia. My destination was Nikel, a town of around 16,000 people that time seems to have forgotten. Nikel dates back to the mid-twentieth century when the Soviets decided to exploit the region’s rich deposits of nickel, giving the town its name. Ever since then, giant smelters have been at work, creating a livelihood for the local inhabitants but also creating environmental disaster. People told me I was lucky to visit Nikel in winter, when snow covered the ground and masked the devastated landscape. My first impression was of a quintessential Soviet town, with a looming statue of Lenin commanding the main square, directly in front of the Palace of Culture. 

As soon as I entered the palace, I felt the clash of old and new. The past was spread out before me in the form of a lavish buffet that welcomed the members of our delegation from the Nordic Council of Ministers. There on the table were delicacies from the Soviet past: pashtet (pâté), smoked salmon, and tiny shrimp. But there were also heaping pyramids of fresh clementines, fruits that could only have been dreamed of in a small provincial town during Soviet days. Large electric kettles supplied hot water for tea, and the bright red cups stacked next to them offered a decorative touch. Unfortunately, these imported plastic soft-drink cups were intended for cola or iced tea, and as soon as they came into contact with the boiling water, they began to melt. 

After sitting through several conference presentations, I needed a break, so I ventured out into the town. Things had definitely changed since Soviet times: there were no lines in any of the stores, and the shelves were full of goods. Even so, self-service had not yet made its way this far north. The old system of purchase was still in place everywhere I went. I first had to place my order with a girl behind the counter, then bring my chit to the cashier, then return to the counter to receive my goods. 

I felt a twinge of nostalgia at a case filled with all manner of sausages, including the famous doktorskaya sausage that, it turns out, has just celebrated its seventieth anniversary. Originally formulated as a healthy alternative to the typically fatty Soviet sausages, doktorskaya was intended to improve the diets of World War II veterans and invalids. Such Soviet-style delikatesy were overshadowed, however, by eye-catching displays of freeze-dried instant soups in bright red and yellow packaging bearing such brand names as Beeg lanch (“Big Lunch”) and Beeznis lanch (“Business Lunch”). Elsewhere, I was hard put to find standard Russian vodkas like Russkaya or Kremlyovskaya, though there were plenty of other brands to tempt the buyer, including the bluntly named Soblazn (“Temptation”) with its image of a naked woman.

Our hosts were so surprised to find a Russian-speaking American among the Scandinavians that they insisted on interviewing me for TV. I mentioned how impressed I was with the variety of foods in the stores but expressed disappointment at not having found any vatrushki. These open-faced pies filled with tvorog (farmer’s cheese) were my favorite comfort food when I studied in the USSR. Not half an hour had passed when a plastic bag was suddenly thrust into my hand. Inside were a half dozen freshly baked vatrushki, still warm from the oven! There were my favorite tvorog-filled pies, along with others spread with deep red lingonberry preserves, still redolent of the northern forest. It was pure heaven. 

These vatrushki were the tastiest of my life — not only because they were perfectly made, the dough tender and the fillings yielding the perfect balance of sweet and tart. They also embodied the warmth of Russian hospitality, a gift that endures, even in the barren North. 

Vatrushki

Dough

2 cups all-purpose flour

2 tablespoons sugar

1⁄2 teaspoon salt

8 tablespoons butter

2 egg yolks

3⁄4 cup scant sour cream

Filling

11⁄2 pounds tvorog or farmer cheese 

3 egg yolks

1⁄4 teaspoon salt

6 tablespoons sugar

6 tablespoons sour cream

6 tablespoons raisins (optional)

1 egg yolk

1 tablespoon cold water

To make the dough, mix together the flour, sugar and salt. Cut in the butter. Work in the yolks and sour cream (the mixture will be slightly sticky). Wrap the dough in wax paper and chill for at least 30 minutes before using.

To prepare the filling, beat the 3 egg yolks into the cheese. Stir in the salt, sugar, sour cream and raisins, if using, and blend well. Chill.

On a floured board, roll out the dough 1⁄8-inch thick. With a cookie cutter, cut out 4-inch rounds. On each round, place 2 heaping tablespoons of filling, spreading it to within 1 inch of the edges.

Bring the edges of the dough up around the filling in gentle folds, leaving the filling exposed and making a narrow border of dough. Place on a greased baking sheet.

Preheat the oven to 375° F. Brush the tartlets with the egg yolk which has been mixed with the cold water. Bake for 25 minutes until the filling is puffed and the dough golden.

Makes 20.

Adapted from A Taste of Russia (which also has a second, yeast-based recipe for vatrushki)