I don’t think a Hungarian could live without Kolbasz. The soft, smoke cured, heavily seasoned with paprika, links of sausage originally created in the town of Gyula. Gyulai Kolbasz is the national sausage I think. I know it was what my refugee parents missed as I was growing up. After we settled down and had our own house to call home, my parents made their own. I remember the casings in the sink, the bowl of paprika laden filling and the strange apparatus they used to fill the casings to make the skinny shapes. I think my father made it himself. It was a square stainless bowl shape on top with a stainless tube about an inch in diameter, onto which he threaded the casing in the back. In the front was a wooden plunger with a flattened head that he leaned against, using his body as the force to push the filling into the casing. As it filled to the right size, he would twist a space between two with the ends of each tied off in a knot. In hours he had links hanging on a broomstick. My brother and I were fascinated by the whole operation, but the best part for us was when he strained to push the filling and let out a fart or two. That would send us flying to the bedroom to throw ourselves on the bed hysterically laughing.

Soon he had about 24 inches of hanging Kolbasz which he hung in a special cabinet he had built of wood with mesh front doors, in which the smoked links would dry. The cabinet was just outside the backdoor, facing a tall concrete wall, which served to trap the smoky, spicy smell. To me it became the smell of home, of comfort and the smell of my unique Hungarianess.

My father worked in the shipyards repairing propellers and whatever was given to him to fix. Meanwhile he saved enough to buy a metal lathe, the size of a small car, on which he would work creating the stainless instruments he was trained to manufacture.

After coming home, and dinner he would work until late. After we had taken out baths and gone to bed, he would come upstairs and have a light supper of bread, Kolbasz, preferably with the sweet white Hungarian peppers he grew and loved. I would come out of my room and would sit in his lap while he made little “Katona” soldiers, a small square of bread and a thin slice of Kolbasz on top. He cut them into perfect little portions with surgical precision. He sharpened all his knives on the same equipment he sharpened the scalpels on. After the little katona poem, and a little snack, I would return to bed.

I decided to make a navy bean soup seasoned with Kolbasz to bring out that uniquely Hungarian flavor. I cooked the section of sausage in the bean stew, then removed it while I blitzed the soup to make it creamier, and then fine chopped the Kolbasz and sprinkled it in top. This is a rich creamy soup, is extremely satisfying on a cold day or any day that comfort food is called for.

I am awaiting the feedback from my Mother and my team of tasters.