One of my college roommates was from Hungary and she was a terrific cook. Every weekend, she was in the tiny kitchen of our rented house, cooking something fragrant and delicious. Lucky for me, she was always generous enough to share her creations, which is how I became absolutely addicted to chicken paprikash.
Chicken paprikash is one of the most well-known and beloved dishes from Hungary and one that my roommate made often. I used to carefully watch her as she was cooking, making sure to jot down every little detail of the recipe in hopes of re-creating it myself.
She started by browning the chicken, then cooking onions, garlic and thin slices of red bell pepper in the drippings. A giant dollop of tomato paste was added and cooked until it turned a dark, rusty red color, signifying it had properly caramelized, before three heaping spoonfuls of paprika were stirred into the mix and cooked for just a second (it burns easily) before the chicken broth was poured into the pot.
The chicken was simmered in the paprika-infused broth until meltingly tender. Sour cream, a lot of it, was the final touch.
It was heaven. Rich, tangy, creamy and comforting, with just the slightest hint of heat. The dish seemed simple to make, but the flavor was deep and complex.
When I finally had the opportunity to cook it for my family on a trip back home, I was so excited. It felt like an exotic dish at the time, one my family had never tried. And boy, did I hype it up. I assured them all that once they tasted chicken paprikash, life would never be the same.
After following every step precisely, I proudly served it to my family, who tried to look impressed, but clearly were not. When I took my first forkful, I understood why. While my version looked similar to my roommate's, it was dull and lifeless in flavor. Just chicken, swimming in a pink sour cream sauce.
Once I got back to school, I told the sad tale to my roommate. Her first question was, "What kind of paprika did you use?" There are different kinds? I had no idea. Before this dish, I only knew paprika as the red dust sprinkled over deviled eggs or potato salad. I had just grabbed the can out of my mother's pantry.