All of This? For a F*cking Dumpling?
All of This? For a F*cking Dumpling?
It takes Emily Efraimov an armful of spice blends, three stocks, at least two full days, and one whole pig head to make the signature pig head khinkali for her pop-up, Little Dacha
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In 2020, Emily Efraimov was in her banged up Honda Civic, driving during golden hour with her favorite playlist on blast, when the idea struck for her signature dumpling. “I thought, I'm gonna braise this pig head and spice the fuck out of its filling,” she remembers.
The pig head khinkali, much like everything at Emily’s LA-based pop-up, Little Dacha, studiously reference the Georgian, Russian, and Circassian heritage that spans both sides of her lineage as well as her own personal point of view as a former line cook. After relocating to LA from the East Coast in 2017, working in marketing by day and in restaurant kitchens by night, she found herself homesick and in need of comfort. “I’d get back late and the only thing I’d want was a plate of dumplings,” she says. “I didn’t realize until later, that I resorted back to what I knew.” [Ed’s note: Emily—and Little Dacha—will be relocating to NYC this spring!]
The name Little Dacha has a layered meaning. “Dachas were originally countryside cottages gifted from Czars to aristocracy, artists, and writers. When the Soviet Union evolved, they turned to places of struggle, to sustain yourself and grow your own food,” Emily says. “The word dacha is derived from the words to give and something given; so the name means little to give and little something given.” While her pop-up is the primary entry point to Emily’s food right now, she sees the project as more expansive. “I think of it more as some lifelong thesis, to research all that encompassed the former Soviet Union, the multitude of experiences of so many regions that fell under its former rule—their regional communities, diasporas, the links between its individual, republic countries, its food, and its people,” she says. “Deep down, we’re a research collective, foundationally—I have no intention of rushing.”
The pig head khinkali are as complex and ambitious as Little Dacha itself. Dumplings are time-consuming by nature—there’s the dough, and there’s the
filling, and then there’s the laborious effort of combining the two together into a harmonious whole. Emily takes this several steps further by bathing her cooked dumplings in an elaborate, insanely rich concoction layered with multiple homemade spice blends and stocks that take days to reduce and deepen in flavor. “To anybody, this looks from a far point like damn, all of this? For a fucking dumpling?” she says. “But it's done with a purpose, you know, because the whole idea is to, through a dish alone, have that taste of time.” The feedback she’s gotten indicates that it’s time well-spent: “I know my job is done when that extra level of comfort and savoriness is felt and savored, and when someone says how much it tastes of home.” Learn how they come together below.
1. The Dough
Made with a blend of AP flour, bread flour and Tehachapi Grain Project’s White Sonora Wheat Flour, and enriched with eggs for elasticity: “You still have that chewiness that you want out of a dumpling, but it's a bit softer and more velvety,” Emily says. “I just prefer using eggs for this dough, to match the rich braise.” Each batch of dough is kneaded for 30 minutes, rested multiple times, then rolled through a pasta machine.
2. The Spices
A dozen-plus spices are carefully layered throughout every stage of the cooking process. Some come straight from Emily's childhood home in New Jersey. “Having those actual dusts of nostalgia, shoved in my suitcase from some repurposed spice container—it feels ritual,” she says. “There’s a lot going on, but when it comes together, it’s just warm.”
3. The Filling
❶ Hand-ground pork shoulder
❷ One pig head, braised for up to 18 hours with charred vegetables and chilies: “Every part is used to its bone,” Emily says. “The prep and aftermath is not an easy process, and I don't take it lightly. It's done with the intent it deserves, gracefully.”
❸ Aspic made from the pig head braising liquid that’s been strained and reduced
❹ Puréed onion, green onion, and roasted chive buds
❺ Herbs including dill, parsley, cilantro, and thyme
❻ Spices (see above)
4. The Pleating
Georgian khinkali are typically large, pouch-like, and eaten upside-down, their doughy knobs acting as a handle that’s often left uneaten. “I always had a smaller version on the table growing up, and that was still called khinkali. They were smaller, more compact, with more meat inside,” Emily says. “The top knot was not discarded; we would eat it, and that became the best part, the last bit to savor.”
5. The Pan Sauce
“Every single time we’d have dumplings on the table growing up, something braised would always be a part of it,” Emily says. “You’d have your braised dish on the side on that same plate, and the dumpling would kind of soak up any of those residual sauces.” Here’s how she emulates—and builds upon—the memory.
❶ Shredded pork and aspic reserved from the pig head braise
❷ Homemade pork bone stock
❸ Homemade beef stock
❹ Homemade mushroom stock
❺ Cognac, to deglaze
❻ Homemade citrus gastrique (often a mix of mandarins, oranges, and kumquats)
❼ Labneh, stirred in at the end (and spooned on top) to cool things off
Above the Fold was created by Leah Mennies
Sadly very few of our local butchers carry whole pig's heads anymore, but we can still get ears, cheeks, tongues and skin, so we cook those down together for dumplings, meatballs and terrines.
This is so interesting!