Magdalena Rahn
 
Beyond the Alley, Behind the Cupboard
31 Budapesta St.

Beyond the Alley, Behind the Cupboard started out in 1996 as one of the few places in Bulgaria that had a touch of fantaisie, something it retains to this day. Located in an old house in an historic area of Sofia, the entire interior, toilet included, is an amalgamation of old (miniature hurdy-gurdy hanging from the wall, Victorian needlework) and new (someone lost a tooth and left it as a souvenir for one of the little box-like display shelves, ever-changing modern art exhibits). In the past couple of years, the staff have joined restaurateur Stanislav Rakovski in re-roofing and renovating the upper storey of the building – the Attic, now used for private gatherings and artistic performances. The restaurant seats 50 in the main dining salon, plus about 70 more in the garden (weather permitting) and about 70 in the Attic for special events.

I spent the day in Beyond the Alley, Behind the Cupboard’s kitchen on Nikoulden (Saint Nicholas Day) so, naturally, fish reigns. Head chef Mladen Choukanov is making fish stew, accompanied by Giovanni, Ivo and Gergana, who are, at that point, just finishing up the lunch rush. Outfitted in a white chef’s smock, I feel like I should take part, offer to help, but refrain and content myself with watching, wandering and falling in love. With everything. Vibrancy in attitude, creative sleights of hand adding touches of fervour (a bright-hued swirl of sauce on the peach-raspberry panna cotta – it all looks so easy, so straightforward, that it seems silly not to have thought of it before), the transformation of an old house cellar into a functioning kitchen that realises dreams on plates, the orderliness of the pantry, the hefty skin-charred carp lying in the metal baking pan, teeth bared, awaiting its conversion to someone’s dinner.

Like the restaurant one storey up, the kitchen is a composite – of ranges, burners, counters, stove hoods, cooking instruments, wash areas, linen presses, storage and one large convection oven. In one room, things are cooked; in another, two older women wash up. A dumbwaiter transports the food to the waiting staff upstairs. Little signs taped on the walls indicate where chicken should be cleaned, vegetables chopped, bread kneaded. Most of the burners are at 3500 BTU or higher. The little that is dropped on the floor is thrown directly into the rubbish, and the dishwasher says that customers almost never send their meals back down the dumbwaiter, into the belly of the kitchen.

The floor is slippery, slightly sloped. Juice from the kiselo zele (lacto-fermented cabbage) that Mladen is chopping has run off the cutting board. Giovanni – he has been here for six or so years – throws some rags on the floor. The two work together well, anticipating each other’s actions, helping each other pour out the contents of heavy pots, monitoring the sugar set to caramelise on the stove.

I get the feeling that Mladen likes experimenting. He is not garrulous, preferring to concentrate on the task – but it is not a task, it is artistry  – to make sure that nothing burns, to make the meal an expression. He wraps the fillets he takes from the carp in grape leaves, then  looks at them for a second, takes one and places it on the grill pan. Parts of it blacken. When it’s done, he cuts it open – it’s good. This will work. Then there are the quails that will be stuffed with a mixture of rice, herbs, chopped kiselo zele and who-knows-what-else, then wrapped in kiselo zele leaves, set on a thick bed of chopped kiselo zele and oven baked.

Private parties sometimes request items not on the menu; or, as Giovanni says, “We experiment – if it’s not on the menu, and we have good products, we try stuff. If it’s good, we’ll give it to the clients.” Ivo seconds: “There are no canons or laws.”

Giovanni studied at Sofia’s Professional Gymnasium for Tourism, then was a waiter for 10 years, followed by cookery courses. But, he says, he did not really learn to cook until he worked in a kitchen in Cyprus for a year. Ivo took a professional course and from there, improved through practice. As for Mladen, he started cooking many years ago, working his way up from local joints to his present employer.

The beginning was hard, Mladen says. There was one brand of good cheese, the rest they imported from Greece. Cream, in particular, was a challenge to find, and even now it’s hard to get good, fresh cream, he says. “Things have not changed much. There is a lot of stock, but its quality is bad.”

Reduced sweet wine sauce
from Mladen Choukanov, head chef at Beyond the Alley, Behind the Cupboard in Sofia

2 litres sweet red wine
2 litres beef stock
0.5 kg unpeeled onion
0.25 kg carrots
2 heads of garlic
3 bay leaves
20 black pepper corns
1 celery root

Dry roast the vegetables with the spices in a large heavy pan on the stovetop. When the vegetables are browned, pour in the wine and the beef broth, then boil till reduced to about 400 millilitres.
Use as a sauce for beef, roast pork, red game meats, duck or other richer meats. If you do not have sweet red wine, left over mulled wine can be used.

Source: Month2Come