Rabbit with Bulgur
Rabbit with bulgur – rabbit recipe with adjika, bulgur, sour cream and onion.
Green adjika is a fragrant paste made from finely chopped herbs, garlic, hot peppers, and spices that I consider an essential part of summer preserves. It originates from the Caucasus but has long taken root in Ukrainian kitchens thanks to its versatility. Over the years, I’ve learned that true green adjika should be not only spicy but also fresh-tasting, without bitterness or excessive saltiness. Its power lies in the balance of herbs, acidity, and proper texture. The key is to use only young, aromatic herbs and mild garlic that doesn’t leave a harsh aftertaste. I prepare it without heat treatment, preserving the natural color and benefits of the greens. It keeps wonderfully in the fridge until winter, especially if the jars are preheated over steam or in the oven – cleanliness matters more than temperature. For me, green adjika is a concentrate of summer that brings any dish to life and fills the home with the scent of freshness and comfort.
When choosing ingredients for green adjika, freshness and aroma are key. Over the years I’ve learned that even small differences in herb maturity change the flavor. The best herbs to use are young cilantro, parsley, basil, and mint with tender leaves. If the greens are coarse or yellowed, they add bitterness, and the adjika loses its pleasant freshness. I choose medium-hot peppers without cracks or spots and juicy, not dried, garlic. It’s best to use pure sea salt without additives since it helps preserve the sauce longer. Citric acid or vinegar should only highlight the aroma, not dominate it. I’ve also found it important that all ingredients be at room temperature – cold herbs release less essential oil. I never grind the herbs immediately after washing; they should dry slightly, or the paste will turn watery. The balance develops gradually – it’s better to add a little salt later than to oversalt at first. Good green adjika should smell like herbs, not vinegar, and instantly whet the appetite. I also always watch the herb-to-pepper ratio: too much pepper makes the sauce aggressive, while more greens result in a softer, fresher flavor perfect for vegetable dishes.
Preparing the herbs for adjika requires patience. I always rinse them twice: first in cool water, then in water with a drop of vinegar to remove dust and tiny insects. Then I dry them thoroughly with a towel or leave them in a sieve until all moisture is gone. If you grind wet herbs, the adjika loses its texture and begins to ferment. I use a meat grinder with a large grid – the sauce comes out thick and textured. A blender makes it too smooth, and the aroma fades faster. I add the garlic after the peppers so it distributes evenly and doesn’t form bitter clumps. I remove the pepper seeds beforehand; otherwise, the heat will be overwhelming. Once everything is ground, I mix it carefully with a wooden spoon – metal can affect the taste. Then I leave the mixture at room temperature for 20-30 minutes so the flavors can meld. This simple waiting step always makes the result more harmonious. Some cooks add a spoonful of oil, but I don’t – natural herbs should “breathe”. When the adjika is ready, I taste it and adjust the acidity with lemon or apple vinegar if needed.
Over the years I’ve learned that green adjika is not a preserve but a living paste, and its strength lies in the fact that it’s not cooked. For it to last for months, cleanliness and care at every stage are crucial. I always steam the jars: placing them upside down over boiling water for a few minutes so the hot steam heats the glass and kills microorganisms. It’s not sterilization in the classic sense since the temperature is lower, but the effect is excellent. It’s important that all utensils – spoons, knives, bowls – are dry and clean and that no extra moisture gets into the adjika. After preparation, I pack it into warmed jars, pressing lightly with a spoon to remove air pockets, and seal tightly. In the refrigerator, this adjika keeps not for weeks but for months – usually three or four, sometimes even a year – without any sign of spoilage. Over time, its flavor deepens, the heat softens, and the herbal aroma becomes velvety. The key is not to rush: don’t use wet herbs, don’t open the jars unnecessarily, and always use clean, dry utensils. Thanks to these small details, green adjika stays fresh, bright, and stable even many months after preparation.
Green adjika reveals its full potential when paired with different foods. I often add it to roasted potatoes, poultry, fish, cheese, or even pie dough to give a fragrant herbal touch. It should be used sparingly – too much can overpower the main flavor. I’ve noticed it works wonderfully as a marinade: the combination of acidity, salt, and essential oils tenderizes meat fibers, making them juicy. In cold dishes, it adds freshness; in hot ones, it releases aroma with heat. Green adjika pairs beautifully with lemon, olive oil, nuts, and dairy. For sauces, I mix it with yogurt or sour cream to make a light dip for vegetables. Over the years I’ve learned to sense the limit – when the herb aroma begins to dominate, it’s time to stop. This sauce enhances rather than overshadows. Sometimes I add a spoonful of adjika to bread dough – it makes fragrant baked goods with herbal notes. It’s also delicious with buckwheat pancakes or fresh cheese – a simple yet perfect harmony.
The most common mistake when making green adjika is excess moisture. If the herbs aren’t dried, the sauce spoils quickly. People also tend to add too much salt or vinegar to “play it safe”, but that only ruins the balance. From my experience, quality depends on precision and patience – everything must be measured. I always taste the adjika a few hours after preparation to see how the flavors stabilize. If bitterness appears, it means the herbs were old or the garlic over-dried. To avoid this, I use only young plants and slice them with a knife, not a press. The sauce should be stored in glass jars, in the fridge, or in a cool, dark place. When I open a jar, I always check the smell – even a slight change means it’s time to discard it. Over the years, I’ve learned the main rule: adjika doesn’t tolerate haste. Its quality is defined by attentiveness at every step – from washing the herbs to sealing the lid. And I never forget about workspace cleanliness: one drop of moisture or dust can ruin the whole batch. That’s why green adjika, to me, is not just a sauce but a symbol of respect for both work and nature.