Making paska is a way to give back
Slava Martyn never could have imagined that one day he’d find God, in Homestead, by baking bread.
With a pastry brush dipped in egg wash, he leans over the pan of uncooked dough in front of him. With the delicate yet precise hand of an artist, he paints the loaf’s bumpy surface until the entire top is slick and sticky with egg. Satisfied, he reaches for the next of the 20 or so pans lined up on the table.
It’s methodical work, making the rich and eggy Easter bread known as paska for St. Gregory Russian Orthodox Church in Homestead, and he does it without talking. But you can tell it suits the Russian-born Mr. Martyn. He gets plenty of practice paying attention to small details in his day job as a pediatric anesthesiologist at Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh of UPMC..
Just around the corner in the church’s brightly lit kitchen, laughter rings out. They’re a happy bunch, this small posse of women gathered around a stainless steel table with their Bulgarian priest, wearing the same pink hairnets as Mr. Martyn. They trade stories and laugh as Helen Sucevic dips her hand into a large container of dough. Grabbing a handful, the 69year-old places the mixture on a kitchen scale and when satisfied it’s the perfect size, tosses the small ball onto the middle of the table. Another woman picks it up, rolls it into a skinny log, then slides it down the table to Mr. Martyn’s wife, Valentina.
In just a few seconds, she braids the logs like a little girl’s hair into
of the Monongahela saved their pennies to convert a Protestant church that sat below the train tracks into an Orthodox structure in 1913. They scrimped again when they built a new church up the hill on East 15th Street. Something about the tiny parish just felt ... right.
Within three years, Mrs. Martyn was singing in the choir. She says, “God brings you to him.”
The couple joined the church’s paska-making crew a few years ago. They like how the word-of-mouth bread sales raise muchneeded dollars for the church’s coffers, and upholds a cultural and religious tradition.
You have to give something back to God, and help a church survive, Mr. Martyn says. “Tradition will disappear if you don’t support it.”
The pair had ready teachers in old-timers like Mrs. Sucevic of Baldwin Borough. She’s been a member her entire life and has been paska-making the week before Easter longer than she can remember. She learned from her mother and namesake bubba, who immigrated in 1918 from the former Czechoslovakia to Colver, a small mining town in Cambria County.
She recalls how St. Gregory’s started its paska fundraiser 30 years ago with a member’s 100-year-old recipe, to complement the church’s annual nut horn cookie and nut bread sales at Christmas. Then the ladies got older, and making paska went by the wayside.
They’d start it up again about 10 years ago, when parishioners decided the weren’t raising enough money with their holiday bakesale. They now sell about 150 loaves in the weeks leading up to Easter.
Recipes can vary depending on the culinary traditions of the baker. Back in Ukraine, says Mrs. Martyn, the bread is made with ricotta. But some ingredients are the golden standard: lots of eggs and butter along with sugar and milk. It’s a treat after the Lenten fast.
The bread itself is not terribly difficult to make. But it does take time. The dough hasto raise before it can be divided into balls, and raise again after the logs have been braided into loaves. Then the loaves have to be constantly basted with butter as they go round and round in the rotating oven. It takes about four hours to complete the process.
The three parts of the braid symbolize the Holy Trinity, and there’s symbolism in the bread’s color, too, says Father Evgeni Peykov, who became priest last fall. Thewhite interior represents the Holy Spirit, and raisins symbolize the blood of Christ and the wine taken during HolyCommunion.
Many of the parishioners who buy the bread will bring it in a basket with other traditional foods to the church on Holy Saturday. That’s when Father Peykov celebrates
or the traditional blessing of the meal to beeaten on Easter Sunday.
When your life is drastically upended, like theirs was when they left Ukraine for the promise of the U.S., it’s easy to feel cut off and alone, says Mr. Martyn. The church opened up their doors to them, and made them feel likethey belonged.
In making paska, and keeping the Russian Orthodox traditions alive, he says, they’ve found a way to give back.