If you were to wander into my kitchen on a cold evening—or a warm one, honestly—and catch the scent of paprika and mushrooms wafting through the air, chances are high we’re making the dish. The one that gets my daughter to eat without negotiation. The one that turns “What’s for dinner?” into a celebratory chant. The one that inspires genuine heartbreak when someone sneaks the leftovers: Monika’s Mushroom Paprikash.
Let me start from the beginning.
I was first introduced to this dish in my twenties by my best friend Chrissy, whose Slovak mother, Monika, had passed the recipe down to her with all the reverence of a family heirloom. Like many great recipes, this one didn’t originate in a five-star kitchen or get fine-tuned by a chef in a crisp white coat. It was born behind the Iron Curtain, shaped by scarcity and resilience.
“Paprikash was usually made with chicken,” Monika told me one afternoon, as we sipped tea at her kitchen table. “But back then, meat wasn’t something we had often. So in the summer, on good days, the children would go into the woods to forage mushrooms. That’s how the mushroom paprikash came to be. And it was wonderful.”
It still is. In fact, it’s practically sacred in our household. And although it’s not technically my family recipe, it’s become the heart of our dinner table.
A Recipe Worth Memorizing (and Then Some)
Monika once texted me her instructions, and I still have that message saved—though I’ve also copied it into my Notes app, just in case technology betrays me. These days, I can recite the method from memory. It’s not a complicated dish, but it’s delicate in its own way. There are rules. There is a rhythm. And above all, there is one commandment carved in stone: Do not let the paprika burn.
The base is simple: onions softened in olive oil, sweet paprika stirred in carefully, then mushrooms added and slowly cooked until tender. A generous swirl of sour cream finishes the dish, creating a velvety, paprika-swirled sauce that coats every mushroom like a hug.
We serve it over egg noodles or spaetzle if we’re feeling fancy (full confession: we’re rarely that fancy). The result is pure comfort, rich without being heavy, and deeply flavorful without a single drop of meat.
The Magic of Paprikash
What’s most incredible about this dish isn’t just how good it tastes—it’s the effect it has on everyone in our house. My preschooler, who will reject grilled cheese, chicken nuggets, and even popsicles when she’s in a mood, will run to the table if she catches sight of me slicing mushrooms. She’ll raise her hands in the air and shout, “PAPRIKASHHH!” as if she’s been waiting her whole life for this exact moment.
And then her dad shows up. “Paprikash?” he asks, already halfway to the silverware drawer. Within seconds, we’re all chanting it like a battle cry. It’s absurd and joyful, and every time it happens, I think: This is what food is supposed to do.
Of course, peace only lasts as long as the final serving. If someone nabs the last bowl without consulting the group, there are consequences. Tears have been shed. Blame has been assigned. Solutions have been proposed—chiefly, that I must always double the recipe from now on. And they’re right.
Monika’s Mushroom Paprikash (Serves 3-4, But Should Serve 6)
Ingredients:
- 1 medium yellow onion, finely diced or grated
- 2-3 tbsp olive oil
- 1-2+ tbsp sweet Hungarian paprika
- 16 oz baby bella or cremini mushrooms, thinly sliced
- Salt, to taste
- 1+ cups sour cream (add more as needed)
- Egg noodles or spaetzle, for serving
Instructions:
- Heat the olive oil in a large pan over medium-low heat. Add the onions and sauté until just translucent and beginning to turn golden.
- Reduce the heat to low, add the paprika, and stir gently. Add a small splash of water to prevent the paprika from burning—this is crucial. From this point forward, low heat is the name of the game.
- Stir in the mushrooms, coating them well in the onion-paprika mixture. Cook slowly, stirring frequently. Once the mushrooms begin to release their juices, you can slightly raise the heat, but never let it get too hot. Paprika does not forgive.
- When the mushrooms are fully softened, remove the pan from heat and season with salt—carefully. Adding salt too early can prevent the mushrooms from releasing their liquid, and that liquid is the essence of the flavor.
- Stir in the sour cream until the mixture thickens into a creamy, rich sauce. Aim for a consistency somewhere between a sauce and whole-milk yogurt.
- Serve immediately over cooked egg noodles or spaetzle. And for the love of harmony, save enough for seconds.
Red Is the Goal
As for the paprika amount, Monika once told me, “You want enough to make it red.” It’s not an exact science, but it’s hard to go wrong. I usually start with a heaping tablespoon and end up adding more. The deep red color is your guide—it should glow in the pan like it means business.
A Recipe to Pass On
Some dishes are just food. Others become part of your story. This mushroom paprikash is the latter. It’s a recipe built from memory, shared in friendship, and infused with history. And though it came to me from someone else’s mother, it now feels like my own.
So go ahead: try it. Memorize it. Double it. Chant its name with your family. And when you taste that first bite—creamy, earthy, red as a ruby—you’ll understand why we keep coming back for more.
Paprikash forever.
