Borsch In Ukraine

The tiny kitchen is sparsely decorated with standard khaki painted walls and pipes running up into the ceiling of one of the corners. The room resembles the feel of the building that envelops this apartment, which is a drab concrete post-Soviet Union highrise. The short square wooden table is situated in the middle of the cramped kitchen with just enough room left around it to serve the two other participants. The cool stale summer air flows gently into the room through a crack in the only window in the room. The air in the room is heavy, and the window is cloudy with steam that is bellowing from the pot on the stove. It is summertime in Vinnitsia, a southwestern city in Ukraine with harsh winters and mild summers.

She works furiously to perfect this traditional dish. With the ladle in one hand and a small box of mysterious seasoning in the other, she leans over a large aged stainless pot. Her name is Halyna. Halyna is a veteran English teacher, a mother, and a widow. The traces of past turbulent times are evident on her face by the lines on the sides of her eyes and the shades of gray lines beginning to form in her hair.

In slow and deliberate English she says in a concerned tone, “Borsch”, as she lays the large bowl of soup in front of me. I am instantly fascinated by the deep reddish-purple coloring of the soup. The steam from the soup permeates my nostrils with a sweet organic smell that reminds me of warm crushed tomatoes. Halyna proceeds to squirt fresh sour cream from a bag onto the top of my borsch.

I slowly take a small careful taste. It is a unique beet dominated flavor. It is an earthy sensation that is sweet yet complex. It is light yet hearty from the occasional piece of beef, cabbage, and sliced potatoes. Through joyous and cheerful eyes, I finish the entire bowl. It is delicious.

The anticipation is over now. Yet the warmth, hospitality, and curiosity of my new Ukrainian family remains. It is a fitting introduction to this benevolent culture.