FOOD & DRINK FLASH IN THE PAN
ALL ABOUT THAT BORSCHT BY ARI LEVAUX
W
ith the invasion happening in real time as I write this, I have no idea how the chips will have fallen by the time you read it. But one thing is clear. President Zelensky, and the nation he leads, are like a hearty bowl of borscht.
On my desk is a self-published book of memoirs written by my cousin Paul Zavod, who was born in Ukraine, in 1914. My mother’s parents also came from Ukraine, as did my father’s grandparents. Ukraine was a rough place for Jews at that time. Paul’s father was arrested for sneaking to the outhouse after curfew one night. They couldn’t even leave their village without special permission. But the scariest moment, according to Paul’s father, came when a pig escaped from a nearby farm and wandered into the neighborhood. A resident was running a secret, unregistered and highly illegal vodka making operation, and the smell of the alcoholic grain mash had caught the attention of the pig. The mash was hidden in an underground pit that was covered by some old boards. The massive animal broke through the boards and fell into the pit.
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“Now, drunk as a hoot owl, trying to get out, the pig was bellowing at the top of its lungs,” Paul wrote. “If anyone had reported it, all of us would have been in serious trouble. Luckily, we lived in a part of town that was 100% Jewish, and everyone knew what would happen if this became known, so no one even dreamed of reporting it. However, the animal had to be gotten rid of before he woke the rest of the people.” Since they couldn’t get it out, they killed the pig in the pit and covered it with dirt. Luckily, it didn’t occur to anyone to search the Jewish neighborhood for the missing pig, and the mystery was never solved. Ukraine has come a long way since then. It’s now led by a Jewish president, which would have been unthinkable, and is a testament to how far this young democracy has come. Yet in other ways little has changed. Here we are, a century after my family left, but the neighborhood is still being bothered by a drunk, lost pig. Borscht is often celebrated as a Russian dish, but that only holds true if Ukraine is part of Russia, because borscht—and specifically the kind made primarily with beets—comes from Ukraine. If you don’t believe me, ask my mom.
Years ago, seven time zones away from Ukraine, in the dining car of a train in Siberia, I ordered a bowl of borscht. It was purple water with slices of hot dogs in it. They billed us not only for the pathetic bowl of soup, but also for the use of the silverware. When we protested the host explained “mafia” and made a karate chop motion across his femur. You can’t get much more salt-of-theland than borscht, and that is the kind of wholesome, earthy image that Putin wants for all of Mother Russia. But he’s acting more like the guy on the train. Zelensky, meanwhile, is walking the talk. He is from Ukraine and was chosen by the Ukrainians to lead them. He is a deep bowl of borscht with extra-sour cream, with a dill pickle on the side. I was at the farmers market last Saturday, shopping for borscht materials. A cool thing about borscht is that you can get all of the ingredients you need at the winter market. Beets, onions, carrots, garlic, celery, and even some meat on the bone – if you are feeling rich.
