I’m writing this with a belly full of leftover borsch, still sticky from the broth sweats (painting a lovely image I know). For some reason, I thought it would spur creative beet juices. I mainly now just crave a nap.
I think it’s important to note from the offset I’ve never cooked beetroot before this week and I think the last time I handled one of these vivid vegetables was for a school science experiment. As part of tracing my family beetroot consumption (arguably unnecessary research), a few WeChat exchanges in the family group chat revealed that Grandpa Yan was the last major beetroot consumer. Yan is my mother’s side (fun fact: married Chinese women typically keep their maiden name). I am very thankful that double barrel surnames didn’t catch on in China - imagine Xinyue Pan-Yan, the horror. Anyway, I digress. The story goes Grandpa allegedly had his fair share of borsch (罗宋汤 - luó sòng tāng) with his Soviet pals back in the early 50s in China. However, this appetite clearly dissipated within a generation as beetroot never made it onto my childhood plate.
Cut to present day. I’m standing in a nondescript Sainsbury’s in North London, scratching my head, trying to figure out what’s qualifies as a ‘large’ beetroot. However, taking a step back, you might be wondering how this issue came about. It was upon the creation of Lost in Panslation that Anya jumped, without a hint of hesitation, to her Russian cookbook collection. She kindly gave me a selection of recipes but I thought it was about time beet and I got acquainted. Here’s a little background on the dish and what it means to her:
Борщ - традиционное блюдо во многих странах бывшего СССР. И не смотря на то что, мало кто его ест на западе, все знают о этом красочном супе.
Не возможно не влюбится в это вкусное домашнее блюдо. Есть очень много вариаций, и каждая семья скажет что их борщ самый лучший борщ.
Я готовлю «ленивый» борщ, на куриных костях, в понедельник вечером. Но настоящий борщ, наваристый, душистый, займёт целый день. Только у моей бабушки было столько терпения. Вываривать кости часами, тушить свёклу и капусту. Высушивать сухари и натирать их чесночком. Бабушки больше нет, но вкус ее борща всегда здесь, и жареные сухари с терпким чесноком.
Borsch is a traditional dish in many ex-USSR countries. And despite it not being widely eaten in the West, everyone knows about this brightly coloured soup.
It’s impossible not to fall in love with this lovingly homemade dish. There are so many varieties and each family will claim that their recipe is the best.
I always cook a “lazy” borsch, using chicken thighs, quick blast on a Monday night. But the real, deep, flavourful borsch will take up a whole day. Only my grandma had that much patience, boiling the bones, stewing the cabbage and the beets. She would dry out rye bread and smear it with garlic. My grandma is gone but the flavour of borsch is still here, and the taste of fried bread with a pungent aftertaste of garlic.
So you can see why I was nervous about making this dish. It is beloved by so many around the world. It also didn’t help that Google Translate spewed reams and reams of text without spacing. However, it was clear that it called for a solid bone broth foundation so I channelled Anya’s grandma and went off to hunt for beef bones. Sadly, my closest butcher declared that his “bone-man took it all away that morning”… Alas, this girl persisted and another sweaty cycle later (I’m just sweaty okay), I sourced some which got tossed into the oven for about 40 minutes and subsequently simmered on the stove for four hours with some stray carrots and bay leaves.
A little background about the cookbook itself. It’s a classic in Russia by a food writer and historian fella called Vilyam Pokhlebkin. Whilst his untimely death remains a murder mystery, one thing is for sure: according to him, “indispensable part of borscht is beets. It gives it basic flavor and color”. However, curiously, not all types of borsch contain beets. For example, in Polish cuisine, white borsch (biały barszcz, also known as żur or żurek, 'sour soup') is made from a fermented mixture of rye flour/oatmeal and water. Ukrainian green borsch is made with sorrel which gives it a tangy sour taste (and is a green vegetable, I had to look that up).
For my borsch attempt, beetroot was key. Up close, they really are quite striking and beautiful. Slicing into it revealed rings and the signature drips which turn your kitchen into a crime scene. If you are wise, you would have changed out of your white t-shirt before (me). If you are even wiser, you would have not worn white at all that day (not me).
Aesthetics aside, it is a soup that has humble roots. The depth of the beef broth combined with the earthiness of the beetroot, this soup is unquestionably good for the soul. Whilst the origins might be up for debate, this dish will continue to evolve as borders change and people move. But it will always leave an impression. I can confirm it has certainly left more than a betanin hue on my chopping board and short-lived pink twinges on my fingertips.
Further reading:
‘My’ ‘recipe’ write-up in English - I typed out my scribbles on the back of an envelope, see here for a more legible version
Alissa Timoshkina - when I found out her former Instagram account was called ‘borsch and no tears’, I knew I had to find out more. She has a mesmerising cookbook called Salt & Time and you can try a few recipes here
Oma & Bella - lovely video of two grannies, just watch it
Interesting articles:
Let me count the ways of making borscht - Olia Hercules in the New Yorker describing her babushka Luisa’s Ukrainian borsch. She also has three cookbooks, her latest is called Summer Kitchens
Who really owns borsch? - BBC