2.05.2011

How I Fell for a Beet

When I was in fourth grade I was wildly jealous of my friend Sara.  Not only did she have a secret passage in her house, but she also had an au pair named Julia.  “On her first day,” Sara told me, grinning wickedly, “Julia brought me this!” She pointed at a beautiful fan-like hair decoration that was from Ukraine.  It was pink and had long ribbons hanging from it.  We spent hours imagining what it must be like there, with all the little girls wearing these gorgeous fans on their heads and twirling their ribbons.  

It was also at this point in my life that my hatred of beets reached its apex. Eating them seemed unnatural; they were the color of Barbie shoes!  The taste was like perfumed dirt: scented but earthy. My mom always bought them canned, so the texture was mushy and reminiscent of the cranberry jelly that came out each Thanksgiving.  The worst part? They were impossible to hide.  If I slyly stuffed them under my mashed potatoes or rice, they always betrayed me with their hot pink juices.  “Eat ‘em” my parent’s would say. 

“Bleck!” I would shout back.  “I’d rather eat mud.” 

So, you can imagine my horror when I found out that the lovely Julia not only loved beets, but she was going to make beet soup for our special weekend lunch. I immediately had to adjust my idealized version of Ukranian girls, to a bleaker one that included them slurping  borscht, a traditional staple in Ukraine and Russia.  Little did I know, it was about to become my favorite. 

We smelled it all afternoon as we played Clue with our flashlights in the secret passage, and wondered what it would taste like.  Once Miss Scarlet had killed Colonial Mustard with the rope in the carriage house, and we were settled down at the table, I stared into my bloody-looking bowl, preparing to force it down.  I may have been a child who told my parents what I really thought of their cooking, but I didn’t want to offend Julia.  So, I took my spoon in hand and decided to bite the beet. 

Amazingly, the soup was good.  Tangy, tomatoey, with a little crunch from the cabbage, carrots and celery.  It was also slightly honeyed and tasted sweet, sweet and earthy, in a good way.   I ate my bowl and asked for another.  Julia smiled with all her teeth.  I smiled back, with most of mine.

It’s been 20 years since that day at Sara’s table, and in the years in between I have mastered my own borscht recipe.  I make it nearly every Sunday and usually have some waiting in the freezer.  It’s a quick winter lunch, and it’s great ice cold in the summer with a dollop of sour cream and a sprinkling of fresh dill.  What’s more is that borscht reminds me that what they say about first impressions isn’t true. Sometimes they don’t match our initial expectations, and sometimes they surprise us and we fall in love.

Julia's Borscht
Adapted from Moosewood Cookbook

Ingredients:
1 beet (about 1 cup)
1 Yukon Gold or Red Potato (about 1 1/2 cups)
1 medium onion (about 1 1/2 cups)
3 cups cabbage
1 large carrot
1 stem celery
1 15 oz can crushed tomatoes, or chopped tomatoes (depending on what you like)
1 tablespoon, plus 1 teaspoon cider vinegar
1 tablespoon, plus 1 teaspoon honey
4 cups vegetable broth
2 tablespoons butter or olive oil
1 teaspoon caraway seeds
1/2 teaspoon salt (or more to taste)
Slice the potatoes and the beets and cut them into triangle shapes.  Put them in a small pot with 4 cups water and crumbled vegetable bouillon cubes.  Cover and turn on high.  Chop the cabbage, and onions, slice the carrots and celery.  While the beets and potatoes are coming to a boil, pour the olive oil into a soup pot, and add the chopped onion, salt and caraway seeds.  Saute on medium, stirring regularly, until the onion is clear and soft.  Next, put in the cabbage, carrots, celery and stir to coat with oil, salt, caraway, and onion.  Stir regularly so everything starts to cook, and when the beets and potatoes and stock are boiling, pour all of it into the soup pot with the cabbage etc.  Add the can of tomatoes, the vinegar, and the honey.  Bring to a boil.  When it's boiling, cover it and simmer on low for 30 minutes.  Serve with a spoonful of sour cream, or enjoy just as it is. 


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