Hello aliens of the world! It's been a long time since I've been tempted to write anything and I guiltily admit that I've been sorely lax with my blog's upkeep. That being said, I've also not had the time to read any new books and therefore post reviews on this site. Anyhow, before I continue any further I'd like to wish all my readers a Happy New Year and although my wishes are somewhat later than usual, they are well meant.
I thought I'd share a humorous story with you today. It happened while I was lunching with a colleague from work. My colleague (I shall call him Mr. X) and I, over the years have formed an almost sacred ritual of lunching together whereby I am in charge of selecting the lunch venue with a menu that is acceptable to both our vastly different tastes. Luckily our neighborhood offers a variety of restaurants and bistros and so we've never really had trouble coming to an agreement. However, this ritual had suffered a few breakups along the way due to unavoidable but not necessarily bad circumstances. Some examples of such breakups:
1. Mr. X became a father for the first time! Big congratulations to him and his lovely wife.
2. I have my moments where I need to be vegetarian and despite the fact that there are many restaurants in the neighborhood, very few of them offer choices that are acceptable to Mr. X and I.
3. Mr. X went on a permanent gluten-free diet of his own!
This is not the end of the list but I fear if I divulge more, there may be repercussions.
Anyway, today we re-established the sacred bond and graced a lovely Serbian/Macedonian restaurant nearby. I ordered Menu 2 of the day which was black rice with squid and calamari while Mr. X opted for the grilled sirloin served with mashed potatoes. We both chose the borscht to accompany our meals out of the three soup options.
I happily mentioned to Mr. X that I had always wanted to try borscht, a strange thing to say considering I love beetroot! It is possible that I had tried it before but the occasion or the flavor could have been so lackluster that I just completely forgot about it. Mr. X ordered the borscht because he wanted to know if the restaurant could make it well, well being the definition of his mother's recipe. Then I made the first mistake - I somehow stated that borscht was originally a Russian dish. Mr. X hails from Ukraine. Oops.
"Borscht was not created by the Russians. It comes from Ukraine!" By the way folks, I wikipedied this and Mr. X wasn't lying. "And its beginnings to the Russians is passed down from my mother!" Now my interest was considerably peaked.
"My mum worked in a Russian camp back in the 1960's. She used to help out in the kitchen and everyday the cooks would make cabbage water soup to serve to the soldiers. It's called 'shi' in Russian and yes, it tasted like sh*t! This was in central Russia and at that time, no one there had even heard of borscht. Then one day my mother was assigned to cook and she told herself that there's no way she could make cabbage water sh*t. So she prepared borscht instead."
I waited for the rest of the story which wasn't hard because Mr. X never stopped talking.
"Men never finished their cabbage water sh*t let alone ask for a second serving. When my mother's borscht was served, the reaction was unseen, never before heard of, amazing. Like a miracle. The men asked for second and even third servings. They loved it so much! Everybody loved it, so much that the bosses asked my mother to stay on as a cook. My mother took one look at the hundreds of men and then outside to the fields where she worked hard as a laborer and then told herself, 'no way in hell she would cook for so many people again!' And she went back to the fields. But, my mother's story is proof that borscht never came from Russia. They didn't even know about it until my mother made it for them."
"Whoa hold up!" I intervene. "So basically, you're saying that your mother brought borscht to Russia?"
Mr. X hesitates for a brief second and then smiles almost modestly, "Yes. Yes she did. The history of borscht is strong in my family."
We both laugh. Our borscht arrives and I am surprised to see it is almost broth-like, with chunks of vegetables floating in it. I was expecting a deep red, pureed version with a blob of sour cream in the middle. I state my surprise out loud and Mr. X tells me that this is the true version of borscht. "No, the red version is a sign that it's not good. The person doesn't know how to cook it properly." Of course, at this stage I believe he was only thinking of his mother's soup. We dig into the borscht.
Tender chunks of veal, potatoes, carrots and red onions enrich the tangy, tomato based broth. I stir the sour cream which mellows out the tangy-ness and appreciate the flavors more. Mr. X states his mark of approval. "Not bad, not bad at all. It is very close to my mother's."
So my alien friends, today you have heard the true origin of borscht in Russia. Even Wikipedia didn't know of this. :D Take care!
1. Mr. X became a father for the first time! Big congratulations to him and his lovely wife.
2. I have my moments where I need to be vegetarian and despite the fact that there are many restaurants in the neighborhood, very few of them offer choices that are acceptable to Mr. X and I.
3. Mr. X went on a permanent gluten-free diet of his own!
This is not the end of the list but I fear if I divulge more, there may be repercussions.
Anyway, today we re-established the sacred bond and graced a lovely Serbian/Macedonian restaurant nearby. I ordered Menu 2 of the day which was black rice with squid and calamari while Mr. X opted for the grilled sirloin served with mashed potatoes. We both chose the borscht to accompany our meals out of the three soup options.
I happily mentioned to Mr. X that I had always wanted to try borscht, a strange thing to say considering I love beetroot! It is possible that I had tried it before but the occasion or the flavor could have been so lackluster that I just completely forgot about it. Mr. X ordered the borscht because he wanted to know if the restaurant could make it well, well being the definition of his mother's recipe. Then I made the first mistake - I somehow stated that borscht was originally a Russian dish. Mr. X hails from Ukraine. Oops.
"Borscht was not created by the Russians. It comes from Ukraine!" By the way folks, I wikipedied this and Mr. X wasn't lying. "And its beginnings to the Russians is passed down from my mother!" Now my interest was considerably peaked.
"My mum worked in a Russian camp back in the 1960's. She used to help out in the kitchen and everyday the cooks would make cabbage water soup to serve to the soldiers. It's called 'shi' in Russian and yes, it tasted like sh*t! This was in central Russia and at that time, no one there had even heard of borscht. Then one day my mother was assigned to cook and she told herself that there's no way she could make cabbage water sh*t. So she prepared borscht instead."
I waited for the rest of the story which wasn't hard because Mr. X never stopped talking.
"Men never finished their cabbage water sh*t let alone ask for a second serving. When my mother's borscht was served, the reaction was unseen, never before heard of, amazing. Like a miracle. The men asked for second and even third servings. They loved it so much! Everybody loved it, so much that the bosses asked my mother to stay on as a cook. My mother took one look at the hundreds of men and then outside to the fields where she worked hard as a laborer and then told herself, 'no way in hell she would cook for so many people again!' And she went back to the fields. But, my mother's story is proof that borscht never came from Russia. They didn't even know about it until my mother made it for them."
"Whoa hold up!" I intervene. "So basically, you're saying that your mother brought borscht to Russia?"
Mr. X hesitates for a brief second and then smiles almost modestly, "Yes. Yes she did. The history of borscht is strong in my family."
We both laugh. Our borscht arrives and I am surprised to see it is almost broth-like, with chunks of vegetables floating in it. I was expecting a deep red, pureed version with a blob of sour cream in the middle. I state my surprise out loud and Mr. X tells me that this is the true version of borscht. "No, the red version is a sign that it's not good. The person doesn't know how to cook it properly." Of course, at this stage I believe he was only thinking of his mother's soup. We dig into the borscht.
Tender chunks of veal, potatoes, carrots and red onions enrich the tangy, tomato based broth. I stir the sour cream which mellows out the tangy-ness and appreciate the flavors more. Mr. X states his mark of approval. "Not bad, not bad at all. It is very close to my mother's."
So my alien friends, today you have heard the true origin of borscht in Russia. Even Wikipedia didn't know of this. :D Take care!