Friendship ("Russian soup")
Sharing soupy souls and letting go
The house was empty, but the soup was still warm. She had made it that morning and left it for us. We had gone to Boston to visit family for Christmas; Asya held the space in our house and took care of our cat. And made soup.
I ate some. It was like a hug from the vegetables and my friend. I texted her. “Thank you for the soup,” I wrote. “What do you call it? How do you make it?” “It’s Russian soup,” said Asya, and sent her recipe. Grated carrot and tomato, potato, cabbage, cilantro, water, salt and pepper. Really?, I wondered. There’s only one “Russian soup”? And how do vegetables and water taste so substantial?
There are many Russian soups, or ЩИ, schi. As restaurant owner and cookbook author Bonnie Frumkin Morales points out in Kachka, the diverse countries that made up the former Soviet Union share many techniques and cultural touchstones, and Russian soup itself has many differentiations. “To know its true soupy soul,” she writes, “you need less a recipe than a road map,” which she helpfully provides. I discovered her book at the library, as I was researching Russian and Ukrainian cooking and traditional medicines. I wanted to know more about my roots. I had heard snippets of stories – my paternal great-grandmother Sophie escaped what is now Ukraine after watching Russian soldiers kill her father; my maternal great-grandfather was born in Russia but would never speak the language at home because, according to my grandmother, he had witnessed so much violence there. I knew shreds of these traumatic histories. But what did they eat?, I wondered. What did they know?
To be a good friend, it helps to know who you are. And sometimes, a good friend can make you soup and remind you. I know this soup in my bones, I thought. I’ve made it before.
I made it again. I used Asya’s recipe for vegan schi as a starting point. The grated carrot was important (it surfaces in Ukrainian soups too, as Olia Hercules documents in her cookbook Mamushka), the caramelized surface area adding flavor. Grated or sliced turnip was good too. White winter barley from our farmer’s market. Some additions to the broth. I left out the tomato. Asya had gone back to St. Petersburg, so I shared pictures with her and the actual soup with my friend Genevieve who lives close by. “What’s the recipe?,” Genevieve texted me. “It’s a feeling,” I said. “What a gift that is,” she said.
Recipe as feeling: Friendship (“Russian soup”)
Centered in yourself, bring something uniquely you to your encounter, as your friend does the same.
Invite participation from your environment.
Dance together for a while, and make something new.
Hold the experience and the memory for as long as they last, and then let go.
Actual recipe
This is my variation of Asya’s vegan schi.
Serves 4, can scale up easily
Ingredients:
Generous pour olive oil
2 carrots, grated
1 turnip, grated or sliced (optional)
½ head cabbage, thinly sliced
2 potatoes, scrubbed and diced into large chunks
½ cup raw barley, or ~1 cup or more cooked barley (optional)
Water for broth (or substitute chicken broth for non-vegan variation)
1 spoonful miso paste and splash sake (optional)
Herb(s) minced to top (cilantro or dill work well)
Salt and pepper to taste
Saute grated carrots (and turnip, if including) in the olive oil. Season with salt. When golden, add the cabbage. Saute for a few minutes until softened, seasoning with more salt and pepper. Add the optional sake and miso if using, evaporating the alcohol. Add potatoes and barley, and cover with water or broth. Bring to boil, then down to simmer. The soup is done when the barley and potatoes are cooked (if using cooked barley, the potatoes will only take ~15 minutes; raw barley takes as long as it takes, 25-45 minutes). Season and serve with herbs on top. Share with friends.