The Comfort of Ukrainian Food
Borscht and varenyky from Veselka
Ukrainian food is deeply important to our country, our culture. To understand Ukrainians is to understand our food.
Uki food is a labor of love. Every meal takes hours to cook, prepared from muscle memory rather than recipes, everything done by hand. There are no shortcuts. Not that we would want them.
If you pay close attention to the news, look past the headlines of impending nuclear war and skyrocketing gas prices, you’ll see groups of women sitting amid rubble making borscht, rolling out dough for bread in bomb shelters. This alone speaks volumes to the resilience of Ukrainians. Instead of fleeing, instead of accepting that life as they have known it is over, they’re peeling potatoes and beets to feed the army.
Here’s a highlight reel of the food of my people:
Borscht (beet soup)—This is the national dish of Ukraine. Every family has their own recipe, but it’s always full of the root veggies that were grown on the family’s land. You can have hot borscht, cold borscht, zeleny (green) borscht, meat-filled borscht. Stir in some sour cream for a creamy experience. #Protip—to get the true vibrant red color, you cook the beets separately and add a dash of vinegar.
Varenyky (dumplings)—Also commonly known as pierogies, these little clouds of dough come from heaven (or hell, if you’re spending all day elbow-deep in flour and potato). They’re most often stuffed with potato and farmer’s cheese, but they’re also delicious filled with mushrooms, meat, saurkraut, fruit. Varenyky must be topped with sauteed onions and butter and served with a side of smetana (sour cream).
Holubtsi (cabbage rolls)—Also known as little pigeons (new to me)?! Many countries have versions of holubtsi—Ukrainians fill theirs with a grain (buckwheat or rice), veggies, and optional meat, then cook them in a tomato sauce. They’re so tasty but so labor-intensive since you have to boil the cabbage leaves, make the filling, assemble the rolls carefully, make the sauce.
Platski or deruny (potato pancakes)—another carb-laden meal favored by many countries. Cripsy, grated potatoes topped with smetana. What’s not to love?
Paska (bread)—The most beautiful, elaborately decorated bread you will ever see and taste. It’s deeply meaningful—the dough decorations on top are all symbolic and you abide by a list of superstitious rules while you bake. Uki families work hard to bake paska, then bring it to church to be blessed by the priest on Easter or for a wedding.
Horilka (basically vodka)—Ok it’s officially time to stop associating vodka with Russians, and start doing shots of horilka while toasting and yelling “Na zdorovya!” (to health!) or “Budmo!” (cheers).
Smachnoho! (Have a good meal!)
There have been so many times over the past two weeks when I felt myself unraveling, untethering, unable to function. And just as often, someone has reached out and helped bring me back.
By far the most impactful, the most soothing, the most grounding act of kindness has been my bosses surprising me with a full Ukrainian from Veselka in New York City. Knowing nothing about the importance of traditional food in times of crisis to Ukrainians, not knowing the deep ties my family has to Veselka, Brad and Michael had borscht, varenyky, beef stroganoff, and bread delivered from the Lower East Side all the way to my tiny house in the middle of nowhere, Alabama. Imagine that. I bawled.
The hot food. The cold smetana. The burn of horilka (OK, it was Tito’s—I worked with what I had). Wrapped in flavors that come from the Earth, taste like dirt and love and my childhood.
I closed my eyes and could transport myself anywhere from my past. My kitchen table after school. The folding table outside my house in CYM Osela. Countless Christmases and Easters at Baba and Didos. My mom’s funeral. For those moments, I wasn’t home alone watching my world collapse. I was surrounded by my people and my memories, eating my food.
I was a lucky kid. I think a lot of Uki kids were. Our food was something I took for granted, never grasping its significance. I would come home from school or the pool or outside and request the most elaborate dish without giving it a second thought. Every summer, my friends and I would spend all day running through the woods and the rivers, pausing only to inhale some kutlets or platski before disappearing again. Meanwhile, our Babas spent all day preparing the ingredients, cooking the food, feeding us bits of our culture.
Only as an adult trying to capture the taste of my childhood and cling to my heritage did I truly realize how much time, energy, and love goes into Ukrainian dishes. I did not get the chance to learn from my Mama and my Baba how my family cooked recipes, so I have been forging the way myself, painstakingly reading recipes, combining my own mix of ingredients, creating new recipes for this family of one.
Varenyky lessons in Germany
I make it a point to introduce others to the food of my people as often as I can, tell stories of my heritage through meals. I have cooked Uki feasts in Germany, Switzerland, and now Mexico. I’ve convinced so many Americans to just *try* the beets—they won’t kill you. I’ve cooked for large groups, and I’ve cooked for myself.
We cook to celebrate. To mourn. To never let go of what is ours. That’s not specific to Ukrainians—that’s many cultures. What is Ukrainian is all these women risking their lives right now to feed the army—it’s as much an act of defiance as it is an act of love. Bombs may be raining down, but our soldiers will fight with borscht in their bellies.
If you’re interested in learning more about Uki cuisine, reach out! Let’s break bread and cook a feast together. Because we all need some love and some carbs.
Christmas feast in Switzerland